finger.
“What?” he asked as he put his coat on the back of another chair.
“I’m trying to decide if you’re being chivalrous with that suggestion or merely clever,” Eve said.
He smiled. “A man can be both.”
“Okay, you can prove that by helping me out of these boots. The leather is wet and they feel like they’ve become a second skin.” She took a seat and smiled up at him, managing to look prim and provocative at the same time.
He knelt because it was warranted and pushed up the damp hem of one pant leg so he could find the zipper on the side of the boot. The leather was high quality and soaked. He had a bad feeling her boots might be ruined.
“These aren’t exactly practical footwear for Denver winters,” he said.
“No, but they’re sexy as hell.”
She had a point. It took a little effort, but Dawson managed to free the boot from her foot. Though she hadn’t asked him to, he peeled off the damp stocking beneath it, revealing a set of chilly pink toes whose nails were painted fire-engine-red. He rubbed the foot between his hands, chafing some warmth into it and hoping to cool down his libido in the process. Since his first days of dating, he’d had a thing for red toenails on members of the opposite sex. He wasn’t sure why. Something about them screamed sexy. That was especially true in the winter when no one else was likely to see them. It made this glimpse more intimate and almost like a secret.
He groaned.
“Is your back giving you trouble?” Eve asked, sounding concerned. “I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to help me. Sorry. I can probably do this myself.”
“Oh, no.” He moved on to the other foot. “I’m fine.”
Dawson was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of fine, but he didn’t want to deny himself a single second of this sweet torture. So he performed the same ministrations on the second foot as he had on the first. And, even though he knew the nails on its toes would be painted red also, he felt a potent kick of lust upon seeing them.
Afterward, he put her boots over a heat vent on the floor and straightened. “I have a robe you can put on while your clothes are in the dryer.”
“Not offering to help me off with those, too?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Would you return the favor?”
She gave him a considering look, but said nothing.
Sweeping his arm, he said, “Right this way.”
Eve followed him down the hall, past the formal dining room, great room and study. She’d seen some of the rooms earlier today and on a previous visit, but she couldn’t help but be curious about the rest of the house. People’s homes said a lot about them. Dawson’s told of a fondness for fine things. All of the rooms were large and lushly appointed. She wouldn’t call the furnishings fussy or ornate, but they definitely were of the highest quality.
The bedrooms were located on the second floor, up a staircase that curved dramatically around the two-story foyer. Her nerves were humming along on high by the time they reached the master suite.
To one side of the room was a fireplace with its own cozy sitting area. She chose to concentrate on it rather than the king-sized bed. With the touch of a couple buttons, flames shot to life and soft lighting illuminated the room’s periphery.
“I think your bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment,” Eve remarked as Dawson disappeared into a large, walk-in closet. He emerged a moment later with a sumptuous terry cloth robe in one hand and a fresh change of clothes for himself in the other.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her the robe. “You can change in here. The bathroom is right through that door.” He backed up a step, looking endearingly flustered when he added, “I’ll just … uh … use one of the rooms down the hall.”
“Shall I meet you downstairs afterward?”
“Sure. I’ll start the cocoa.”
“Don’t forget the marshmallows,” she called as he was closing the door.
Alone, she made fast work of changing her clothes. She was shivering now, gooseflesh puckering her skin. Cold was the culprit rather than pent-up need. Still she wanted to blush when she recalled the wanton way she’d clung to him out in the snow. She hadn’t wanted to let go, knowing that once she did he would retreat again to that isolated prison he’d constructed out of guilt and grief. He hadn’t withdrawn completely, though his emotions were once again firmly in control.
The robe was too big. No surprise there, but the fact that it smelled like him had her insides curling. Eve turned up the sleeves and cinched the belt as tightly as she could, knotting it just to be on the safe side before gathering up her damp garments and returning downstairs. She found Dawson in the kitchen, standing in front of the six-burner gas stove. He was stirring a pan of milk. He glanced up at her arrival.
She felt suddenly shy. “Hi.”
He was dressed in jeans and a chamois-cloth shirt, which he’d left untucked. It was the most casual she’d ever seen him, and by far the most domestic. The wealthy and resourceful Dawson Burke was heating milk to make hot cocoa.
“Hi.” His gaze meandered down to her bare feet and she saw him swallow before he looked away. “I should have thought to give you a pair of socks.”
“I’ll be fine, especially if I can prop my feet in front of a fireplace. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of those in this house.”
“No. It has four. All of them gas.” He motioned for her to come closer. “Here. Why don’t you take over stirring while I throw your things in the dryer?”
“Are you sure you know how to operate one of those?” she asked dryly.
“I think I can figure it out.” Tongue in cheek, he added, “Of course, that’s assuming I can remember where the laundry room is.”
On a chuckle, she handed over her jeans and socks. “Only the back hem of my sweater was damp and since it’s cashmere, I left it to dry in front of the fireplace in your room along with some of the, um, more delicate items.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed a second time. “Okay.”
When he continued to stand rooted in place staring at her, Eve added, “The regular setting on the dryer is fine for those.”
Dawson cleared his throat. “Regular setting. Right.”
When the cocoa was ready they moved to the sitting room where Eve had sipped tea on her first visit to Dawson’s home. After he started the fire, she lowered herself to the rug just in front of the hearth. Making every effort to preserve her modesty, she put her feet as close to the flames as possible.
“Mmm,” she said on a sigh. “This feels wonderful.” Dawson was still standing. Eve glanced up at him. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”
“I was planning on using a chair.”
“Why would you
