might be spared being returned to his country to face a firing squad.
He shifted against her. “You are too kind, fair forest sprite.”
“Aren’t I, though,” she grumbled. Lucky for him she couldn’t let him die of hypothermia or wander off a cliff in the dark.
Lightning illuminated the landscape, the line shack appearing for an instant out of the rain and darkness. She stumbled toward the structure, staggering under the man’s drunken weight as thunder boomed overhead.
“I owe you a great debt,” he said as she shoved open the line shack door. “How shall I ever repay you?”
Chapter Three
Rain pounded the tin roof overhead as Rory closed the line shack door behind them. It was pitch-black in the small room except for the occasional flashes of lightning that shot through the holes in the chinking. Earsplitting booms of thunder reverberated through the shack.
Teeth chattering, Rory untangled herself from the groom and eased him to the floor beside the horse blanket. He slumped against the wall, shuddering from the cold, his eyes half-closed, making her aware of his long dark lashes—and the fact that he looked as if he was about to pass out.
Thunder rumbled overhead again, and she shivered from the cold—and her aversion to storms. She could feel the damp seeping into her bones. She was going to have to get out of her wet clothes, and quickly. So was he. And they had only the one blanket.
Fortunately, the groom looked harmless enough.
“You need to take off your wet clothing,” she informed him over the pounding rain.
No response. She kicked off her boots, then started to unbutton her jeans in the dark of the cabin. She heard a thump and in a flash of lightning saw the groom had fallen over onto his side. He was curled up, shaking from the cold and apparently out like a light.
“Great.” She cursed and knelt down to shake him lightly. The lashes parted, the blue behind them clearly fighting to focus on her as another shaft of light from the storm penetrated the slits between the logs. “Your clothes. They’re wet,” she said enunciating each syllable.
He grinned, pushed himself up and attempted to unbutton his shirt, but she saw in the flickering light from the storm that he was shivering too hard to do the job.
“Here, let me help you,” she said, pushing his ice-cold fingers away to work at the buttons.
“I’m afraid my life is in your hands, my fair forest sprite.” His eyelids drooped again, and she had to catch him to keep him upright.
“You should be afraid,” she said, her own fingers trembling from the cold as she unbuttoned the dozens of tiny buttons on his fancy shirt.
As the storm raged over their heads, she pulled him forward to slip the fabric off one broad shoulder, then the other. His muscles rippled across his chest and stomach, a trail of dark curly hair dipping in a V to the waist of his riding britches.
She half turned away as she removed his britches. He slid down the wall to the floor, eyes fluttering open for a moment. Britches off, he drew the horse blanket to him, curled up and closed those blue eyes again.
Two seconds later he was snoring softly.
“Just like a man,” she muttered as she stripped down to her underwear. She was chilled to the core and he had the horse blanket.
She stared down at the man for a moment. He had passed out, obviously having consumed more than his share of alcohol. Outside, the storm wasn’t letting up. There was little chance it would before morning. She was stuck there, and while she didn’t mind sharing what little she had—the shack and her only dry horse blanket—she was piqued by the groom.
As drunk as he was, he’d had no business riding a horse, and she intended to tell him so first thing in the morning.
In the meantime…She knelt down next to him, gave him a nudge. He didn’t budge. Nor did he quit snoring. Sliding under the edge of the blanket with her back to him, she shoved him over.
“Blanket hog,” she muttered.
He let out a soft, unintelligible murmur, his warm breath teasing the tender skin at the back of her neck as he snuggled against her. She started to pull away, but his body felt fairly warm and definitely very solid, even the soft sound of his snoring reassuring. At least the man was good for something.
As much as she had grumbled and complained, the truth was she didn’t mind having company tonight. As she began to warm up, she almost forgot about the storm raging around them as she closed her eyes and snuggled against him, drifting off to sleep.
RORY WOKE to the sound of her horse’s whinny. Aware of being wonderfully warm, as if wrapped in a cocoon, the last thing she wanted to do was open her eyes.
Her horse whinnied again close by. Confused, since her horse should have been out by the barn some distance from her ranch house, she opened her eyes a slit.
Three things hit her at once.
She wasn’t in her bed at the ranch.
There was an arm around her, a body snuggled behind her.
And she was naked.
Rory froze, listening to the man’s soft, steady breathing as the events of the previous night came back in a rush. The storm, the shack, the groom she’d taken in out of the goodness of her heart.
But she was absolutely certain she had been wearing her undergarments, as skimpy as they were, when she’d lain down next to him last night. She recalled snuggling against him under the blanket to get warm…
She let out a silent curse as she recalled drowsily coming, half-awake, during the night to what she’d first thought was an erotic dream.
He stirred behind her, his warm breath tickling her bare shoulder, his arm tightening around her, one large hand cupping her left breast.
With a silent groan, it all came back, every pleasurable dreamlike moment of it, up until she’d awakened to the shock of her life.
She wasn’t in the habit of waking with a stranger in her bed, let alone with a stranger on the floor of a shack under a horse blanket after having wild wanton sex.
This was all Bryce’s fault. After breaking off her engagement with him four years ago, she’d been gun-shy of men. But then, who could blame her?
Blaming Bryce for this made her feel a little better. And of course there were other factors to blame: the storm, her fear of storms, the intimacy of the dark shack, the closeness of their near-naked bodies, the need for warmth to survive, Bryce again and that other need she’d ignored for obviously too long.
Not to mention trying to run the ranch single-handedly. She hadn’t had time to date even though she’d had a few offers. Shoot, she’d bet everyone in the county was laying odds that she would end up a spinster. After all, she was nearly thirty.
Not that any of that was an excuse. She had her principles. And sleeping with a royal groom, whose name she
