you don’t find me attractive?”
“Apparently, flashy baubles aren’t the only thing you fish for.” She fixed him with an expression that he couldn’t quite read. He hoped he hadn’t offended her. “I find you very attractive.” He stood and walked over to her, removed the quilts one by one and placed them on the floor beside him. “So you should appreciate the restraint it will take for me to help get you out of these wet clothes without taking advantage of the fact that you are at my mercy.”
Teresa’s back stiffened. Her eyes blazed. “Don’t let the lipstick fool you. The size of my ankle may now be rivaling that of my head, but I still have enough wherewithal to defend myself. I have six rough-and-tumble brothers who’ve taught me to hold my own no matter what.”
“Even more reason for me to mind my manners. If you’d like, I can carry you to the bathroom and bring in something for you to wear. They won’t bear designer labels, but they will be warm and dry.”
“Yes. I’d appreciate that.”
He lifted her and, once again, a surge of electricity seemed to swirl around them. Her lips, so close to the neck she’d imagined nuzzling against last night, ached to make contact. Being in his arms made her feel safe and loved. Teresa closed her eyes against the emotions that unexpectedly surged in her chest. Have eight months without sex left you this horny, Teresa, feening for a man that you hardly know? A handsome man, no less, one who looked as though were he trapped in the wilderness, he could kill a bear, start a fire and cook its meat—in other words, a man who could take care of his family as well as himself.
Stop being pathetic.
The bathroom surprised her. With the room they’d just left being so rustic, the slate-tile floor, separate shower with rain showerhead and large, soaking tub was unexpected.
“Are you sure you can manage?”
“I’ll try.”
He put down the toilet lid and sat her down. “If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”
He closed the door and took a breath. The scent wafting up from Teresa’s warm flesh had his body reacting like a schoolboy’s. It had taken every ounce of self-discipline to prevent a full-on hard-on. He walked briskly to the kitchen, pulled a bottle of cold water from the fridge and drank half in one gulp. The water assuaged his thirst but did nothing for the flame of desire raging in his body. Lying to himself would serve no purpose. He wanted to ravish her mouth, taste every part of her body.
But he couldn’t. Not only was the woman a stranger with a possible agenda, she was injured. He would never take advantage of anyone during their time of weakness. No matter how soft yet strong at the same time. No matter how sexy.
“Excuse me?”
Six strong strides and he was back at the door. “Yes, Teresa.”
“I, um, I need your help.”
He braced himself, opened the door and took in the problem immediately. The desire that stabbed him in the groin was tempered by the helpless look in her doe-brown eyes. He crossed over, knelt before her and reached for the hem of her jeans.
“Why do you women like wearing your pants so tight? I’m not complaining,” he hurriedly added. “It’s just what’s causing the problem right now.”
“It’s a magic material called spandex. The pants look tight but aren’t. Plus, they flatter almost every figure. That’s why they’re so pop—ouch!”
“I’m so sorry.” He looked up at her. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ruin your favorite pants. Your ankle is too swollen to get the pant leg over.”
He kept his eyes on the pant hem. Up any farther, to her bared knee or, heaven forbid, the flawless thigh above it and the creamy rounded hip he glimpsed that alluded to a thong being worn in place of panties, and keeping a rein on his libido would be at serious risk.
“That’s fine. Whatever I have to do to get back on the couch and elevate my foot. It’s starting to throb again.”
Her words sent him into action. He went to a cabinet for scissors and made quick work of ridding Teresa of her pants.
Had he known how his body would react at the sight of her near nakedness, he would have gone more slowly.
“Let me get you something to wear.”
He walked over to the closet and came back with a flannel shirt. “This is all I have. I hope it’s enough. I don’t keep much here and usually only bring clothes for a couple days.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you.”
For the second time, he left Teresa alone in the bathroom. Atka wasn’t a drinker. But right now he needed a stiff drink to calm down his stiff member. He went to the cabinet and was thankful to see a bottle of wine on the shelf. Pulling down the bottle and a couple wineglasses, he knew one thing for sure.
It was going to be a long night.
A short time later, a flanneled, warm and dry Teresa was once again sitting on the couch, slowly sipping tea that had been steeping. “Yuck! What’s in this stuff?”
Atka laughed out loud. “Hey, I’m impressed that you didn’t spit it out. That’s happened more than once.” With chopped garlic, onions and green peppers at the ready, he reached for a package of meat, dumped the contents into a bowl and began to season it. “Emaaq has never revealed the entire recipe, but it is inspired by a well-known brew in our community called tundra tea, which comes from the Labrador tea plant. It also contains wormwood, which will help to lessen the inflammation from the sprain, and yarrow root, which will relieve the pain and make you sleepy. Not so that I can take advantage of you, but because sleep is a healer. Those are a couple of several herbs and roots she’s combined in this concoction.”
“Who’s Emma?”
“The word is emaaq. It means grandmother in the Yupik language.”
“Oh. This tea came from her?”
“Yes.”
“Are your traditions similar to that of Native Americans’?”
“Some are.”
She continued to sip the tea, watching as Atka diced the meat and placed it in the pot containing the onion mixture before chopping potatoes and onions to go in, as well.
“It smells good. Did your emaaq teach you how to cook?”
“Both of my grandparents cook, and quite well.”
“I think I’m starting to feel the effects of your grandmother’s brew.”
He turned. “How is your ankle?”
She smiled. Her eyelids lowered into a come-hither look Atka was sure Teresa did not mean to convey. But he wanted to obey
