He caught it against his chest with one hand.
“Wrap yourself in that until your clothes dry,” she said before turning her back to him and returning to the stove. Steeping the herbs gave her a much-needed distraction. It probably wouldn’t have been considered proper for her to blatantly observe him as he stripped the rest of the way down. No matter how badly she wanted to.
“Are you hungry?” she asked without turning around.
“If you’re offering to share whatever is creating that wonderful aroma, I would be thrilled to accept,” he replied.
Though her body wound tighter and tighter as she sensed him coming near, she did her best not to show it. He stepped up beside her, his great height making it easy for him to lean over her shoulder and get a peek at what she was doing. “Are you brewing tea?” His rich, velvety voice deepened with a hopeful note.
Glancing at him, she was immediately distracted by a broad expanse of naked male torso.
She’d expected him to wrap the blanket around his shoulders, holding it together in front of him. But it appeared he’d opted for wrapping the blanket around his waist instead. To be fair, the man was so tall and large, there was a good chance the blanket wouldn’t have covered much if he’d tried it the other way. Still, having to endure his company while he stood in all his half-naked glory—and it was glorious—was not going to be easy on her nerves.
Maybe she should have saved some of her father’s clothes after he’d died. There hadn’t seemed to be any reason to keep them at the time, but now that there was a nearly naked man in her cabin…some extra clothes would have come in handy.
She shifted her gaze back up to his, noticing just then that his eyes were a surprisingly dark shade of gray. Like the summer storm clouds that rolled powerfully over the mountains in August. Dark gray with nearly black outer rims and tiny silver flecks throughout. He had breathtaking eyes…
Eyes that were currently staring at her rather closely. “I haven’t had a decent cup of tea in ages.”
The anticipation of pleasure was evident in the velvety texture of his voice, which in turn gave rise to the delicate hairs on the nape of her neck and down her arms. As a direct response to the sudden assault on her senses, her next words came out sharper than she’d intended. “It’ll be a while longer before you do. This tea includes herbs that will help fight onset of fever, but it won’t exactly be pleasing to taste.”
“Pity,” he replied, his voice lowering with disappointment.
She stepped away from him to reach into an upper cupboard for two large tin bowls and a couple eating utensils. Earlier, while he’d been fumbling through his construction of a shelter, she’d brought up some onions, potatoes, and wild garlic from the cellar dug out beneath the cabin and had thrown it all together with fresh rabbit from one of her snares.
Turning back to hand him one of the bowls and a spoon, she nodded toward the stew pot hanging over the fire. “You can help yourself.”
His lips spread in a charming smile as he took the bowl in one hand while extending his other. “Since we’ll be sharing a meal, it seems only proper that I introduce myself. Most people around here like to call me Gentleman George.”
She waited for him to continue, then realized he wasn’t planning on offering her anything more.
She wiped her hands on the cloth beside her, then matched her palm to his. “Lucy.”
His fingers wrapped firmly around hers as his smile widened. “Charmed,” he replied, his voice low and lovely.
Doing her best not to be affected by the way his focused attention made her insides tingle, she replied, “I get the sense I’m the one who is supposed to be charmed.”
His chuckle was swift and rich, rolling from his chest. “Only if you want to be.”
A heavy gust of wind rattled the cabin despite the heavy wooden covers she’d latched tight to protect the glass, effectively chasing away her physical reaction to that rich-textured rumble.
Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to head to town today for a few extra supplies. The storm was shaping up to be one helluva blizzard.
“I should check on Thistle,” the man beside her murmured.
“Thistle?” she asked.
“My horse.”
“Your mare is fine,” she replied, turning away from the warmth in his eyes. “Go on and eat.”
Fortunately, he did as she said.
Once the herbal brew was sufficiently steeped, she poured it into her father’s old mug and turned back toward the hearth to see that her guest had taken a seat in her father’s reading chair. She and her father had never made use of the small table and chairs they used to have for dining, so they’d ended up throwing them on the fire one cold winter.
As she reached his side, the man who’d called himself Gentleman George rose to his feet. It was unexpected and resulted in much closer proximity than she’d intended as she handed him the tea.
“Thank you,” he said smoothly with another one of his ready smiles.
She frowned in response and took her bowl to the stew pot, dishing up some supper before turning toward her own chair.
Except…he was still standing…in front of his chair, one hand cupping the bowl, the other wrapped around the hot mug. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Waiting for you to be seated.”
Lucy gave a quiet snort. “That’s ridiculous. Sit down.”
George smiled and gave a shallow bow. “After you.”
She tensed, wondering if he was mocking her. “You don’t have to bring out your pretty manners for me.”
“Sometimes pretty manners are all a gentleman has left,” he replied with a telling glance at the blanket around his waist.
Lucy’s lips twitched, but she chose to let the matter drop as she took a seat.
For a good length of time they sat in awkward silence, side by side, watching the fire burn as they ate their stew.
