- -
- 100%
- +
Oh, damn, he thought, I’ve been too long without a woman.
He didn’t say anything, or even look at her. Rain always made him irritable. It wasn’t her fault he’d given in to the unusual chivalrous impulse to help her.
“I’m sorry you got wet,” she said quietly. The tone in her voice clearly stated that she hadn’t asked for his help.
He nodded in acknowledgment, but kept silent. After stepping carefully on the gas, Luke watched through the rearview mirror as her car lurched drunkenly out of the mud. It bounced on the rutted dirt like a pull toy in the hands of a giant.
He breathed deeply, trying to absorb the essence of her into the fabric of his being. There was something pure and innocent about the woman sitting next to him, despite her city sophistication. She didn’t have the tough veneer he’d encountered in city women before. He’d known more than his share of hardened independent women who wanted only one thing from a man. And while he had no doubt that this little lady was successful, he knew there was much of life she hadn’t experienced. Part of his jaded soul was challenged by that innocence. He’d almost forgotten what innocence felt like. He quelled the urge to corrupt her.
She didn’t look like someone who’d want to be isolated on a mountain. She had the sleek polish of a professional career woman. The humidity had caused her thick hair to curl around her face in a way that brought to mind pixies. But he knew the cut would fall into a sophisticated style just as easily.
Forcing his attention off Miranda, he eased slowly forward, gathering the speed needed to tow the car up the mountain. The Suburban could tow twice the weight, but her car had him worried. The body and wheelbase were battered from driving up the mountain. Frankly, he was surprised she’d made it as far as she had. It said something about her determination.
“Please, stop.”
Startled, Luke braked and glanced at her, arching one brow in question.
“I’d rather go to my rental cabin.”
“Darlin’, your cabin is on the other side of the mountain. You’re only about twenty minutes’ walking distance in this weather, but you’re about two hours in driving time.”
“I’ll be on my way then. Thanks.”
She had the door open before her words registered. Stepping out into the pouring rain, she reached back for her food. “Give me a minute to stash this in the Mercedes—”
“There’s no way that car will make it down the side of this mountain and back up the other. I’ll let you try it if you’re determined. But I’m not going to haul you out of the mud again until the storm lets up.”
The stubborn tilt of her jaw told him he’d made a mistake. His words had been taken as a challenge instead of fact. He bet she never turned down a dare. “Darlin’, it’s the car, not you.”
She just stood there making him feel big and mean in a way he hadn’t since Brett looked up at him with big weepy eyes and asked why Luke wasn’t his daddy anymore.
“I can’t stay with you,” she said, her voice heavy with raw emotion.
“I’m not asking you to move in, darlin’, but you can stay at my cabin until the rain clears.”
She hesitated, but she really had little choice. Relictantly, she nodded, “Just until the rain lets up a bit then I’ll walk over to the rental place.”
The rain slowed to a steady downpour that Luke knew from experience would last until dawn. Though the storm wasn’t an intense one, the ground would be slick and the night treacherous. Already the sky had darkened and in another twenty minutes it would be pitch-black outside.
He waited patiently for her to reseat herself and close the door. He refused to look at her but the image of her in that wet T-shirt stayed firmly in his mind. The image of her hardened nipples peaked against the cold, damp cloth wouldn’t leave. Would they be that resporrsive to his mouth and fingers?
When she was settled, he put the truck back into motion. Damn fool woman. Hell, damn fool man for caring about her safety. The touch of vulnerability beneath her sophisticated facade made him want to protect her. Despite the lessons he’d learned about women from his ex-wife.
He couldn’t let her go alone to Edgar’s hunting cabin even though it was what he should do. The mountain and Mother Nature in general weren’t kind to the weaker sex. He knew some women were strong—stronger than him—but this little thing wasn’t.
She looked as if a gust of wind could push her over the side of his mountain. She had no car, no coat and would probably insist on taking that bag of junk food with her. Luke shook his head and cursed his daddy for raising him with a strict code pertaining to women. Without that upbringing he’d probably let her go off on her own.
