The Superfox (2 page)

He grinned. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Considering your reputation, I'd get eaten first.”

Lissa wanted to ask him why he was still there, but that was the second time he'd brought up her reputation, which made her feel defensive. And annoyed. Hand on her hips, she stepped forward, chin out. “I have a rep for eating coworkers?”

Instead of backing away or recanting, he stepped forward, too. “You have a rep for being no-nonsense, assertive, protective of your employees, and sometimes bossy, yeah.”

If Lissa had been a dog, her hackles would've been up and crackling. “I'm not bossy; I'm the fucking boss.”

He nodded. “I respect that.
Bossy
always seemed like an asinine word. Dude tells people what to do, he's a great leader. Woman does the same, she's a bossy bitch. My mom was a bossy bitch, and she got shit done. Anyone who's scared of you was obviously on the wrong side of your temper for good reason.”

Lissa had been all set for a fight, but... he'd basically taken her side completely, an utterly new thing for her. She narrowed her eyes and let a slow smile spread. “Okay. You get a reprieve. I won't eat you until all the granola bars are gone.”

With the subtlest change of posture and another step toward her, Mark's entire mien changed from a hot guy teasing her to a hotter guy mentally undressing her. “That's a shame.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she twisted up inside. No one but Dennihy had ever made a pass at her at work. After him, no one had ever dared. And his pass had been less a shared, charged moment of animal lust and more a clumsy swipe from a trained, spoiled bear. Whatever language Mark spoke with body and pheremones, Lissa found she spoke it, too, and her skin went over hot. It was entirely inappropriate. And completely delicious.

And since there was no one else in the entire office to witness it or comment on it or report it to HR, Lissa let herself bask in that rare sensation of being wanted. And wanting back.

She licked her lips and decided to play along.

“It's only a reprieve. I can still change my mind at any time.”

Mark closed the distance between them and reached for her hair. Lissa froze like a deer with suicidal tendencies caught in unexpected but welcome headlights.

“You've got granola bar in your hair, Wonder Woman,” he said, holding up a crumb.

Gold hair lightly lined his wrist and the back of his hand, just enough to make her think about Thor and Vikings and all sorts of lovely pillaging.

She gulped and breathed in the scent of him, a hint of woody cologne. “That's how we do it on Themyscira. Left my mirror on the invisible jet.”

“And you know comics,” he murmured. “Even better.”

He was so close she had to look up at him, past his gold-stubbled jaw. “Do I pass your geek test, Ranger?”

He shook his head. “You don't need a test to join a self-selected group. That's just a bunch of bullshit. Not that I'm not intrigued.”

Having grown up as a proudly rebellious nerd, hearing a guy like him say something like that was about the sexiest thing she could possibly imagine. God, she wanted to kiss him so bad. But she'd have to go up on her tiptoes to do that, and grab his face to angle him down, and there was a certain power to just standing like they were, lips separated by the space between a hummingbird and a flower, a few quivering vertical inches. The way he stilled, lips slightly parted, hinted that he was enjoying the tension, too.

“Melissa, do you want...”

He licked his lips.

She held her breath, waiting.

What did she want? His lips on hers, his tongue prying her open, his hands on her waist, a thigh pressed between hers, the cold of the window glass against her back, with the heat of a strange photographer against her front?

“...to go sledding?”

Lissa shook her head and stared at him like he was an idiot.

“Do I want to go sledding? Seriously?”

Mark looked out the window over her shoulder, which wasn't hard, since he was a full head taller than she was. The swirling snow had slowed down just enough to show the hill behind their office building. It was normally covered in a carpet of green and dandelions, and once a week, a team of guys with huge, annoyingly loud mowers spent all day cutting it into tidy rows. Now it was a perfect hump of sparkling white.

“Totally serious.”

“I don't have warm clothes.”

“We'll hit the Lost and Found. And the coat closet.”

She looked down at her bare feet. “I don't have warm shoes.”

“I have a pair of galoshes in my SUV.”

“Do you have the answer to every problem?”

“Yes. Quit dawdling and come on.”

He took off down the hall, and she hurried behind him. “Bossy,” she muttered, entirely unaccustomed to being bossed around.