Lucy wished she could say it was reminiscent of her meals with her father, but eating beside this man was anything but familiar. She’d never been so aware of another person in her life. She seemed to feel every shift of his body in her father’s old chair, every turn of his head when he looked in her direction. Despite her hyperawareness, it jolted her a little when his voice broke the extended silence.
“I’m surprised we haven’t previously encountered each other since we live so close,” he said with a slight tilt of his burnished head.
“I make it a point to avoid outlaws,” she replied without looking up from her bowl.
He chuckled. “That’s probably a good policy.”
Lucy gave him a curious glance. “You don’t deny it?”
“Being an outlaw?” he asked. Then he shrugged, drawing Lucy’s attention to his shoulders before she could regain control of her wayward gaze. “I’m not generally one to be bothered by other people’s opinions of me.”
“Being an outlaw isn’t exactly a matter of opinion.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “The truth is, we’re about far more than just robbing stagecoaches and kidnapping wealthy ladies.”
“Kidnapping?” She had known the gang that had taken up residence in the nearby valley had committed various robberies of stagecoaches and train cargos over the years, but this was the first she’d heard of kidnapping.
He tilted one corner of his mouth. “More like rescued, actually.”
“They’re hardly the same thing,” she argued.
He grinned broadly. The action caused a flutter in her belly. “In this case they were. I assure you, the lady is quite content with her new circumstances.”
“If that’s what you have to tell yourself…” she replied, allowing her voice to trail off.
“For a woman who’d prefer to avoid outlaws, you were rather quick to offer shelter to one. Why is that?”
Lucy refused to look at him. She couldn’t exactly tell him it was because she liked the rolling cadence of his accent, or—God forbid—that she was lonely and thought having a handsome man sharing her fire might be a nice change. “Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with a frozen corpse so close to my cabin,” she suggested before spooning a mouthful of food past her lips.
“Hmm, I suppose that could be the reason,” he said in a lowered tone. “Or perhaps you have a secret desire to lure a big, ginger half-Scotsman into your lair where you can order him to strip off his clothes and have your way with him.”
She knew he’d said it just to get a reaction out of her. She hoped the uncertain firelight wouldn’t reveal anything in her expression as she met his mischievous gaze with a narrowed look. “No.”
His eyes crinkled, and his lips tipped in a half grin. “Just wanted to be sure.”
The timbre of his words caused her belly to flop like a fish just pulled from the river. “You’re awfully bold for a man who claims to be a gentleman,” she observed.
He gave a shrug. “Gentlemen outlaws are allowed a slightly different set of rules.”
“Well, I have only one rule,” she replied. “Any man who dares touch me without an express invitation to do so becomes intimately acquainted with my knife. If you hadn’t interfered in town, you’d have witnessed an example firsthand.”
His russet brows arched in surprise. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognized me.”
“If I hadn’t,” she answered, “you’d still be freezing to death in your nest of twigs.”
“Whoa, now just a moment,” he exclaimed, sitting straight in his chair. “I was rather proud of that place. It was the very first house I ever built for myself.”
Lucy couldn’t stop the corner of her lips from twitching at his exaggerated indignation. “I suggest it be your last.”
He pressed his hand over his heart as he dropped his head back against the chair. Firelight reflected off his masculine forehead, straight nose, and square jaw, casting his features in a strong, almost medieval light as his stormy gray eyes peered at her from beneath lowered eyelids. The tone of his voice dipped even lower, as though he were in pain. “You wound me, lass.”
The heavy drama in his voice had Lucy chuckling despite herself.
Something in her laugh seemed to trigger a shift in the man beside her. The muscles in his large body tensed, and his eyes darkened despite the silver flame that sparked to life in their depths. Lucy’s momentary burst of humor was swiftly replaced by a very different sensation.
It was not the first time she’d seen such a look in a man’s eyes, but it was the first time it inspired something inside her beyond wary trepidation or flat annoyance.
Heat roared through her body, melting her insides and weakening her resistance. Her breath came short, and her belly twisted in a delicious fashion.
It was desire.
The only problem was…she had no idea what to do with it.
She rose swiftly to her feet. “Not yet,” she finally replied, her voice curt as she turned back toward the kitchen, “but keep up your nonsense and I might.”
Four
George cleared his throat, forcing himself to stare at the fire rather than watch her walk away.
The sound of the woman’s soft laugh had nearly done him in. He’d never heard anything so sultry and rich. It soaked into his body like warm honey into freshly baked bread. It was the kind of sound that put him in mind of kisses exchanged before a glowing hearth and sensual secrets shared beneath an oversize quilt. He hadn’t been able to hide his thoughts when she’d looked at him.
He hadn’t wanted to, to be honest.
But her reaction was exactly as it should have been—as he should have expected.
George was an accomplished flirt. It was something he’d been practicing since he was a boy in Berwickshire. He’d discovered early that females liked his boyish grin and irreverent charm. And he’d made the most of it, in a hedonistic search for endless pleasures as a young man, and more recently in service to the gang of outlaws of which he counted himself a member. His rakish manner was his specialty, and he’d learned to employ it well.
