by Kait Nolan
Because keeping her eyes open seemed like a lot of work, she let them drift shut. What seemed like a moment later, he was tugging at the blanket.
“Wha—?”
“The fire’s caught, but it’ll take a bit to really put out some heat. There aren’t any heat packs here so you’ve got me.”
He scooped her up again, turning to settle them both back on the sofa. Suddenly she was chest to very naked, very warm chest with Harrison. In a few deft moves, he’d cocooned them both in the blanket, adding another to the pile before settling with his powerful arms wrapped around her.
“Um.” She didn’t dare open her mouth to say more than that.
“I know it’s a little awkward, but try to relax. You’ll warm up soon.”
Ivy was pretty sure if she’d gotten a gander at him stripping down for this duty, her temperature would’ve spontaneously shot up a good fifteen degrees just from watching. Because the body twined with hers was built. She could feel the ridges of sculpted muscle beneath her cheek and hands. She wished this were something more than medically-necessary snuggling because his was the kind of body she’d love to explore by touch and taste.
What is wrong with you? This man risked his life to save yours, and he’s only here with you because you’re more than half-frozen. He’s not making a pass at you.
But oh, as she felt the warmth of him begin to seep into her chilled flesh, a part of her wished he would.
As she drifted off again, she mused, Maybe I did get a head injury.
Ivy’s chest rose and fell against his, a slow, deliberate rhythm that assured Harrison the danger was past. The warmth of her breath against the hollow of his throat was an anchor against the barrage of feelings assaulting him. It had been longer than he cared to remember since he’d been this close to a mostly naked woman. But it wasn’t the edge of arousal at the feel of all that skin pressed to his that was messing with his head. That was just a physical response to proximity, and he was a guy who hadn’t had sex in a long time.
He’d been doing a job when he stripped her down. Taking the next steps to get her warm in he safest way possible. He hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like to hold her. Hadn’t been ready for how that gradual relaxation as she slipped into sleep would fire up every protective instinct he had. Because sleep like this was a kind of trust. One he didn’t have in himself and didn’t feel like he deserved. She’d trusted him enough to have her back that she’d let go to do what her body needed to do.
That faith felt really damned good.
He hadn’t let himself get close to anyone since he separated from the Army. He hadn’t even been able to acknowledge to himself that he needed that. But the intimacy of this situation with Ivy forced him to recognize he was starved for human touch, for connection. He sure as hell shouldn’t be looking for it with this woman, who would blow out of his life as suddenly as she came into it, as soon as weather permitted. But holding her, feeling her body slowly warm from his, knowing he’d give whatever protection she needed, left him with a bone-deep level of want that went so far beyond sex.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Ivy shifted against him, stretching with a little moan that was half-sexy, half-adorable before snuggling in closer, her lips brushing against his throat. That edge of arousal sharpened, giving him a far more immediate problem to deal with. He wracked his brain, cycling through baseball statistics and character lists from the books he’d been forced to read in high school English, in an effort to will his erection away. Ivy shifted again, one leg slipping between his, her knee sliding up perilously close to his balls, the ice block that was her foot dragging up the back of his calf. That worked where boredom inducement had not.
He knew the moment she really woke up. She went stock still, her body stiffening against his. Regret trickled through him as she slowly unwound her leg and eased back as far as his hold would allow—which wasn’t far. He couldn’t quite make his arms release her.
“Hi.” Her voice was raspy from sleep and had his dick making another bid for some action.
Harrison didn’t move, lest he draw attention to it. “Hi.”
Ivy tipped her face back to look at him. The eyes that met his were a clear, silvery-green that made him think of tromping through snowy woods and cutting down Christmas trees. Her cheeks had a pretty pink flush he suspected it was from embarrassment rather than cold.
She cleared her throat, the color in her cheeks going deeper. “So, you’re here.”
“I am.”
“I thought I had a head injury and hallucinated you.”
He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to brush the silky dark hair back from her temple, ostensibly to get a better look at the small cut there but really because he just needed to see what her hair felt like against his fingers. “You’ve got a little bruise here, but I don’t think it’s that kind of head injury.”
Ivy’s breath caught and his gaze darted to her face.
“Does that hurt?”
“No.” Her voice was a little breathless and her pupils sprang wide.
They snared him, drawing him in as effectively as a tractor beam.
Bad idea.
Needing to put them back on some kind of even keel, he withdrew his hand, returning it to her back. “How many of me are there?”
“Oh, I have a feeling there’s definitely only one,” she muttered.
He caught the laugh rumbling in his chest before it could spill out. “You’re probably not concussed. How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Sore. Stiff. Kinda hurts to move.”
“Don’t rush on my account.” Shit. Did that really just come out of his mouth? He should be getting up, getting her some painkillers, letting her get dressed, getting some food in her. But before he could say any of that, she slowly settled her head back into the crook of his shoulder.
An awkward silence descended.
Now what?
“Well,” she sighed, “I sure didn’t expect to end up here when I ran away this afternoon.”