He stopped at the coat closet and jiggled the locked door. “You have a key?”

She shook her head.

“Yeah, me neither.”

After rummaging around in the pockets of his kilt, he came up with a little leather roll, pulled out two slender metal sticks, and proceeded to pick the damn lock right in front of her. Before she could protest and toss the Employee Binder at him, he had the door open and was handing her a huge overcoat.

“Are you a thief or a rogue?” she asked after checking for a name tag or business card in the coat's pockets.

“Chaotic good. Rogue cleric. Fast with Google-fu and eBay. Lots of character points. And I'm performing a public service.”

“Saving a damsel is a public service. Outfitting one with stolen clothes is not.”

He slipped on a tweed coat that made him look like Sherlock Holmes and handed her a wooly hat that she smelled and immediately tossed back in the closet. “You're not a damsel. And we're just borrowing clothes nobody wants, anyway. We're the only people on this floor, right now. Pretty sure the coat you're wearing belonged to that accountant who got fired last month for losing petty cash.”

When she thought about it, Lissa could see his point. It's not like anyone wanted this stuff or had access to it in the moment. And she remembered the owner of this coat, who had been built like a pro wrestler. Robert Alexander. Rob, for short. He'd been sacked quickly and sent packing with a police escort and a sad cardboard box, swearing up and down all the way to the elevators that he'd never misused any funds. And who had been his boss? David Dennihy, of course. Poor Rob. The coat smelled a little of cedar and donuts, and she buttoned it up and realized she was still barefoot.

“Socks,” she said, heading for her office.

“Mm hmm. Pants and hat,” Mark answered back with a grin, heading back to his own department.

Without meaning to, she'd totally given in to his ridiculous idea. The man was beyond sneaky.

A few moments later, he showed up at the door to her corner office, workout pants showing under the hem of his tweed coat and a wool plaid driving cap on his head. He looked utterly ridiculous and completely irresistible, the lines of his body hidden by bulky wool and his chiseled face grinning like a little boy about to play hooky. She had to look just as silly in a coat that could've fit two of her easily and a pair of bulky athletic socks poking out from her skinny jeans. Her winter hat was bright orange with fox ears that poked up and long tassels that tied under her chin.

“Are you ready to drift?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“This Jaeger's name is Foxy Danger,” she answered. When he held out his hand, she was so caught up in the ridiculousness that she took it and let him pull her down the hallway, giggling.

And Lissa wasn't a woman who usually giggled. She usually reserved her laughter for math jokes, Archer, or that scene in The Avengers where the Hulk beats the shit out of Loki. At work, she was serious and focused and worked hard to protect her reputation and career. If Dr. Horne had seen her running down the hallway, hand-in-hand with his rogue photographer, he would've crapped a brick.

She did have the good sense to feel under her coat for her ID card before Mark pushed open the main office door and dragged her down the tiled hallway to the elevator as it slammed behind them with a resounding crash. She was starting to think that being stuck in the building for a couple of days might have its perks, but those perks were rendered moot if she couldn't get back into the warmth, safety, and relative comfort of the Interprog offices.

When they reached the glass double doors to the courtyard and parking lot, Mark stopped and turned to her, tugging the tassels of her hat to get her attention. Like he didn't already dominate it.

“I'm going to run out to my car and get you some galoshes and gloves. Stay here, okay?”

“You don't have to take care of me, you know.”

“No, I don't. But unless you have galoshes and gloves of your own, I think it might be a good idea, don't you agree?” He raised an eyebrow at her tube socks.

“I'm muttering under my breath.”

“I'm pretending not to hear it. Now stay put.”

Pulling up the collar of his coat, he squeezed out the doors and jogged to a snow-covered Pathfinder at the far end of the lot. Lissa spotted her own car and a few others abandoned haphazardly around the iced-over landscape; folks must've taken Murphy up on his offer to get home or maybe carpooled with friends before the storm got too bad. She rubbed her hands and tied the belt on her borrowed coat tighter while Mark rummaged in his car and jogged back. Cold was definitely not her favorite weather, and she hadn't wanted anything to do with snow since she was ten and had gotten a huge handful down the butt crack from the neighborhood bully.