He wouldn’t deny that he found Lucy very desirable indeed. She was a beautiful, capable, fascinating woman. Whether she’d admit it or not, by taking him in, she’d allowed herself to be in a vulnerable position.
He’d never do anything to dishonor that trust.
“I didn’t keep Pa’s bed after he died, but I can get you some furs to make a pallet on the floor in front of the fire,” she said as she crossed from the kitchen behind him to the ladder that went up to the loft.
George knew he probably shouldn’t find so much pleasure in watching her lithe, slim-muscled form climb the ladder. He was dedicated to being a gentleman, but he was still a man. To keep himself from indecently admiring her lovely, curved backside, he asked, “How long has your father been gone?”
“A few winters now.”
There was just a hint of melancholy in her voice, but George picked up on it. “You miss him?” he asked as she disappeared into the shadows of the loft.
“Sometimes,” she admitted from the darkness. “But more often, I forget that he isn’t coming back. When he was alive, he was always out trekking the mountains on his own. I grew accustomed to his absences… It’s the lack of an anticipated return that strikes the hardest at times.”
She returned to the edge of the loft, leaning her head out over the edge. “Here. Catch.”
George rose to his feet just in time to catch a heap of soft furs she tossed down.
“That should be enough to keep you warm,” she said as she ambled back down the ladder.
George looked at her over the armful of various furs. “Where do you sleep?” She lifted a brow, and he clarified with a smile. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to put you out by taking anything you might be in need of.”
“I’ll be fine. Go ahead and get settled. I’m just going to take care of a few things before I turn in.”
George watched her cross the cabin to retrieve her heavy layered coat from where it hung by the door. “You’re going outside?” he asked incredulously.
“Just for a few moments. Don’t worry,” she said with a glance from beneath her shadowed hood. “You’ll be perfectly safe while I’m gone.”
She paused to grab a couple wooden buckets, then reached for the door. As soon as she opened it, a billow of wind and swirling snow forced the door wide before she caught it again and drew it shut tight behind her.
George stood in indecision. The rules of gentlemanly behavior that had been instilled in him from a young age urged him to throw on his clothes and boots and go after her. It was full night outside, and the blizzard sounded even fiercer than it had earlier.
But he was pretty sure he’d only be a hindrance, so he did as she instructed and started laying out the furs in front of the fire. By the time he finished, his temporary bed looked more luxurious than anything he’d slept in since he’d left home as young man.
Perhaps even longer than that.
The manor had certainly never had furs on the beds. Or at least not for the last few centuries.
Checking his clothes, he found that although they had been warmed by the fire, they were still damp. He did not relish the idea of sleeping in wet clothes, so he left them where they were and wrapped the blanket more securely around his hips before he went about cleaning the dishes they’d used for dinner and stacking them neatly on the counter before laying down in his furs to await sweet Lucy’s return.
His lips quirked in humor at the thought of how the woman would likely react to being called sweet. Her dynamic temperament suggested she wouldn’t be flattered by the adjective. But George couldn’t help imagining that her kiss would be rather sweet indeed.
Just keep any thoughts of kissing to yourself,
you cad.
It was quite some time before he heard a muffled stomping on the small wooden porch. A moment later, a furious gust of wind swept through the cabin before Lucy could slam the door shut again.
George propped himself up on his elbows to see her better and found himself entranced by the flush of cold on her cheeks and the icicles that were swiftly melting on her thick, black lashes.
“Whoo,” she breathed audibly as she set down the two buckets filled with snow, then gave a fierce stomp of her feet before unfastening her coat and hanging it on a peg beside the door. “It’s as bad as I’ve ever seen it out there,” she said as she turned around.
Catching sight of him, her eyes went wide for a moment and her lips parted as though she’d been about to say something but lost all the words. After a poignant moment as her warm gaze swept over his lounging form, her breath started up again with an audible inhale.
Bloody hell, he sure hoped he wasn’t imagining that smoldering heat in her gaze.
Not that he’d do anything about it, but it was nice to think his intense attraction wasn’t totally one-sided.
“You look…comfortable,” she said in a voice that seemed to tremble just a bit.
“I am.” His own voice was rather unsteady. “Quite.”
“Well, then.” She took another heavy breath. “Sleep tight.” Then she strode swiftly to the ladder leading up to the loft and ascended into the shadows without another glance in George’s direction.
He lay back down with a sigh that seemed to travel through his entire body, forcing its way past the sexual tension that rode him high and hard after that odd yet stimulating interaction.
He doubted he’d get much sleep.
* * *
Lucy crawled onto her bed and rolled over to lie flat on her back. Staring at the darkened ceiling that flickered with a golden glow from the fire below, she pressed both hands to her lower stomach. As if she could force the trembling away by her will alone.
It didn’t work.
Longing for a Cowboy Christmas Page 36