Harrison went rigid, his arms tightening around her, those protective instincts roaring. Was there a boyfriend or husband who’d used his fists on her? The idea of it had him running mental inventory on what weapons he had at his disposal. Not that he needed anything more than his hands.
“Did someone hurt you?” He knew his voice was one step above a growl, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. There was no excuse, ever, for raising a hand to a woman.
Oddly, his anger seemed to make her relax again. “No. I’m running away from work.”
Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t that, but it didn’t make him want to stand down. “What kind of work makes you run away?”
She tipped her head back again, her lips curving into a self-deprecatory smile. “I’m a writer, and I’ve missed a deadline. Well, not quite yet, but I’m close to missing it.”
A writer. What were the odds? “Running away helps with that?”
“Getting away from the source of the stress and having a change of scenery seemed like a magnificent idea when I got in the car. I figured I’d relax a little and that seeing somewhere new would shake something loose. I hoped it would buy me some time to finish the book, so when I got back to civilization, I’d have something to give to my agent and editor, who have been hounding me for several weeks now.”
Which probably just made the writer’s block worse. Escaping all that seemed like a reasonable strategy. “How much do you lack?”
“Oh, all of it.” Her tone was entirely off-hand, as if not having started and already being past deadline was no big deal.
Harrison arched a brow.
Ivy just shrugged and set her cheek back against his shoulder. “I’ve got the world’s worst case of writer’s block.”
Her silky hair spilled over his arm. The whisper of it over his skin made his fingers itch to touch it again. To thread through the strands so he could tip her head back and find out if she tasted as good
as she smelled and what she’d feel like if they got even closer.
Stand down, soldier. Harrison wasn’t entirely sure if the mental order was to his errant cock or the rest of him. Christ almighty, when was the last time he’d been this fixated on a woman? Because neither part of him seemed inclined to follow orders—he was still thinking about her naked—he began unwinding their blanket cocoon. The cabin had warmed considerably since their arrival, and she was no longer in danger. There was no reason to maintain their proximity. No matter how good it felt.
“You should get some fluids, some painkillers. If that stays down, we’ll see how you do with some food. I’ve got the fixings for soup.” Harrison swung his legs to the floor, careful to shield his lap from Ivy’s view.
“I don’t want to intrude.”
He couldn’t stop the snort of laughter at that. “I think we’re past that kind of formality. And either way, we’re stuck here at least until morning. The snow hasn’t done anything but get heavier while you were out.”
Rising, he slipped into his jeans, subtly tucking away the evidence of his inappropriate thoughts.
Ivy didn’t speak again until he slid on his shirt. “I’m sorry.”
Surprised, he looked over his shoulder at where she’d sat up on the sofa, her lower half blessedly covered by the nest of blankets. “Why?”
“Because nobody comes to a place like this if they want company. So I’m sorry to have intruded on your solitude.”
Shoving his feet back into his boots, he considered his reply. “You’re not wrong. But sometimes whatever you’re trying to escape by coming to a place like this is better held at bay by distraction. And you’re definitely that.” Lifting his head, he caught the flash of raw empathy in her eyes. Uncomfortable, he pushed to his feet. “Besides, it’s not like you went over the edge on purpose.”
“No, but you did. You saved my life. Thanks for that. For all of this.”
Not wanting any credit, he shrugged. “You’d have gotten up the guts to get out before long.”
“I’m not sure I’d have scaled the side of the mountain without you. So the thanks holds.”
Grunting an acknowledgement, he crossed to the door. “I’ll bring in all our bags.”
Not daring another glance in her direction, he stepped into the swirling snow and hoped it would be more effective than a cold shower.
Chapter 5
Ivy couldn’t shake the feeling that Harrison was escaping her. Was it her thanks or that moment of connection? Maybe both. She’d hit on something, and he’d said more than he meant to. But she recognized him. Recognized the kind of man he was. She’d written men like him. Studied them. And knew that they didn’t get that look in their eyes without ghosts riding their shoulders.
“Sometimes whatever you’re trying to escape by coming to a place like this is better held at bay by distraction. And you’re definitely that.”
She didn’t know what to think about that. Did he mean the rescue and just having her in his space? Or did he mean something else? Did she want him to mean something else? Her still puckered nipples certainly came down on the side of oh hell yes.
The front door opened and Harrison hustled back through, laden with bags. A gust of cold air and a swirl of snow blew in behind him and had Ivy hunching back into the blankets still warm from his body. She already missed the feel of him wrapped around her and regretted the loss of that temporary intimacy. It had felt so good to be held, to be touched. Not from a sex standpoint—though certainly it was hard not to think about that when he was so…swoon-worthy—but just as closeness to someone else. Which just went to show how isolated she’d gotten in the last year. She needed to get a handle on this because it was wholly inappropriate for her to be macking on her host when the attraction clearly wasn’t reciprocated.
Suddenly acutely aware she was still without pants, Ivy wished for a little escape herself. She needed some space to get her head back on straight. “Would you mind if I took a shower?”
“No. Go ahead. I’ll bring in the rest of the stuff and get dinner going.” He set her bag just inside the bathroom doorway.
