Alaskan Nights (16 page)

“So what am I going to do?” he asked aloud.

First, he wasn’t going to sleep with her. No, wrong. He was going to sleep with her, but he was not going to have sex with her. So the little guy better behave himself. He was a grown man, not some horny teenager.

He nodded, agreeing with himself. Did mosquitoes have venom? Were they making his mind melt? No, that little redheaded wood sprite in the cabin was the one doing that job.

Second, he needed to prove to her that he was nothing like Bert, or Bart, or whatever the hell the jerk’s name was.

She was so worried about the whole child thing. Yeah, he’d wanted kids. When he’d thought about settling down, he’d actually thought more about kids than about the wife. But things change. He’d really meant what he’d said: Couples got married for love, not procreation. It was the twenty-first century, not the twelfth. He’d take her any way he could. Kids or no kids. The thought of growing old with her was so calming, so soothing to him, that nothing else mattered.

Sure, his mom would be disappointed about not having grandchildren, but maybe he could get Sheila and Case to bring little Carol up next summer for a vacation. Mom could play grandma to her as much as she wanted.

Damn mosquito! Now he got one on the back of his hand and his jaw at the same time. He took a quick trip to the outhouse and then stomped up the steps to the cabin. When he went in, scratching his thigh as hard as he could, Bella was still sitting on the couch reading a fat novel by the soft glow of the lantern on the table. She glanced up at him for an instant then looked back at the book. She was under his sleeping bag, leaning against the armrest, her knees pulled up. Innocence personified.

Innocent, my bug-bitten ass.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked casually as he sat down on the couch, then went to work on a bite on his shoulder blade that he couldn’t quite reach.

“A book. You shouldn’t go out without bug dope.” She never looked up from the book.

“You could’ve said something before I left,” he grumbled, rubbing the two little bumps on his forehead.

“You went swimming again. It washes off. You shouldn’t be swimming in the lake when it’s dark. And it’s cold. You could get hypothermia or something.”

She still stared at her open book, but he doubted she was reading. Her eyes didn’t move. Her cheeks were slightly pink, too. Embarrassment over her proposition? Probably.
Good
. She should be embarrassed.

“I was too hot to get hypothermia.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his and stared for a long moment before she sighed, threw back the sleeping bag, and got up, going straight for the first aid kit.

Shit, she was persistent in doctoring him.

He picked up the book and examined the cover. “War and Peace?” he asked when she returned with a tube of anti-itch cream. “A little light vacation reading?”

She knelt on the couch next to him and uncapped the tube of cream. “Yeah, well, it’s one of those books you think you should read because it’s a classic. I’m a fast reader, so I figured the longer the book, the better.” She squirted a bit of cream onto her finger and dabbed it on the welts on his face, his forehead. “Where else?” she asked.

“Everywhere.” He slipped out of his sweatshirt, then pulled the T-shirt over his head and turned his back to her.

“Jeez, Brandon,” she said on a sigh. He loved hearing his name whisper from her lips. Her cool fingers dabbed at his shoulder, then his lower back. His libido went into overdrive as if completely forgetting the icy dip he’d taken. He shifted uncomfortably on the lumpy couch, tugging at his pant leg to loosen the constriction around his growing erection.

“That it?” she asked.

“No.” He stood up and kicked off his boots and then dropped his jeans and stepped out of them. He heard her quietly suck in her breath and smiled to himself. “My thigh.” He turned around, her face near his waist. It took all his control to keep himself from imagining what she could do in that particular position. He watched as she put more cream on her finger. Her hands were a bit unsteady as she dabbed the cream onto his thigh, and she completely ignored the growing ridge beneath his briefs. Funny how she seemed so nervous now, when just a couple days ago she had him buck naked in front of her and she’d been as disinterested as a seasoned nurse.

“That it?” The question came out in little more than a squeak.

“One more.” He turned his back on her and dropped his shorts.

She cleared her throat. Twice. And then he felt her fingers on his rear. She cleared her throat one more time. “That it?”

He stood naked in front of her, and if he turned around, there’d be no possible way she could ignore the evidence of what her gentle touch had done to him. He reached down and pulled up his underwear. Not yet. Soon, he promised himself, but not yet. “That’s it, I think,” he said.

She let out a little sigh, and he wondered if it was relief or disappointment. He went to the barrel stove and added a few small logs from the pile by the door, then to the kitchen where he poured a cup of water and downed it in two big gulps.

Get a grip, man. You are way too old to be acting like this.

She picked up his jeans and threw them over the back of the one remaining chair, then moved his boots next to the door, neatly placing them next to hers.

He had to be losing his mind. The sight of his size twelves, next her little size sevens, made his heart squeeze in that tender way.

She’d cleaned the kitchen, washed the bowls and put away the dessert. Or she ate it all. He wasn’t sure which. She was right. She was underweight. Twenty pounds would look fantastic on her. She was still shapely, and her breasts were plentiful, but when she was wearing nothing but jeans and a sports bra, he could see her ribs. Right now she wore a thick, dark green sweat suit she’d changed into after he’d gone outside, and a thick pair of gray, insulated socks. It shouldn’t have been sexy in the least, but it was.

“You’re staring at me,” she whispered from across the room.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I like the way you look.”

Her hands fluttered up to her wild, untamed hair. “I look like a rusty Brillo pad with legs.”

She made him smile. No woman had ever made him laugh the way she did. It’d been a long, long time since he’d found much humor in life.

