Craved
Chapter 9

Renee:

The morning sun blinded her, and she realized she'd left her tent flap open last night. Was she subconsciously sending a signal to Damon to return? No, their liaison was all her imagination. The whole sexy encounter and now this dream so real she'd swore it happened.

She rubbed her nose and gasped when she smelled Damon's scent of musk, dirt, and soap. People didn't vanish into nothing. But he wasn't in her tent last night-that was impossible. As soon as he disappeared, she'd bolted out of her cot. She was alone and her tent flap sealed shut.

Damn, she really needed to get laid. She dragged herself out of her cot. After she washed with the water in her canteen, she dressed and combed out her tangles. Get to work and forget all this nonsense about Damon. Outside, she gathered up her tool belt; the pick, trowel, and the dental tools clanged as she fastened the buckle. In the distance, the bus roared to life and rumbled away.

Probably someone going into town for supplies. Renee dusted off her hands and carried the bucket full of debris to the soil heap. After she dumped the rubbish, her shoulders sagged. Drat, Damon ordered every spoonful of dirt sifted again and sorted to ensure anything wasn't skipped. There may be a tooth or something in there, he'd scolded.

She shoveled the dirt back into the bucket.

"What are you doing?" Damon asked startling her. "Didn't you just dump that?"

"Yes, but I forgot to run it through a sieve." She wasn't in the mood for him.

Last night she'd stared at her tent's ceiling, her bedding poking every time she tried to get comfortable. The dream might be blamed on the drink, his drink, but she'd only taken a sip. Usually, it took two or three drinks for her to get drunk. Those hands on her body, his kiss tasting like sweet red wine and chocolate, and she couldn't take just one. Stop it! Only a dream, not real, her mind screwing with her. In her fantasy, she'd come so close to being intimate with Damon when he, not his thoughts, brought up Melanie. Then Renee didn't want him anywhere near her. Well, at least her conscious functioned in her dreams even if she'd been seconds away from screwing another woman's man. What is wrong with me? "Don't worry about shifting out the dirt anymore." He looked off into the distance where Travis left, as though he debated something.

"But I thought "

"Not now, at least." He paused then continued, "We're still digging for the level of assemblage in many areas. Your pile looks safe enough to leave alone. Let me know if you have any questions."

She shook her head as he stalked away. Being with him in person set her mind spinning. She liked being in control. Switching the rules back and forth made her feel as though she were tottering on a seesaw with no rhythm. Would it go down or up this time?

Or she could cut her losses and go home. No, this assignment and a recommendation letter were the best chance she had to be on her own. She would muddle through this. She wouldn't run from a man. Neither would she run to him, especially when he was an arrogant womanizer like Damon. She was here to further her career, and no one would get in her way.

Plus, Cynthia, or her contemporaries, should figure out the meaning of the urn. Then Renee would have investors seeking her time to guide other expeditions. Never have to work with Damon again. Or if she got more discoveries, she could have him work for her. See how he'd like it for her to change the guidelines every freaking day! Her grin stayed with her the rest of the morning at the thought.

She ate lunch catching glimpses of Damon's tent.

Carla, the volunteer, sat beside her. "He's dreamy, right?" "Who?" Renee frowned, batting a curl out of her face.

"Damon." Carla nudged her. "You two trade looks all the time."

"Uh, no." She took a bite out of her lamb-filled gyro. "Definitely not my type." But even at her denial, Renee's face heated.

Carla's freckled nose scrunched up. "Well, Melanie's a bitch. They don't seem to mesh." She popped a piece of flatbread into her mouth and chewed for a moment as if wanting to say more. "I've got a knack for knowing when two people are... I guess you say made for each other. When they aren't, like Damon and Melanie, it's like a cord vibrating out of tune. I can't exactly hear it; I just feel it."

Weird. "That must come in handy. How come you aren't married yet then?" Renee nodded to Carla's left hand, which held no ring.

On her wrist was a tattoo of a crimson snake with a few scales of emerald eating its tail. An Ouroboros. Historically, the reptile was thought to be an alchemy symbol meaning infinity or wholeness.

"I can't tell when someone likes me. My ability doesn't work for my personal gain."

Of course not. Don't all psychics say something similar? Renee believed in what she could see and feel, not whimsicalness. "Hey, do you know who took the bus? I'd like another trip into town."

"It was Travis, but I don't know when he'll be back or where he went."

"Well, I've got some cleaning up to do. Later." Renee stood and strolled to the piles of earth she'd dug up.

Damn, with Travis taking the bus, her hope of a trip into town to speak with Cynthia about the urn was delayed. When would he come back? Her thoughts drifted back to Damon and their dinner together. Amazingly, he'd been the first one to invite her to a dig when she'd sent her résumé with no experience other than history, teaching, and a few summers as an excavation's volunteer listed.

She pressed a hand over her stomach as knots formed. Spotting Ken, who hung out with Travis, she jogged over. "Do you know where Travis went?"

Damon sauntered up. "He's running some errands for me."

"When will he be back?" She could phone Cynthia at the museum or leave her a message. His heat radiated through her as if she stood too close to a furnace, not unpleasant, but it made lust uncoil in her, so she took a step back. "However long it takes." He nodded to Ken who seemed to have received some hidden macho-male signal because he took off toward the soil heap. "Why?"

Looking into the distance, she squinted at the dirt road leading out of camp. "I planned on going into town again." What the hell, he'd probably guess why she asked anyway. Plus, it would keep their conversation neutral before her raging pulse made her say something embarrassing. "I'm excited about the urn and wanted to ask Cynthia if she has any information yet."

The wind tossed his blond hair over his eyes. Damn, the windswept display reminded Renee of when he had been in her tent, stroking her, kissing her, and driving her wild.

"I'll drive you myself when he arrives," he said.

"Thank you." She fidgeted with the tools on her belt, and when he didn't budge, she glanced up. A mistake, as his eyes were lit up and filled with excitement. The way he stared at her made her uncomfortable yet feel attractive. Almost as though she were naked before him. She cocked her head. "Are you feeling alright?"

He gave her a weird look. A mix of understanding and perhaps apprehension? Did he know about the dream? That's ridiculous. As ludicrous as a man's skin glowing from the inside like those cheesy male models to make them look otherworldly. Now his appearance was normal.

"No, I'm fine." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "Why do you ask?"

Think of something. Don't say 'cause we almost had sex in my dream last night and I stayed up all night thinking about it. "Oh, it's past lunch and not much excavation has gone on. Shouldn't you be knee-deep in the dirt by now?" Or at least some archeologists did, and he didn't seem the kind to sit on the sidelines. Lame, now he probably thinks you're obsessed with him. Even if she was, she didn't want him to know it.

He scratched his neck for a moment. "Sorry, didn't get enough sleep last night so I'm kind of dragging."

His confession made her stomach clench. He had issues sleeping too? Had something in the water affected them both? Her hand flew to her mouth. What if he had a sexual dream about her last night?