But when she saw a familiar looking shield in Mark's arms, mounded with boots and gloves, she had to grin. Maybe snow wouldn't be so bad, this time.

“Are we seriously going to go sledding on Cap's shield?”

He wiped his boots off on the side of the door and tossed the bounty into the lobby, holding up the shield for her inspection.

“What do you think?”

Her grin answered his and she sweetly answered, “Yes, I think it works. FOR SLEDDING.”

Mark held out a pair of mud-covered galoshes and a thick pair of socks, which she was grateful to see were clean. Sitting down on the tile, she pulled them on over the first pair and tucked her jeans into them. The gloves he gave her were huge, definitely made for a dude, which she found comforting. If his SUV had been stocked with girl stuff, her curiosity and interest might've spilled over into jealousy or spite. Instead, she had to assume he was single. After all, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. And if he'd been dating or banging any of the Media girls, everyone in the company would've known.

He stood and held out a hand to help her up. “Ready?”

Even between the thick gloves, Lissa felt the warmth of his touch as she allowed him to pull her to her feet. The galoshes were huge, even with the double-thick socks, and she kicked her feet, feeling them slide back and forth. The treads were packed with dried mud.

“Been navigating the sewers lately?” she asked, holding her foot up to inspect it.

“Cowabunga.” He grinned. “I'm actually building an Earth House in my back yard. I spend a lot of my free time digging and packing dirt. But it's a hell of a lot better than a gym.” When he flexed his muscles through four layers of warm clothes, she couldn't see the effect. But she could damn well imagine it.

She side-eyed him. “Are you a crazy zombiepocalypse prepper? Because a girl needs to know these things.”

“Oh, yeah. Me and my plastic Captain America shield vs. hordes of the risen dead.” He tugged his hat more firmly down over his hair and held open the door. “No, I'm just a guy who wants to see if he's capable of building a self-sustaining house out of trash. It's basically a double dare from the possible dystopian future. Worst case scenario, I have an ideal future mother-in-law suite.”

Lissa walked out into an afternoon cast in dark blue, lavender, and gold. The sun was setting behind dark, low clouds, the snow glittering in strips between stark, skeletal trees. They only had an hour or so until darkness fell, and it looked like the sky was gearing up for another burst of snowrage.

Mark must've felt it, too—the excitement, and the ominous sensation of a sky holding its breath. He marched straight up the nearest hill, shield in hand, slipping in the ice and turning to help her stay upright. They stood together at the top for a moment, admiring the magnificent silence and beauty of a parking lot rendered useless and pure by nature's whims. It reminded Lissa of I Am Legend—before it started to suck.

“Ladies first.” Mark held out the shield, which was a nicer quality reproduction, a cut above the usual Halloween junk. She almost felt bad taking it. Almost.

“Okay, but not because I'm a shrinking violet who gives a shit about chivalry. Because I want to be the first one down that slope.”

“I'll allow it. You want a push?”

Lissa placed the shield on the snow, turning the hand grips so they wouldn't strategically bruise her inner thighs. Once she was seated and holding them like handles, she looked back up at Mark. He was watching her, the corners of his eyes crinkled up with mischief and snowflakes caught in his golden eyelashes.

“Push,” she said, and he muttered, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

And then he planted both hands against her back and shoved her down the hill.

“Loooong liiiiiive Chriiiiis Evaaaaans!” she shouted, and he shouted back, “What about Chris Hemsworth?”

“All the Chrises!”

It turned into a whoop as the makeshift sled picked up speed and careened down the hill that suddenly felt like a mountain.

The wind in her hair was thrilling, the touch of his hands still seared on her back. Lissa held her feet up, his galoshes rattling as the shield spun, forcing her to rearrange her weight. Mark watched her, laughing, from the top of the hill, hands on his hips. She couldn't wait for him to feel this same exhilaration, the fastest sled ride of her life on a superhero's plastic shield. In only seconds, she slid to a stop on a mound of bark and climbed off the shield, dusting the snow off her butt and standing.

“How was it?” he called.