“Thanks.” Feeling a little foolish, she wrapped a blanket around her waist. He’d already seen everything. But he hadn’t been actively looking, and he’d been distracted by her prospective hypothermia.
As soon as he headed back outside for the rest of the stuff, she made a shuffling dash for the bathroom, dragging the blanket with her. It was rustic but clean, with shiplapped walls and a tub-shower combo on the other side of the toilet. There were navy towels beneath the sink to match the plain navy shower curtain. She was surprised not to see camouflage everywhere, but this apparently wasn’t like the hunting cabins she’d been to growing up. There was craftsmanship here. His? Or someone else’s?
Shrugging off the question, she dropped the blanket and turned on the water to warm before stripping out of the rest of her clothes. She froze as she caught her reflection in the mirror. Angry bruising ran from her left shoulder, across her body, all the way down to her right hip. That was gonna be ugly for a while. But it could have been so much worse. Now that the adrenaline had faded, she was beginning to feel every ache and pain. No doubt that would become more pronounced over the next few hours. Painkillers were definitely in order. But shower first.
She stepped beneath the spray. Her skin woke up with a scream as sensation returned. Ivy stayed where she was and let the water sluice over her body. Once the initial pain was past, she closed her eyes and leaned against the front wall, glorying in the luxury of warmth. With warmth came clarity.
She was trapped for the foreseeable future, in a cabin with no means of contacting the outside world, with a guy who was still a veritable stranger. It sounded like the setup for one of the victims in her books or maybe a horror novel. And yet she wasn’t afraid of Harrison. Maybe that was somewhat her neglected hormones talking because she’d been next to naked with him, but she didn’t think so. Even with that moment in the kitchen, where he was clearly not entirely present, maybe seeing some of those ghosts he was running from, she hadn’t been afraid of him.
Yeah, he’d started out gruff and taciturn, but he’d been focused on getting them to safety, then on taking care of her—something he hadn’t asked for but hadn’t begrudged or complained about. He’d been respectful and gentle, doing everything that needed to be done, including using his own body to warm her. That had been…frankly…amazing and had left her wanting a helluva lot more than a snuggle. And, at least for a bit there, so had he.
But he was a guy and they’d been almost naked together. His arousal was probably more about proximity and biology than actual attraction. Yet he’d softened toward her. He’d had such gentleness in his touch when he’d brushed the hair back from her face. She’d wanted to close that little distance between them. Wanted to kiss him and feel the scrape of his beard along her skin. And then there was that protective streak. He’d been all kinds of ready to take on someone who’d hurt her. It spoke volumes about the kind of man he was. The kind she found appealing on multiple levels.
Feeling almost human again, Ivy stepped out of the shower and toweled off.
That contrast of gentle caretaker and fierce protector intrigued her. She’d written plenty of fierce men, and her share of women, too. But she’d never really explored a softer side to any of them. There was little room for softness in their line of work. Death and darkness didn’t exactly inspire it. And yet she had the sense that Harrison had seen his share of death and darkness, and he still had that capacity for gentleness. It made her think of Michael and wonder what—or who—it would take to soften him.
Was that what was missing? A situation to show another side of him? A window into something besides the wound that had made him leave the team?
Mulling it over, she stepped out of the bathroom to the scent of food. Following her nose into the little kitchen, she peeked into the pot simmering on the stove. It seemed like some kind of soup—the kind wh
ere you browned a pound of ground beef and dumped in a can of every vegetable you had. The scent of it had her stomach growling. It had been far too long since those snack cakes on the road. On the counter, she found a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, but Harrison himself wasn’t inside.
The thunk of an axe hitting wood drew her attention to the window. In the glow of a floodlight, Harrison tossed the split pieces onto a pile and placed another log on a tree stump. He wound up the swing and brought the axe down with an economy of motion that suggested he had plenty of practice. She watched him repeat the movement several more times, admiring the power of those broad shoulders and thick arms. She never would’ve imagined she had a thing for lumberjacks, but even with the overgrown beard, this whole mountain man picture was working for her.
A whole lot about Harrison was working for her.
And when did you start writing romance in your head?
Apparently about the time a big, burly stranger, woke up my neglected libido.
Rolling her eyes at her own imaginings, Ivy retrieved her laptop case and braced herself for the worst. But the screen was intact. And when she pushed the power button, it sprang to life with no problems. It had survived the wreck. Thank God.
Wanting to capture some of her thoughts about Michael, she opened a fresh document and began to type. She was still working when Harrison opened the door sometime later, a bundle of logs under one arm. Ivy couldn’t help watching as he crossed the room to dump the wood into the wire basket by the fireplace, then wandered into the kitchen to check the soup. She managed to jerk her attention back to the screen, away from his denim clad ass just before he turned.
“Doing okay?”
“Yeah. Getting hungry. The water’s stayed down.” Because thinking about that ass had made her mouth go dry, she picked up the water she’d refilled and drank more of it.
He nodded. “We should have plenty of firewood to get us through the night. I’ll go shower off and then we’ll eat.”
