Page 29 of Hot & Heavy

He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"I have not been teased since my brothers…" She shook her head to stop painful memories. " Do you have food?"

"Yeah. Just MREs but they're filling."

"What kind of food is that? If it's anything unrelated to a camel, I would eat it."

"MREs are portable provisions. You know, quick food on a mission."

"Like dried lutefisk?"

"Huh? No, things like beef ravioli, chicken cacciatore, jambalaya."

It was her turn to say, "Huh?"

"Listen," he said, rising to his feet and extending a hand to help her up, "are you hungry or not?"

She ignored the hand. "Yea, I am a mite hungry."

He made a snorting sound.

"But I do not want to go by the fire. Bring it back to me."

"Why don't you want to… oh, is it because you're embarrassed 'cause the guys saw you naked?"

"You really are a dumb dolt, aren't you? I was led naked through my great hall by a neck tether before two hundred enemy warriors. If I could survive that, I can certainly survive snickers from a few trolls."

Ian's jaw dropped practically to his chest. "You are making that up," he accused, but then he glanced at her neck, and wrist and ankles, and said, "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"Then why do you avoid my teammates?"

She looked at him as if his head must be particularly thick. It was a look she'd perfected years ago with the men in her family. "Because I smell, you lackwit. I would not want to expose others to my stink."

His jaw dropped again. "But you don't mind exposing me to your stink?"

She stood up. "You deserve it."

Women! Go figure!…

Ian couldn't figure Yasmine out. Okay, he'd obviously not been a rocket scientist in the past when it came to women; otherwise, Jennifer wouldn't have been screwing her personal trainer behind his back. But Yasmine was something altogether different.

First of all, she behaved like a bleepin' shrew, nagging and complaining about every little thing. And she looked and smelled like an old hag. Cripes, you could build a bird's nest in her hair. Yet he felt an odd attraction to her. And, no, it had nothing to do with his glimpse of those world-class breasts… or almost nothing.

Second, she was childlike in her ignorance about everyday things. Like thinking a rifle was a club. Like believing he was talking to himself when he was communicating on his radio headset. Like being ecstatic over MREs—she had eaten three of them before her hunger was satisfied, not to mention two fudge brownies, a handful of hard candy, peanut-butter snack crackers, and a dairy shake. You would have thought the barely palatable rations were a gourmet meal.

She was wide-eyed with wonder at all the things she saw or was told about. Cage especially had made a big impression when he talked to her about his Cajun people. He even sang her a freakin' Cajun song.

The dolt!

Ian reminded himself how sheltered some women still were in the Arab lands. Wearing the traditional chador or burqa, which covered them head to toe except the eyes. Rarely leaving their homes. Not exposed to TV or radio. But Yasmine didn't strike him as the type who would tolerate that kind of life.

And she sure as hell wasn't meek.

Third, she was mean enough to be a terrorist.

Hadn't she tried twice to kill him? Hadn't she punched him several times? But did that mean she really was a terrorist, or in cahoots with them?