He pulled into his driveway and stared at the woman next to him. The woman whose pretty gray eyes reminded him of the mist that ringed the mountain most mornings. A keen intelligence gleamed in her gaze along with a trace of fear. Fear of him? he wondered.
He walked around to open her door but she was already standing on the ground when he got there. She had that bag of groceries clutched to her chest like a shield. Tugging the sack from her, he started for his house, letting her follow.
A damp chill settled over him as he led her to the front porch of the cabin he’d built with his own hands. Staring at it now—imagining how it looked to her eyes—he felt a sense of pride.
He knew from past experience that his house would be warm and dry. The last thing he wanted was to go back out into the wet night.
“It’s cold and dark. The woods are dangerous to novice hikers. Stay with me until morning.”
“I’d rather go on,” she said. Something in that soft, tired voice convinced him to quit arguing with her. She needed to be at a place where she could relax. And it wasn’t in a bachelor’s cabin. Truth to tell, the sooner he left her presence the better it would be for him.
“Okay, I’ll take you,” he said. Her gaze melted under his, becoming so feminine that his gut tightened in reaction. “But under one condition.”
“What?”
He wanted to reassure her but knew any protestations of innocence from him wouldn’t be convincing. He’d lived life to the fullest before retiring to the mountains. He stared into that fine-boned face and felt each of those decadent years as if they were wrapped around his neck with a heavy chain.
Years of recklessly prowling the country on his low rider with women of easy virtue. Years of barroom brawls and morning afters spent in the cool-down tank at the local sheriff’s office. Years of fast living and hard times.
He smiled the grin that his ex-wife had told him would drive fear into the heart of the devil himself, and drawled in that deep Texan accent his daddy had taught him to use on a stubborn woman. “Darlin’, it involves me, you and a warm, dry room.”
Two
Miranda wrestled with the instinctive urge to bolt. The prospect of being lost in the woods seemed less frightening then being caught alone with this man. His sexy tempting grin, and soft drawling voice signaled trouble. Those chocolate-colored eyes saw right through her limited defenses.
“What?” she asked, stalling for time.
Her heart raced and her body sent fight-or-flight signals to her brain. Calm down. He’s just a man. She bit back the hysterical laughter she felt welling in the back of her throat. He was so much more than just a man. And she knew it all the way to her guarded inner soul.
Using the composure she’d cultivated to use on the tough good-old-boy-network customers, she said, “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Romero. I’m not...”
He silenced her with a long look, boldly roaming her face then traveling slowly all the way down her shivering body. The diamond stud in his ear winked at her, catching the fire from a jagged streak of lightning.
A crooked smile creased his face. Something changed in the air around her and in the intent in his eyes. What had frightened her earlier?
“I meant dinner, darlin’. Maybe some dry clothes. Nothing more.”
His casual shrug made a mockery of her fear. Get a grip, she warned—he wasn’t interested in anything more than getting her out of the storm. Stealing a glance at her sodden attire, she cringed. Wet cloth adhered to her skin like a diecast mold, clinging to her body to reveal what she’d hoped to have hidden. She looked like the loser in a wet T-shirt contest.
“Okay,” she said, hoping to sound more confident than she felt. Going toe-to-toe with a disgruntled business manager or arguing the finer points of tax laws she could handle. But on the basic man-to-woman interchanges, she was at a loss.
She wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling too exposed. Fatigue stole around her like cold on a winter’s day, sapping her strength. What she really wanted was a bed to climb into and her comfortable sweats so that she’d be warm again. She wondered what it would be like if she stayed in the cabin with this warm, sexy man.
She cast a nervous glance in his direction. Luke stared out at the rain. It was obvious he’d already dismissed her from his mind. She wished he were as easily banished from her thoughts.
She’d never been this aware of a man before. No man had ever sparked a deep response in her. But Luke Romero was different. She wanted to know more about him. Why live on the top of a mountain? Why wear cowboy boots and a Stetson in a log cabin? Why help her though it was obvious he guarded his privacy?
