don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never been up here when the power went out.”
She suddenly realized she was still standing deep inside his personal space, and that he still held her arms. “I—I need to get back to the kitchen, make sure the dogs and Cicero aren’t freaked out.”
“Yeah, I guess my car isn’t going to come inside out of the cold after all.”
“Do you need anything from it?”
There was a pause and she could have sworn it wasn’t a comfortable one, but given that she couldn’t see even a glimmer of his face, she couldn’t really tell.
“Nothing that can’t wait until morning.”
Whatever awkward pause Emma thought she’d detected was lost in the sudden intimacy of having a man talking about being there in the morning, his voice all deep and sexy, when they were—once again—all caught up inside each other’s personal space. Yeah. She really needed to stop that.
Clearing her throat, she stepped back, bumped into the passageway wall, stepped forward again, bumped into Trevor, who was reaching out to steady her. “Sorry,” she said, frustrated and, when he just chuckled, a little embarrassed. So much for getting outside the fog that seemed to envelop her every time he was near.
“Not to worry,” he said. He held on to one of her arms, then turned and pulled her hand to his waist. “Here, grab hold and we’ll feel our way back to the kitchen.” He pushed her hand so it slid down the rock-hard side of his torso to where his belt was looped through the waistband of his jeans. “Got me?”
If he only knew. Rubbing her hands all over him…not exactly helping her out at the moment. That he didn’t seem remotely aware of the personal nature of this kind of contact, or what it might be doing to her, didn’t make her feel much better, either. Apparently she was the only one who went into some kind of hormonal stupor when the two of them were close. Not all that surprising really, but still.
“Yeah,” she said, then cleared her throat when the word came out as a croak. “Go ahead. We need to check on the dogs.”
Her eyes had adjusted a little to the dark, but with almost no natural light filtering into the passageway, she couldn’t make out much more than his shadow in front of her.
She could feel his body heat through the fabric of his shirt, and how lean and hard his waist was as he moved in front of her. And how much she’d love to run her hands around to the front, to what was certainly to be his equally hard and flat stomach…then he’d pause, reach down and cover her hands, pull them more tightly around him, stop, and slide them around his waist, before tipping her chin up so he could dip his own down and—
“Watch your step,” he said, quite abruptly interrupting her little fantasy. “Kitchen straight ahead.”
She jerked her hand away. “I—I think I can take it from here. I have an emergency flashlight in my bag.”
“Handy. Why don’t you turn it on and we can root around for some candles or something, so you don’t burn your batteries out.”
“I’m just going to get Cicero settled, make sure the dogs are okay, then find my room.”
They bumped their way into the kitchen, where they were greeted by the cold noses and the enthusiastic whining of both dogs.
“Welcome!” Cicero called, sounding a bit panicky as he rustled in his cage.
“It’s okay,” Emma said, as she rubbed Martha’s body and crouched down to scratch Jack behind the ears. She stumbled her way to the counter and groped along, looking for her bag, but couldn’t find it. “I know I left it right here.”
“Left what?”
She jumped a little when she realized Trevor was right behind her. “My bag, with the flashlight.”
“Oh, you meant your shoulder bag? You—uh, I think you have it on your shoulder. At least you did when you walked out of the kitchen earlier.”
Even as he said it, she realized he was right. In all the commotion, she’d sort of managed to forget that little bit of information.
“I can’t find my glasses when they’re on my own head,” he told her, as she groped around inside her bag for the flashlight.
She appreciated him trying to make her feel better, but he didn’t know everything that had been going through her mind back there in the pitch black hallway. “You wear glasses?”
“For reading. Why?”
“No reason, just…no reason.” He struck her as this perfect, godlike specimen, so it just didn’t jibe that anything about him wasn’t functioning at one hundred percent. She wisely kept that part to herself. She found the flashlight and pulled it out, switched it on, casting them both in a small pool of yellow light.
“Not exactly industrial size,” he said, looking at the tiny beam. “But it should do the trick.”
“I—it’s for reading.” She started to explain that she liked to read and that she always carried a little flashlight as a sort of book light, but he already thought she was a dork. No need to give him further reason to be amused at her expense. “But it comes in handy for all sorts of things. I had a flat tire not too long ago in the middle of the night and—” She stopped. She was babbling. She never babbled. “Anyway, I’ll sit it here on the counter and take care of the bird, if you want to look for candles.” She propped it on its end so the beam of light cast upward, but it was so small, the glow didn’t really reach very far.
“Why don’t you take it and go cover Cicero for the night and get him settled, then I’ll take it and root around in the cupboards.
“I’m surprised there isn’t a generator,” Emma said. “In a house this size, out this far from town, I’m guessing power going out isn’t entirely unusual.”
“Maybe there is one but it has to be turned on manually.”
“I don’t recall seeing it in the book or addendums, but—”
“You mean the notebook you were carrying earlier?”
“Yes. Your Uncle Lionel compiled it, or had it compiled, to help guide me through my stay here.”
“And there are addendums?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, then realized she hadn’t sounded entirely kind, and hurried to add, “but it can never hurt to have too much information.”
Trevor chuckled. “Don’t worry, you didn’t offend. Lionel is nothing if not thorough with his attention to detail. At least when it suits him, anyway.”
Emma looked over at him. He was rummaging through the drawers that were closest to the light. She wondered what he’d meant by that last part. There’d been a slight edge to the dry amusement. She turned back to Cicero. “Okay, big guy, let’s get you your evening treat.”
“Snack for Cicero! Cicero is a pretty bird.”
He sounded a little less panicked, but still not settled. “Yes,
