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
