the warm, golden sands on New Guinea beaches. The curve of her breasts mimicked the lush, rolling hills of the Argentine pampas. And those red glints in her dark curls were like the fiery, predawn rays of the sun as it rose over the Himalayas.
But when his gaze dropped to her legs, no geographical reference could do them justice. Those achingly long, sensuous legs reminded him of the libido-searing Rod Stewart song “Hot Legs.”
Was that a tattoo on her ankle?
At first he thought it was a flower unfolding, then realized it was a chocolate being unwrapped. A chocolate kiss. He licked his lips, aching for just a drop of that chocolate to whet his parched soul.
“Are you all right?” asked Bree.
“No,” he croaked.
“If you’d feel better,” Bree said softly, “I’ll slip back into bed, get under the covers.”
Better? He doubted he could feel any better except…if…
Whoa, boy, put a lock on it. You’re getting married in two days. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes.
This had to be the result of the week-long dig he’d just finished. All that time alone, with nothing but prairie dogs and lizards for company, a man was bound to go whacko for a little chocolate drawing on an ankle.
In the silence, Kirk heard her tread softly across the carpet. Then the squeak of the bed as she settled in. And he tried to keep his mind trained on the lodge’s wooden walls, upon which crookedly hung a framed print of a bear pawing a stream for salmon.
But no matter what he tried to focus on, his just-turned-bad-boy mind kept returning to the image of those long, tan legs and chocolate-tattooed ankle, stretching and twisting in the warm dark under those seductively soft covers.
Why had he been born a paleobotanist? Oh what he’d give for a moment as a plain ol’ blanket conforming to the shape and warmth of Bree.
Breeeeee. The sound of her name was like the wind. Bree. Breeezy. With a soulful lilt, like in that Beatles song “Let It Be.” Let it Bree. Let me lick that little chocolate on your ankle for the rest of my life…
Bree tucked the blanket under her chin and peered at Kirk. He seemed oddly off balance, as though he might topple over any moment.
“Kirk, you look a little unsteady. Need some water?”
“Chocolate.”
“What?”
He coughed. “Uh, water. Right. Need water.”
“Okay, I’ll go grab a glass in the bathroom, get you—”
“No!”
He still stood with his back to her. “I’ll get it. Stay put. And cover up.”
He returned a moment later, downing a glass of water like a parched man, staring at her with wide blue eyes. He was so flustered, so red-faced, she suddenly got it.
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous about seeing me in my undies. We’ve already been through this.”
“Not nervous. Not anymore.”
Maybe he said he wasn’t nervous, but he looked positively mortified. “Aren’t you used to seeing naked women?” She almost said, aren’t you used to seeing your fiancée naked? but figured that was getting into overly personal terrain.
“You weren’t naked—just nearly naked.”
Maybe Kirk was a throwback to another century where men were polite, discreet, and the wedding night was the first time they…
Wow. She didn’t know men like that existed in today’s world. And to think she, small-town girl from even smaller-town Chugwater, possibly knew more about the birds and the bees than Mr. Big City!
“Well, I’m all covered now, so it’s a moot point,” she announced.
Kirk put the glass aside, shot her a feeble smile, then backed up to the couch and fell into a sitting position. Avoiding looking at her face, he scraped his hand across his stubbled chin as though he’d just finished an incredibly long and exhausting journey.
“Wish I had a glass of warm milk,” he rasped. He looked at her, his eyes burning as though he were running a fever.
“Maybe that café’s still open?”
“At 3:00 a.m.?”
“Maybe those Harley people have some.”
“Very funny. Obviously one of us has gotten some sleep.”
Bree jerked her thumb toward the window. “Two.”
Kirk looked outside at Val. “Okay, Val’s gotten some sleep-eye too, lucky bull.” Kirk narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Hmm, maybe I should take your bull to those bikers’ rooms, position him behind me while I ask if they could please keep it down.”
“That’d work,” Bree said with a smile. “Val has a reputation for clearing out places. Once he accidentally kicked over a vat of chili at the Chugwater Chili festival—that sent people running! But his kicking was my fault. I’d accidentally brushed against his back left leg, which is our signal for him to kick out his right leg. It’s a little trick I taught him. Another time he got loose in downtown Chugwater and tore into Mary Jane Tock’s beauty parlor. The street was instantly filled with shrieking women in hair curlers and blue face masks.” Bree giggled.
Kirk chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s just what the Sundance Lodge needs in the wee hours of the morning. A bunch of hysterical bikers running amok in the parking lot.”
Bree laughed louder, liking how the two of them were sharing a fun moment. This sure beat the hell out of Kirk’s mortification…or her paranoia that thugs were knocking at her door.
Speaking of which…
“Hey, you know what?” she said, trying to sound as though she’d just had this great idea. “Why don’t you stay on the couch in here tonight? That way, you’ll hardly hear those bikers.” And I’d have a built-in bodyguard. She looked him over in his rumpled hair, flannel shirt and threadbare jeans.
Too bad those pickaxes are still in the truck.
Well, still, he’d be an extra body in case those thugs showed up. And two bodies, plus a bull, were better odds against two thugs.
In the distance, something crashed, followed by the syrupy sound of drunken laughter.
Kirk blew out a puff of air as he looked toward the far wall. “Think I’ll take you up on your offer. At least the sounds are more muted in here.”
Bree snuggled down in her bed, bunching up the pillow under her head, feeling the happiest she had in hours. She wasn’t alone, she had a roof over her head, she and Val had a place to sleep, and tomorrow, ah sweet tomorrow, she’d be back home in Chugwater. Kirk had mentioned that his buddy in Denver, a guy named George who owned a cattle trailer, could drive her and her bull
