Risking her neck, she burst into a run now, because suddenly she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him again. “ow, ow, ow . . .” The damn splinter still hurt like hell—

“Dorie.”

Oh, no. Kicking it into higher gear, she turned the corner, away from the glow of the fire, away from the others, needing a private pity party, if only for a moment.

The rocks were stacked one upon another, making cliffs that jutted straight up, hundreds of feet into the sky. By day those cliffs had been green, teeming with lush growth, but now, at night, it was all black, looming, and suddenly terrifying.

Since Christian wasn’t wearing silly sandals, and probably exercised more often than when someone gave him a gift certificate to a gym, he easily caught up with her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.

“I thought you said you don’t do guests,” she gasped. “Now you want round two?”

“While that invitation is ever so romantic, no. I had something else in mind.” He pulled out a small first-aid kit.

Opening it, he lifted a—

“Oh, no.” she laughed, then shook her head at the gleaming pair of tweezers. “You’re not going to come anywhere near me with that thing.”

“Funny, you weren’t saying that a little while ago.” He still had a gentle but inexorable hold on her, and using that, led her to a large rock, upon which he sat. “The splinter has to go, Dorie.”

She held her own butt, her gaze glued to the tweezers. “I’m not sitting.”

“No. You’re going to bend over and let me take care of your business.” Unperturbed, he calmly fished through the first-aid kit for God knew what else.

“My business has been taken care of.”

He looked up at her words. Met her eyes. His mouth quirked as if he wanted to smile. “Yes, and that was my pleasure, believe me. This . . .” He gestured to her butt. “This is my job.”