by Kim Lawrence
She shook her head, still avoiding the dark gleam of his eyes through the slits of the mask. She felt deeply embarrassed by her stupid instinctive reaction.
Her instincts were still embarrassing her.
It was bizarre. She had to make a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other; she was unable to stop shaking, half dead with cold and, despite all that, or hopefully because of it, she was conscious of the weirdest tug.
She had this insane impulse, not to draw back, but to lean into him. She was drawn to his sheer physical presence, his strength and the warmth of the big body. The longer he stayed curved over her, projecting this testosterone force field, the more difficult it was to resist the bizarre compulsion.
‘What did you think I was going to do?’
Neve shook her head mutely. He’d put his own interpretation on her silence, but what could she say? I thought you were going to kiss me.
What would it have felt like?
Appalled by the dreamy question that surfaced in her head, she gave a fractured sigh of relief when he straightened up.
Her hands, still crossed in a protective gesture over her heaving chest, fell limply to her sides. She watched through the screen of her lashes as he walked across the room.
There was something totally riveting about the way he moved.
Neve pushed the thought away and lowered her gaze to the chequered floor tiles. ‘You…you startled me.’
‘Relax, you are quite safe.’
The mockery in his deep voice made her squirm. ‘Nice to know.’
‘I admit you might scrub up well,’ he said, sounding insultingly doubtful, ‘but right now, cara, you are not, believe me, going to drive any man wild with lust.’ No man in his right mind, certainly, but Severo was beginning to doubt his own mental health.
The question was not why on earth did he want to kiss the tip of her red nose, it was why on earth was he here? He valued logic; he prided himself on his judgement—what sort of judgement had made him risk life and limb in a blizzard?
Did he really think she needed him to point out her deficiencies? ‘I suppose you like your women to be decorative and dumb.’ It was not a question, just a fact of life.
‘I can see you find my sex life fascinating, but can we leave this discussion for later?’
Struggling to maintain the illusion of dignity, she followed him through the door muttering under her breath. ‘It’s always nice to have something to look forward to.’
One thing that really got under his skin was the sort of woman who always had to have the last word.
Chapter Four
THE softly lit living area was open-plan, a large lofty space dominated by a wood burner at one end and a high-spec ultramodern kitchen at the other.
Severo took in his surroundings in one sweeping glance, dismissing as he did so the ‘lights being on an automatic timer to discourage burglars’ explanation.
This place was definitely lived in, he decided, glancing at today’s date on the newspaper spread out on a sofa.
Neve hung back in the doorway getting the lived-in vibe too. ‘W…we can’t just walk into someone else’s home, and touch their things,’ she added pointedly as he lifted the lid of a laptop.
Severo closed the lid with a snap; her sudden respect for others’ property struck him as ironic. ‘What do you suggest we do—press our noses to the glass while we freeze?’ He flicked a sideways glance her way and thought, In your case freeze some more. Even the soft mood lighting did not disguise the fact she looked one step away from collapse.
‘No, but—’ She stopped and shook her head, finishing lamely, ‘It doesn’t feel right.’
The head shake had been a mistake. The distant buzz got a lot louder as the angles of the room began to shift and tilt in a way that made her feel queasy. She had zero experience of fainting, but she did wonder whether this might be the build-up.
He already obviously thought she was clueless, which was pretty annoying considering she had been looking after herself since she was fourteen, but Neve had no intention of reinforcing the ‘helpless little woman’ image by falling at his feet.
Even as she advised herself sternly to get a grip she swayed gently.
‘It feels a lot righter than dying of exposure.’
He turned and Neve reached out to grab the back of a chair to steady herself; her fingers, still numb and uncooperative, flexed feebly and slid uselessly off the wooden bar.
‘Sit.’ His hands were on her shoulders.
She blinked, wondering how he had materialised at her side without her noticing as she responded to the pressure. For a big man he moved quickly and silently.
‘Deep breaths,’ he said. Pushing his fingers under the wet hair on her nape, he forced her head forward and between her knees.
His soothing voice and calm manner helped her recover as much as the air she dragged into her lungs. It only took a couple of moments for the buzzing to retreat and her head to clear.
Bracing herself for his reaction to her uncharacteristic girly display of weakness, Neve pushed her wet hair back from her face with both hands and straightened up. She needn’t have worried—his attention was directed not at her, but on the galleried landing above.
‘Do you hear someone?’ she asked hopefully.
He shook his head and scanned her pale face. ‘Feeling better?’
‘I’m fine.’
Her response drew an irritated frown.
Neve’s glance drifted hopefully towards the phone sitting on the table behind him. ‘The phone?’
Severo followed the direction of her gaze and picked it up. After a moment he shook his head. ‘Dead.’ Not actually a major surprise, but her face fell as if she were a child whose ice cream had been snatched away.
This redhead should never play poker. The women in Severo’s life rarely said what they meant, they generally chose less direct methods to get what they wanted, so to be around someone who was not only straight talking to the point of rudeness, but broadcast her every minute change of mood, had a certain novelty value.
No doubt the novelty would wear thin, the same way after repeated exposure he would not find blue eyes so startling.