His body heat radiated out to her in waves reminding her that it was still raining. She wanted to go closer to him and absorb his warmth into her tired body. She wanted to lean against him, to feel herself surrounded by him. Wait a minute, Miranda. No man who offered his support would want a woman who had nothing to give in return.
He opened the door, gesturing for her to step inside with a quick jerk of his head. So much for country charm.
She hesitated. Her mother had drilled into her at a very young age not to come into the house wet. “I’m soaked.”
He glanced down, apparently noticing the puddle at his feet for the first time. He’d left his Stetson in the cab of his truck. The incongruity of a fully dressed man with wet hair probed her imagination.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded. The man was obviously used to being in charge.
She gulped. Had he somehow peeked into her mind and read her lecherous thoughts. “Why?”
“I’m going to strip out of these wet clothes and go find something dry for us to wear.”
I’m going to have a heart attack, she thought. She stared at him unsure of her own reactions. In a shaking voice, she said, “I have dry clothes in my car.”
“I’ll go get them. Which bag?”
“The green-striped canvas one on the passenger seat.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out her key ring. “It’s the big square one.”
He loped down the steps and back out into the rain. Miranda tried not to stare at him. But the image of bunching leg muscles and buttocks stayed firmly in her mind. What did his bare legs look like? His chest had a light mat of hair. Would his legs be hairy? What color was the hair? Stop it! she ordered herself.
While she waited, she studied the porch. A battered lawn chair stood guard in one corner and a basket with wood shavings lay in the other. The place was neat and tidy. She wasn’t surprised. He looked like a man who avoided clutter.
He returned a minute later with her overnight bag slung over his shoulder. She shivered as the cold, wet wind gusted up onto the scant shelter of his porch. A wave of heat seemed to come alive and stretch out of the open door, reaching around her body. Luke nudged her closer to the doorway, but she hesitated.
Luke reached around her and grabbed a worn, dry poncho from somewhere inside the cabin. “Drape this over yourself while you take off those wet clothes.”
She hesitated before reaching for the garment. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand and a shiver coursed through her body. He stepped back.
“Turn around,” he said, the drawl in his voice lower and deeper than before.
She hesitated.
“I mean now, darlin’. Get changed.” The sharp command bore little resemblance to that soft teasing tone of just moments earlier.
She pivoted away from him and stood rooted to the spot like a hundred-year-old sequoia. There was no mistaking the sound of his zipper opening. She pictured him as he’d been earlier in his bath, chest and back naked. Still she couldn’t force her fingers to move. Oh, God, help me.
“I’m not watching you, darlin’. You can get changed.” Again the words were smooth as honey dripping over her skin. She sighed, wishing for a tenth of his confidence and ease in this situation.
His soft, drawling voice tiptoed down her spine like a cat burglar in an art museum. She heard him walk inside the house and stood there for a moment longer. The night was cold and damp.
Come on, coward, get changed.
She dropped her wet clothing on the floor by her feet and pulled on the clean underwear and khakis. She bent, digging through her bag before she unearthed the long-sleeved thermal top.
Dropping the poncho to the floor, she pulled her shirt over her head and finger combed her wet hair. She peeked into the cabin and found Luke by the fireplace, adding wood to the fire. He’d changed into a flannel shirt and wheat-colored jeans. The cigar he’d put out earlier was lit and clenched between his teeth. Its fragrance now familiar to her.
Stepping over the threshold, she quietly closed the door behind her. Heat seeped through her clothes and into her skin, warming her completely.
The exposed-beam cabin welcomed her like a pair of worn shoes, knowing the fit and feel of her feet. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall of the cabin. Plate glass windows lined another and a bank of glass doors the final. The effect was one of openness. Miranda imagined that on a clear night the stars would seem to be within arms’ reach, almost touchable.
A winding staircase led to an open loft, and though the cabin had a definite masculine feel to it, she’d never felt more at home. Not even in the sophisticated home of her childhood or the trendy little condo she’d spent a large chunk of her savings on. She sighed, moving closer to the fire and the man who knelt by the hearth, patiently feeding kindling to the growing blaze. Her inner voice warned her to stay back from Luke Romero, but something drew her closer to him.
