was standing in front of the hearth, her slender figure outlined by the flickering fireglow, her long dark hair hanging round her shoulders in dripping rats’ tails. Made transparent by the water, the dainty bra and briefs she was wearing clung to her like a second skin, hiding nothing.
Only too aware that her nipples, already firmed by the cold, were growing even more prominent under his appreciative male gaze, Charlotte felt herself start to blush.
Handing her one of the towels he was carrying, he remarked teasingly, ‘Well at least you’re getting some colour back.’
Blushing even harder, she clutched the towel to her chest and waited for him to go.
Draping a second towel over the rocker, he went on conversationally, ‘I’m afraid Ben has a duvet these days, which means there are no blankets, so I hope you can manage with this?’
This was a lumberjack-style shirt.
‘I’m sure it’ll do fine,’ she said hurriedly.
‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’
As soon as the door had clicked shut behind him she finished taking off her clothes. Then, fastening a towel turban-fashion round her head, she dried herself and pulled on the thick flannel shirt, doing up the buttons right to the neck.
It was a reasonable fit across the shoulders, and she realised its owner must be quite a small man. Still, it came a respectable length down her thighs and would be adequate so long as she moved with care.
When she had finished drying her hair, well aware that left to its own devices it would turn into a riot of tangled curls, she fished in her bag for a comb and combed it through.
At one side of the hearth was a tall three-legged wooden stool, and she draped her wet clothes over it before taking a seat in the rocking-chair and stretching her bare feet towards the flames.
Now she had a moment to think, she found herself dreading the coming night. Being stranded in an isolated cottage alone with Simon Farringdon was the worst possible thing that could have happened.
Though no doubt Sojo wouldn’t have thought so. ‘I’ll leave the rest to you and propinquity…’ The other girl’s voice seemed to echo in her head.
Shivering, though this time not from cold, Charlotte read herself the Riot Act. It was nobody’s fault that they were stranded here, and as nothing could be done about it before morning, it was no use getting panicky. All she had to do was keep her cool and everything would be all right.
Though he was a red-blooded male, and it was clear from the earlier incident in the car that he was sexually attracted to her, she was quite convinced that he wasn’t the kind of man who would try to force himself on her.
But then he wouldn’t need to.
She tried to refute the sobering thought, but was unable to. Better to face it and plan a strategy.
No matter how much he attracted her she wasn’t the type who could make the first move, so she should be relatively safe from her own impulses.
But suppose he turned up the heat?
Well, if he showed any sign of it she would just have to freeze him off, keep her defences intact and give no hint that she was vulnerable…
‘Hot chocolate?’
Charlotte hadn’t heard him coming, and she jumped.
‘Sorry if I startled you.’ He was wearing a wry expression and a short navy-blue towelling robe that showed five inches of wrist, strained across his wide shoulders, gaped at the chest and was only kept decent by a belt tied tightly around his lean waist.
Seeing her eyes widen, he explained, ‘Unfortunately Ben is barely five feet seven and built like a jockey, so this is the only thing I can get into.’
It looked so ludicrous that she gave a little choke of laughter.
‘You might well laugh,’ he said grimly.
‘I’m sorry.’ The apology was spoiled by another irrepressible chuckle.
His face relaxed into a grin, and a moment later his low, attractive laugh joined hers.
She was pleasantly surprised. Most of the men she knew hated to be laughed at, and certainly wouldn’t have been able to laugh at themselves.
Holding out one of the mugs he was carrying, Simon suggested, ‘Perhaps you’d like to take yours? If I bend over or make any sudden move, I will almost certainly offend your maidenly modesty.’
Feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, she accepted the steaming mug, and, heeding the timely warning, stared resolutely into the leaping flames.
The chocolate was good and hot and relaxing, and she rocked gently as she sipped, while Simon drank his leaning decorously against the stone mantel.
‘Warm enough?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Stifling a yawn, she glanced up at him. His hair, towelled back to its normal corn-colour, was attractively rumpled and the beginnings of a golden stubble adorned his jaw.
Fighting back a mad urge to rub her cheek against it and put her lips to the strong column of his throat, she stared fixedly at his broad chest.
As he flexed shoulders that must have been uncomfortably restricted his robe gaped even more, and, fascinated, she watched the ripple of muscles beneath the smooth, tanned skin.
Suddenly becoming aware that he was watching her watching him, she dragged her gaze away with an effort and looked back into the fire.
There was silence, apart from the sound of the wind and the rain beating against the windows, and the contented ticking of an old-fashioned carriage clock.
A log settled and broke and a small piece of burning wood fell into the hearth close to where he was standing.
As her eyes were drawn to the glowing ember, she saw that his bare feet were well-shaped with neatly clipped nails, his legs firm and straight with a light fuzz of golden hair.
Becoming aware that the robe barely reached his knees, and the front edges were parting company, she looked hastily away once more and, face burning, gulped the last of her hot chocolate.
He turned what might have been a laugh into a cough, before enquiring solicitously, ‘I hope it was to your liking?’
Determinedly ignoring any possible double entendre, she answered, ‘Yes, it was fine, thank you.’
‘It proved to be a choice between that and black coffee, and I thought coffee might keep you awake.’
He collected the empty mugs, and, taking her wet clothes from the stool, added, ‘Now the heater’s lit, if I spread these over the airing rack in the bathroom they’ll dry much faster.’
The warmth of the fire was soporific and in spite of everything she was practically asleep by the time he returned carrying clean sheets and pillowslips and a maroon and cream