‘Somebody appears to have left in a hurry,’ he observed, walking across to the table laid with an untouched meal. He pulled off a glove and stabbed some of the food with a finger. ‘Cold,’ he said, pulling off the other glove and flexing his long fingers to revive the sluggish circulation.
Neve watched as he walked to the bottom of the big curving staircase where he called out, his deep voice echoing around the vaulted room.
There was a silence.
‘At least the fire is still lit,’ he said, studying the thermostat dial on the wall before switching it to full blast. He glanced back to where the redhead was getting unsteadily to her feet; she looked as shaky on her legs as a new foal.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, tilting his head to check out the galleried landing that ran the length of the room.
‘Neve. Neve Gray, no, Macleod.’
‘Think about it and get back to me when you’ve decided.’
Neve angled a glare up at his face and gritted, ‘Neve Macleod.’
‘Right, Neve, I’ll check out upstairs, you take off that wet stuff.’
It was not a suggestion.
The man was clearly used to issuing orders and it was revealing that he took compliance for granted; presumably there was a girlfriend or even wife somewhere who jumped when he snapped his fingers.
He returned a few moments later; in his absence Neve hadn’t moved a muscle. Even had she wanted to respond to his casual order she couldn’t have, but she could see no point in removing clothes when she was so cold that her bones ached with it. Besides, the action would require energy and hers had seeped away.
She stood there shivering while he paused at the bottom of the stairs to peel the ski mask from his head.
‘Nobody there,’ he announced. ‘Though t
he open drawers and wardrobe suggest a hasty departure. Very Marie Celeste, but I do have a theory,’ he offered, passing a hand back and forth across his short dark hair as he walked to the fire and swung open the glass door. Dipping into the log basket, he threw a couple onto the glowing embers.
Neve didn’t ask about his theory; she barely heard what he said. She was staring transfixed by the features that had been hidden until now beneath the mask—features that were not plain and definitely not pleasant! Not even in the confines of her head had she ever called a man beautiful before, but he was—he was totally, jaw-droppingly perfect.
Beautiful but without being in any way pretty, raw sex appeal oozing from every perfect pore, each individual feature in his face gave new meaning to faultless perfection, from the sensual curve of his wide, sensually sculpted mouth to the arched angle of his ebony brows.
Utterly transfixed, she held her breath as her fascinated gaze slid over each amazing angle and fascinating hollow of his oval face, from the high, carved cheekbones to the aquiline nose. His deep-set eyes, the only feature previously visible, were only a shade lighter than the incredibly long ebony lashes that fringed them.
She expelled a shaky sigh as her stomach muscles quivered violently. He was big and hard and oozed both danger and an earthy raw sex appeal she had been conscious of even when his face had been concealed.
‘Come to the fire—you’re still shaking,’ Severo observed, annoyed with himself for allowing the mystery of the deserted house to distract him from the immediate problem, which by the look of her was imminent collapse and probably hypothermia.
At the sound of his voice Neve shook her head and blinked like someone surfacing from a trance. She’d not drooled, but she had come pretty close her embarrassment was profound.
‘I’m fine.’
She had never been a sucker for a pretty face and this was not the right time to discover her inner bimbo! Pull yourself together, Neve! So he’s easy on the eye—it’s what’s underneath that counts.
Especially if what’s underneath is a body as incredible as she suspected his was!
Disassociating herself from the comment in her head, Neve brought her lashes down in a protective screen, hoping that he couldn’t hear the frantic thud of her heart from across the room.
His sensual lips twisted in an irritated grimace as his glance swept her face. ‘Fine? Now there’s a surprise—considering how rich the English language is, your vocabulary seems painfully limited.’
‘I’m a bit cold.’
‘A bit cold…I’m assuming you graduated with first-class honours in understatement. I am no expert on such matters, if you discount a year of pre-med, but I do not think that lips are meant to be blue.’
Neve lifted a shaky hand to cover her tremulous lips and stared up at him, trying to imagine him as a doctor and getting bogged down by the bedside-manner section of the job. ‘I said I’m cold.’
‘I am cold. You,’ he decided, ‘are in danger of succumbing to hypothermia. And we will get on a lot better if you spare me the incessant stoicism,’ he observed, sounding bored.
‘I don’t want to “get on better” with you.’
Ignoring the childish retort, he lifted a hand and gestured for her to come to the fire. When she didn’t respond he crossed the room and stood looking down at her for a moment before planting both hands heavily on her shoulders.
Holding her eyes, he steered her towards the glass-fronted wood burner. His sloe-dark gaze remained trained on Neve’s paper-pale face as he dragged a small armchair across the slate-flagged floor.
Neve’s knees folded under the pressure of the hands on her shoulders as he urged her into it.
Severo dropped into a squatting position and began to unzip the snow-coated oversized jacket. He peeled it away to reveal the bright pink sweater she wore beneath.
Neve roused herself enough to make a token protest when he began to remove the saturated sweater, but he rather predictably ignored her.
‘I’m not helpless,’ she protested, feeling perilously close to it. Also perilously close was his chest and quite stupidly she wanted to lay her head on it.