“Can I help?”
Luke felt Miranda’s presence behind him before she spoke. Her voice was soft and light, playing over his senses like summer rain over the dry ground. He questioned the wisdom of his decision to bring her back here, but didn’t like the answer he received from his raging hormones and lonely soul. He bit down on the end of his cigar.
The woman had more thorns than a briar patch and more contradictions than a television preacher. That didn’t stop some foolish part of his soul from wanting to know more about her. To unravel the secrets that she kept hidden behind those big gray eyes.
“Have a seat and warm up.” He stood and stared down at her, abruptly realizing that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She was so tiny. Any doubts he had about letting her find her own way to her cabin died. “I’ll be right back with the stew.”
He served up venison stew made from meat that he’d cured himself. Living on the mountain reaffirmed his belief in the man he’d become. He’d come a long way from his wild, roaming youth in the rodeo. A long way from the young man who’d watched his best friend die beneath the stomping hooves of a beast. Part of him still longed to prove to his father that he’d made a success of his life without his father’s land, approval or the hand-picked wife.
Now he had to deal with a city woman again. A lady with crystal eyes that gleamed with intelligence and fatigue. A lady who was used to control—she bristled at every order he issued—yet here on his mountain was oddly vulnerable. A lady whose body promised pleasure that would lead to trouble.
Why then did exhilaration make the back of his neck tingle? The same outlaw feeling as when he pushed his Harley to the limit. Wearing no helmet, using no common sense and obeying no rules. Just pure thrill and a fear he’d never admit out loud.
“Enough,” he said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud until his voice broke the silence that had fallen.
“What?” Miranda asked. The fire’s light played over her brown hair, picking out the red highlights and making her seem more untouchable than ever. An ethereal fairy sent to cast a spell over him and make mischief in his life.
“Nothing,” he replied gruffly. He forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand—finishing dinner and getting her safely out of his cabin. He tossed the remains of the cigar into the fire, unable to enjoy it any longer.
“How long will you be vacationing up here?” he asked, needing to know exactly when she’d be leaving so that he’d be able to hunt in her neighborhood again. He wanted to avoid her while she vacationed on his mountain.
“I’m not on vacation.”
Luke felt as if he’d been sucker punched by fate. Damn it all. When was life going to stop throwing these tricky little kinks at him? He should have learned that lesson long ago. “So when are you leaving?”
Her mouth curved down and she looked away from him. He heard her take a shaky breath before she glanced back at him. “I haven’t decided. A few months, maybe more.”
Luke stood and gathered the dishes, dumping them in the sink. The sooner he got her to her cabin the better. He wasn’t going to ask her any more questions, though he was tempted to get to know her better. He grabbed his slicker off the peg near the door. “I’ll be right back.”
The late April rain had let up a little and a sliver of moon lit the sky, the illumination not enough to brighten even a small distance in front of him. Luke cursed as he walked back into the cabin for a flashlight. He didn’t want her staying on his mountain tonight or any other night. He didn’t want to have to think of her sleeping in that old, decrepit cabin, a soft city woman in his domain. He didn’t want to think of those peachy pink lips, crushed beneath his, because if she stayed, he’d kiss her. The temptation was slowly eroding his defenses much the way Mother Nature had worn away the valley that he gazed at each morning. Slowly, but inevitably.
He scanned the room and found Miranda stretching in front of the fireplace. Her arms held high above her head, her breasts pushing against the cotton of her shirt, her eyes closed, and a smile of sensual delight on her face as the fire’s warmth played against her skin. Lust hit him—hard. He clenched his fists.
He had to get her out of here before his control snapped. Before he forgot that he didn’t want a woman in his life. Before he forgot that short-term affairs weren’t that fulfilling anymore. Before he forgot that he was a loner because life was safer that way.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice sounding gritty and deep to his own ears. It was a wonder he didn’t frighten her with it.
Her eyes snapped open. All semblance of relaxation vanished. She tensed under his watchful gaze.
“Is it getting worse outside?”
