walked over and sat on the edge of the cot, prompting her to scurry back as far as she could. The wall felt cold against her shoulder blades, but the alternative would have been to touch him, and that was out of the question. She could already smell him—a cold, fresh-air scent mixed with raw masculinity and clean sweat. His dark eyes had never looked more intense as he took his time gazing at her features.
In a low, awe-filled voice, he asked, “How the hell did you manage to hide so much hair in that tight little knot you usually wear?” His gaze followed the length of one long curl as it rippled over her shoulder, almost to her lap. Words beyond her, Virginia squirmed under his scrutiny.
He reached out and twined a thick strand around his finger. “I’ve never seen hair like yours.”
Virginia jerked, then winced at the tug on her hair. Dillon released her.
He chewed the side of his mouth, all the while studying her. “I was outside chopping wood. I meant to be in here when you woke up so you wouldn’t be frightened. But as you can see, the only heat we’re going to have here is from the fireplace and stove.”
“Let me go.”
“No.” He pulled the bandanna off and used it to wipe his face. His long hair fell free and she caught another whiff of that enticing scent unique to him. “After I finish splitting the wood, I’ll put on some soup or something and you can eat. I’ll have you comfortable soon enough.”
No longer was he the man she knew. He didn’t act or move or speak like the old Dillon. There was no feigned deference, no show of politeness. He told her what he would do, and seemed to think she’d simply accept it.
But her mind shied away from that, from the ramifications of being stolen away by a man she didn’t know—this man. So she skipped the questions clamoring uppermost in her mind and concentrated on another, more immediate one. “Where are my clothes, you bastard?”
He made a tsking sound, amusement bright in his eyes. “Such language, and from a lady of your standing.”
Without thought, she swung at him, her burst of anger overshadowing her better judgment. When he caught her fist, he was grinning with genuine humor. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am you’re not wailing and crying and shivering in fear.” He moved, flipping her down on the bed and catching her other fist, too, as she swung it. He leaned over her, his big body hot and hard, covering her own. In a whisper, he said, “Don’t fight me, Virginia. You can’t win.”
His gaze bore into hers, and he was so close she felt his every breath. Then, suddenly, he sat up and moved away. The racing of her heart and the jumping of her stomach refused to subside. She didn’t move, too intent on trying to calm herself from what felt like a tussle with a large male animal. Which wasn’t far from the truth.
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