‘Dio mio, woman, do you ever stop complaining?’
The sodden sweater made a squelching noise as he tossed it carelessly on the floor. Without the padding she was revealed as slim and sleek with surprisingly generous curves that were in perfect proportion to her delicate petite frame.
Her outraged blue gaze flew to his face. ‘Do you ever stop issuing orders?’ she countered in husky exasperation.
He flashed her a mocking grin. ‘Some are born to lead, others to follow, preferably in silence.’ Though her voice with the sexy little rasp was actually quite easy on the ear.
‘And I suppose these born leaders in your world are all m…male.’ The words emerged through clenched teeth she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.
Under the sweater she was wearing a thin cotton tee shirt that clung damply, revealing not only the outline of her spine and heaving ribcage, but the lacy pattern of her bra and the clearly defined outline of her nipples thrusting through the thin fabric.
It was the last detail that riveted Severo’s attention and sent a kick of lust through his body. The more he tried not to think about a breast fitting perfectly in his hand, the more he saw it there. The more he saw his mouth moving over the smooth silky flesh, teasing…tasting.
Closing off this line of thought abruptly, which was not as easy as it should have been, he inhaled, drawing air into his lungs through flared nostrils. Along with the oxygen meant to clear his head came the scent of her skin and the light floral fragrance she used and he remained painfully aroused.
When he didn’t respond Neve lifted her head. Following the direction of his stare, she let out a yelp, covered her chest with her hands and promptly felt a total fool.
‘Relax, cara,’ he said, thinking, Good advice, Severo, take it.
‘I’m cold,’ she said defensively.
His lashes swept downwards, brushing the dark bands of colour that highlighted the sharp chiselled angles of his cheekbones.
‘I’d noticed.’
Deliberately redirecting his gaze, he snatched a woollen throw from a nearby sofa and dropped it casually in her lap.
‘You have nothing I have not seen before.’
His over-the-top reaction, Severo concluded, was the result of the adrenaline still flooding his bloodstream; either that or there was something about this woman that made him regress fifteen years. It had been a long time since his libido had strained this hard at the leash of his iron control.
His amused attitude made Neve feel like a gauche teenager.
‘Take the rest of your stuff off. I’ll get some towels.’
Neve stared at him incredulously. Was the man serious?
‘I’m not taking anything off.’
He gave a very Latin shrug and flashed a wolfish grin, not appearing to notice her non-negotiable tone. Still smiling in the same stomach-flipping way, he looked down into her heart-shaped face and shrugged.
‘Fine. If you’re not up to the task, I’ll do it for you.’
Neve closed her mouth over the you wouldn’t dare that leapt to her lips, recognising that such a statement might seem an invitation to a certain sort of man, and watched him bound energetically up the stairs—he was almost definitely that sort of man.
As she closed her eyes the image of his strong hands peeling off her clothes began to play in her head. It was the little kick of excitement mixed in with the horror that made her decide there was no point in taking the risk and calling his bluff.
Slowed by her cold, stiff fingers, she had clumsily managed to strip down to her bra, her wet jeans she’d managed to get halfway down her numb legs, when she heard his footsteps on the stairs.
She picked up the blanket and hastily draped the folds of tartan wool fabric around her shoulders.
She felt her chest tighten as she watched, her heart pounding, as he walked
across the room towards her. He was obviously not similarly inhibited when it came to stripping.
His wet outer clothes, at least from the waist down, had been replaced. A pair of worn blue denims that were a couple of inches too short in the leg and a few more inches too wide around the waist now covered his legs. He hadn’t bothered fastening the belt and they had slid down to his narrow hips, revealing his flat belly and a directional arrow of dark hair.
Neve struggled not to follow the direction it pointed in.
But there was no safe place to look because above the waist he was naked except for a towel looped around his neck. His sleek bronzed upper body had the most incredible muscle definition she had ever seen, broad shoulders, flat abdomen.
Neve tried to look anywhere but at his lean muscled torso and failed miserably, conscious of a dragging liquid sensation low in her abdomen as she stared.
She was ashamed of her helpless physical response to him but at least he appeared oblivious to her discomfort—she hoped!
Meeting her wary gaze, he placed the pile of towels he carried on a chair. His glance dropped to the jeans concertinaed around her ankles. The little beads of sweat along her upper lip suggested that she had been struggling in his absence.
Severo felt something break free inside him, something that felt suspiciously like tenderness.
‘You’re going to have to accept a little help, cara.’ Without waiting for her response—it would obviously be negative; the woman took self-reliance to unattractive extremes—he dropped to his knees in front of her and, sliding his hands under the blanket, began to ease the wet, heavy denim down her legs.
Neve looked down at the dark head of the kneeling man. She didn’t move, she didn’t breathe—not until, having completed his task, he laid a hand against her calf. Then her control snapped and she flinched away, unable to bear the sensations crawling under her skin.
He swore. ‘You’re like ice.’ He began to rub her bare legs vigorously with his hands, working his way up from her slender ankles, over her calves to her knees. His touch made her stomach muscles quiver violently with tension.
‘Can you even feel me?’