Her husky voice toyed with his mind, creating images he had no business thinking. Images of him and her on the quilt his grandmother had made for him. Clothed only in the fire’s light and a sheen of sweat. Luke closed his eyes and counted to ten. Control, he reminded himself. Ride the beast, don’t let the beast ride you. His father’s advice echoed in his head like the unwanted ringing from a hangover.
Though the old man had died fifteen years ago, Luke had never reconciled with him and felt his father’s presence as keenly as he felt the absence of the land he should have inherited. He felt it fitting that his father still tried to control his life from beyond the grave. Fitting because he’d had the chance make peace with his father but chose instead to stay silent. A father should believe in his son always.
“Yes, but I’ll get you to your cabin.”
She nodded, sliding her feet into worn deck shoes. Her feet were long and slender with high arches and a delicate peach tint on her toenails. The color only a shade lighter than her lips.
Get busy, he ordered himself. He grabbed a canvas laun dry sack from his days on the road with the rodeo, tossing her wet clothes into it. “Do you need anything else from the car for tonight?”
“Yes,” she said, slinging the strap of the overnight bag over her shoulder. “I’ll go to the car with you.”
He realized she didn’t have a raincoat. The next time he saw Edgar Jennings he was going to kick his old, gnarled butt down the mountain. Why couldn’t he rent his cabin to someone who knew how to pack for this kind of weather? Someone who didn’t show up in the middle of the rainy season in a car without four-wheel drive. Someone who looked like Edgar and was about as friendly as a hungry alligator.
But the poncho leaked and the rain showed no sign of letting up. He shrugged out of his slicker and handed it to her. He had a duster upstairs in a box somewhere.
“Use this. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He climbed the stairs with a carefully measured stride and paused at the top. She stood in the middle of the room staring up at him from those brilliant crystal eyes. “If you go outside, take the flashlight from under the sink.”
Luke refused to acknowledge the small tightening as anything other than anger. He grabbed the duster from the bottom of the old cardboard box and ignored the items that spilled onto the floor. He stalked back down the stairs. Picking up her overnight bag and the laundry sack, he went outside.
Miranda stood by her car with a large bag slung over her shoulder and her grocery bag. “This is all I’ll need for now.”
The spring rain made the roads impossible even for the Suburban. The mountain was treacherous and malevolent toward the foolish and the stupid. Something Luke had learned the hard way. He took the grocery sack from her.
“Thanks.”
“Let’s go,” he said between clenched teeth. The path between his place and Miranda’s was difficult in full daylight, at night it was downright dangerous, but not impassable.
Luke cursed under his breath as a wet tree branch smacked against his shoulder. The rain had slowed but the water hung suspended in the leaves, showering them with a cold blast whenever the wind blew.
He shifted the overnight bag to his left hand where he held the flashlight. He reached back to help Miranda over a fallen log. She glanced at his hand, then at his face before placing her hand in his.
She would be happy to be rid of him. But he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. He’d take care of her, whether she wanted him to or not. The thought of her lost out here haunted him like the memory of past mistakes.
A quarter of an hour later the ramshackle old hunting cabin came into view. The lack of light made the small wood structure look like a fright house at the fair. Luke knew from experience that it didn’t look much better during the day. But it was fairly sturdy.
He played the light over the front porch, checking for rodents. He glanced at Miranda wondering if she’d change her mind now. If she’d agree to go back to his place and then let him escort her off the mountain in the morning. He expected to see some sign of disappointment or revulsion.
“At last,” she said. “Just dump that bag inside the door.”
Luke was sure that the fatigue from the long day must have caught up with her. She’d brought a sack of junk food and had only two bags of possessions with her. She stared at that damned eyesore as though it was...home.
He didn’t think the run-down cabin was much of anything, but if his alternative housing was a small convertible he guessed he’d be more excited about the shack in front of him.
“Let me check inside,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want to like her, but he admired her grit. It was the one city trait he could relate to. He figured it was a kickback to Neanderthal times when humans had been forced to carve a place for themselves in the world—only the trappings had changed and the corporate world demanded as much from its challengers as Mother Nature did.