she yelled, and covered her face with her hands on the off chance that he didn’t heed her warning. She didn’t want to deal with all that naked masculinity. A three-piece suit she could handle, but not this.
“You okay, darlin’?” he asked from the porch. That lazy, deep voice brushed across her senses like the spring breezes across winter’s icy embrace, releasing a flood of longings that she thought she’d buried.
She said nothing, only pulled her knees to her chest and hid her face against them. She felt the need to cry, to laugh, to rail against a merciless God who would send her to the one person she couldn’t ask for help. A man who spoke with a deep Texan drawl and probably knew these mountains like the back of his hand. A man who made her thoughts scatter like leaves in a windstorm. A man, she thought as she heard him approach, who was standing next to her, naked and dripping wet. She sighed, biting back the hysterical laughter that she felt bubbling up in her stomach.
A large, rough hand touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Keeping her face covered, Miranda said, “No—I mean yes. Yes, I’m fine.” She wanted to stand but couldn’t unless she uncovered her face. “Are you decent?”
“I’ve got clothes on,” he said with a deep, rich chuckle that filled the meadow with its sound. Cautiously she peered through her fingers, grateful that he now wore the jeans that had been a dark puddle on the wooden porch only moments before. She sighed in relief.
His bare chest was still wet and small droplets of water clung to the matted hair. A longing welled up inside of her to touch his damp chest. She knew she was staring but somehow couldn’t stop. Miranda shook herself out of the trance this man seemed to have cast over her. She wasn’t a woman ruled by impulses, especially irrational ones, she reminded herself.
Reaching down to clasp her arm above the elbow, he hauled her to her feet. “What are you doing on my property?”
“I’m lost.”
She stared into eyes the color of chocolate. Despite the grin on his face, his expression wasn’t welcoming and warm, but filled instead with a desolation that her soul recognized. Part of her wanted to reach out to someone whose wounds were as deep as hers, but common sense told her to keep her distance. How could this tall, lean mountain man have anything in common with her?
He stared at her for so long that Miranda was afraid she’d ripped her clothing in the fall or rubbed dirt on her face during the long trek to his cabin. She brushed her hand across her cheeks and nose before trying to tame her wild mane into something that looked normal, less like a Halloween wig.
“Oh, darlin’, I think I’m the one lost”
His gentle smile and playful wink caught her off guard. The words dripped over her like honey on a warm biscuit. Tempting, sweet promises she’d regret believing later.
Despite her predicament, she smiled at him before realizing what she was doing. Country charm beat city sophistication any day. She shrugged the thought aside and gathered her senses as best she could.
“I’ve rented a cabin near here from the Mountain Lake Lodge. Can you direct me to it?” Her gourmet groceries were scattered across the lawn looking as out of place as she felt. Miranda gathered them quickly. The paper sack torn beyond repair, she glanced around helplessly.
“I’ll go one better and take you there.” He walked back to the porch. His long-legged stride captured her attention. She stared against her better judgment as he sat down on the wood deck. Sticking his cigar in his mouth, he pulled on battered cowboy boots. “I’ve got some extra brown bags. I’ll get one for you.”
Miranda watched him disappear inside the cabin. He looked as though he’d be more at home riding the range than in the mountains of North Carolina. Still he seemed to fit in here as if he were sure of the environment and his place in it
“Where’s your car?” he asked when he came back with the bags. A faded denim shirt now covered the tattoo, but allowed her to glimpse the muscles of his chest as he bent and picked up a few of the scattered items on the ground.
She wondered what his hard flesh would feel like beneath her fingers or pressed against her breasts. Get a grip, Miranda. He’s a stranger.
“Down the hill. I didn’t realize the incline would be so steep.” She glanced quickly at her groceries trying to ascertain that nothing embarrassing had been in the bag.
“I’ll take you back to get the car first.” He passed a box of chocolate-covered biscotti and gourmet espresso beans to her.
“You don’t have to,” she said, hating to be dependent on anyone—especially a man. They always expected something in return. She shoved the items into the brown bag without looking at them. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be fine.”
He took the cigar from his mouth and she watched the smoke as he exhaled. She was fascinated by the spiral and his obvious enjoyment of the tobacco product. The pungent smell didn’t bother her at all, she realized.
“I don’t mind taking you,” he said. The expression on his face was determined.
Miranda knew that he planned to help her whether she wanted him along or not. She was annoyed by his assumption that she needed his help—but the challenge in those chocolate brown eyes persuaded her to hold her temper. She doubted many people got the better of this man, and after the trials she’d been through today, she didn’t have the heart for a battle.
“This mountain is dangerous, darlin’,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “Especially to inexperienced vacationers. Besides, the sooner I get you to your cabin the sooner you’ll be out of my hair. No offense, ma’am. but I like my privacy.”
Miranda didn’t bother to correct his impression that she was on vacation. Let him think what he wanted. Hopefully after today they wouldn’t see each other again. She made a mental note to send him a box of cigars, and replied stiffly, “Thank you. If you’re determined to act as a guide, can we leave? I don’t want to get caught in this storm.”
“Sure thing, darlin’.”
Working quickly they gathered up the rest of her groceries and Miranda tossed them into the sack. She tried to ignore the fact that the man’s jeans clung to his body like a second skin. Tried to ignore that the brush of his fingers against the back of her hand kindled an awareness she’d never experienced before. Tried to ignore that her body recognized in him something her mind wouldn’t accept
Thunder rumbled and streaks of distant lightning filled the sky. Miranda shivered in response. She was in trouble, even if he helped her back to the car and gave her directions. If the Mercedes had cooled enough to start, she’d still never make it to the cabin without getting drenched.
“That lightning’s still far off, darlin’. We’ll make it to your car.”
“My name’s Miranda Colby,” she said coolly. She hated being called by a generic endearment like darlin’. She wanted to be polite to him because he was going out of his way to help her but she resented his condescending tone.
“Luke Romero,” he said extending one large hand to her. The skin on his palm felt rough against her own and she involuntarily tightened her fingers. Slowly she released his hand, hating to lose the warmth, the security offered by that brief polite action.
