Hell on Wheels by Julie Ann Walker Page B

assurances to himself only minutes ago that he wouldn’t think about her underwear, all that sexy silk and see-through lace was really bugging the hell out of him.
    Was there a man in her life? Some lucky sonofabitch she wore those titillating scraps of material for? Some unworthy bastard who had the honor of touching all that warm, smooth flesh? Of kissing all those sweet, sensitive spots? Of eliciting that sexy little whimper of longing in the back of her throat?
    The thought made him want to shoot someone. The faceless prick she’d purchased all that junk for would be an excellent place to start. And then he could move on to his friends.
    Damn, having her around made him undeniably bloodthirsty.
    “What stuff?”
    He lowered his chin until he was scowling at her from under his brows. She knew exactly what he was talking about.
    Her lips quirked and he was reminded how soft they were, how sweet the inside of her mouth—
    No.
    He squashed the thought as effectively as Grigg had squashed all those orange-spotted roaches that’d been happy to cohabitate with them that time in Colombia.
    “Are you actually saying there’s no need for a kindergarten teacher to have sexy underwear?” she asked, shooting a wary glance toward Ozzie. The kid was doing a fairly good impression of a deaf-mute.
    Nate crossed his arms. Watching. Waiting. He just had to give her time. Soon, with no more encouragement than drawn out silence, every thought in her pretty head would tumble from her succulent, peach-colored mouth. A mouth that was—
    Fuckin’-A , there went his mind again. It was a problem under normal circumstances. With her standing arms’ length away? Man, it was a goddamned obsession.
    He almost smiled when she started in, her tone defiant.
    “Look, I spend all day long with five-year-olds. I sing silly songs. I color with crayons and make barnyard animals out of clay. I glue and glitter. I play Duck Duck Goose and Red Rover. I wipe bottoms and noses. I wear shirts with embroidered ABC’s and skirts that can stand up to three dozen grubby little hands. So,” she made a face that dared him to comment, “it helps to know underneath all that is the heart and body of a woman.”
    “Hmm,” was all he could manage, rendered nearly comatose with lust by the challenging gleam in her eyes.
    “Hmm?” she repeated disbelievingly. Thrusting out her chin, she rolled in her lips. “Okay, lookie here, bucko. Considering the amount of electronics I was unknowingly carrying on my person when I walked in here, it’s pretty obvious we’re going to have to suffer each others’ company. At least for a couple of days. And if we have any hope of getting along, you’re going to have to learn how to use actual words. For Pete’s sake, my kindergarteners have larger vocabularies than you.”
    “Autoschediastic.”
    “Huh?” She blinked up at him suspiciously.
    “Juxtaposition.”
    “What?”
    “Verisimilitude.”
    “What in the world are you doing?” she demanded.
    He shrugged, loving the play of emotions over her animated face. “Proving I know more words than a kindergartener.”
    ***
    Ali blinked.
    Did Nate Weller just make a joke?
    Nah. Couldn’t be. That would mean he had a sense of humor, which she was absolutely certain he did not .
    “Then why don’t you ever use those words?” she demanded, hands on hips, glaring at him and trying to ignore the breadth of his shoulders beneath his T-shirt. “I swear, sometimes talking to you is like trying to converse with a tree.” A very big, very solid, very male tree.
    He made the facial equivalent of a shrug. “The fewer I use, the more you use.”
    “Sheesh,” she rolled her eyes at the man’s obliviousness, “that’s the whole problem. You clam up, which, poof ,” she snapped her fingers, “just makes me talk all the more. It’s like I can’t help but spew forth words.”
    Nate grinned and Ali’s heart stopped.
    God, the man was beautiful. His smile transformed his