He slowly walked toward her. She looked up at him, her expression guarded, maybe a little frightened. Sad? Yeah, a little sad, too. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently pulled her against his chest. Her head fit perfectly under his chin, her body shaped to his as if they were two halves of a whole. She sighed and leaned into him, her arms going around his waist.

“I like your hair, baby,” he said softly as he buried his face in the silky fluff. She smelled of flowered soap and sensual woman. He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb over her nose. “I like these little freckles. And the ones on your chest and shoulders. There’s something really sexy about them.”

His mind waged a battle with his body as he tried keeping his libido under control. But having her soft and warm in his arms, it was a losing battle. “And your eyes. Baby, they make me crazy.”

She shuddered, and her arms tightened around him. Running his hand up her back, he could feel her warmth beneath the thick fleece. Steadying himself for what was to come, he took her by the shoulders and eased her away. “You ready for bed?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Bed?”

He nodded and smiled. Caught her off guard on that one, he did. “Yeah, the place you go to rest?”

“I—” she cleared her throat again, an incredibly sexy sound “—I guess so.”

He cocked his head toward the loft. “Go on up. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Isabella stood there, her feet rooted to the floor for several long seconds. Had she heard him correctly? He’d be up in a couple minutes? But just a couple of hours earlier she’d thrown it out there to him and he’d walked away. Went for a swim. Yeah, but he said he’d been hot. Did that really mean he’d been
hot
? Oh, Lord, now what had she gotten herself into?

“It’s all right, Bella,” he said softly as he leaned over and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Go on.”

Her heart thundered in her ears. Her lungs felt as if steel bands were squeezing them shut. Scurrying past him and up the ladder to the loft, she scooted under the sleeping bag.

The air was ten degrees warmer up here. She pulled off her heavy socks and threw them toward her suitcase in the corner, under the one tiny window. Should she get undressed? No, that would look like...like what? She’d looked him right in the eye and told him...
Oh!
She couldn’t believe she’d told him that! She’d never, ever, in her whole life, even when she was married or when she’d had that one blasted affair, told a man what she’d told Brandon.

Perspiration prickled her skin. Heat? Nerves? Both. She shoved her sweat pants down and tossed them onto the suitcase. There. She still had on her top and underwear. Of course, she wasn’t wearing a bra, but she supposed that was for the best. Her bras were made for function, not seduction. Full support sports bras weren’t exactly silk and lace. But then again, all Brandon had ever seen her in was denim, cotton, and flannel. He couldn’t be expecting much. She hoped to high heaven he wasn’t expecting much. With the loose skin around her middle and—

The lantern went out. He threw his sleeping bag up into the loft, and she grabbed it, laying it out next to her. He was going to sleep in his own sleeping bag? Maybe he was the type that didn’t like to cuddle afterwards. A pang of disappointment shot through her. That was the best part, the only part that was worth the time or energy. Being held, cuddled. But he’d done that the other night when she needed it. Even when she’d awakened in the morning, he was still holding her.

The wooden ladder creaked under his weight as he climbed up to her. It was so dark his form was nothing more than a black shadow on a lighter black canvas of space. He moved next to her, rearranging his sleeping bag.

“Shift,” he said to her.

She moved over, and he spread his sleeping bag out. Then he grabbed the edge of hers and pulled it over his, leaving her feeling bare and exposed, chilled. But he’d made a cozy little bed for them. He wasn’t planning to sleep in his own bag, by himself, after all.

He slipped under the covers and propped his head on his hand, facing her. “You going to stay way over there all night?” he asked.

She could hear his smile even though it was too dark to see it. Scooting over, she still stayed as far from his as she could but still be on the sleeping bag. It wasn’t very far. She could feel the heat of his body.

“Going shy on me?” he asked, and this time there was no mistaking the chuckle behind the words.

She moved closer, until her arm bumped his chest. Her heart pounded, and the urge to flee was strong. Why had she gotten herself into this? It had been eight years since the lion trainer. Eight long years. She hadn’t so much as thought about sharing a bed with a man in that time. She’d been too busy with Cam. Too busy traveling and seeing the world.

Better not start thinking about that now.

Brandon’s hand touched her cheek, and she jerked in surprise.

“Easy, babe.” His voice was soft, gentle, like a caress. “Come here.”

Slowly, as if her body moved without permission of her mind, which was telling her to run for the hills, Isabella rolled toward him. Her chest came up against his. Her bare thighs rubbed against his strong, thickly muscled, hairy legs. Thank god she’d taken the time to shave her own yesterday. She’d brought shampoo and conditioner for her hair, and razors and shaving gel for her legs and armpits. That was it. Deep down, she’d hoped this time would come, but now that it was here…

Since he’d pulled his bag out of the plane, he had his own shaving gear, not needing hers. He’d shaved this morning. She’d gotten a whiff of spicy men’s shaving cream when he came in from the lake before he covered it all up with bug dope. With his strong jaw bare of the scruffy, scratchy growth, he was even more strikingly handsome.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered, his breath caressing her cheek, sending a shiver of gooseflesh along her arms. He’d brushed his teeth, too. She grinned and reached her hand out, rubbing her fingers along his jaw. There was an evening growth now, but that was all right, she’d liked the way his whiskers had felt when they kissed. The tiny, prickly stubble sent tingles racing from her fingertips to her tummy.

“I was thinking about...” Shaving? How pathetic. How totally unromantic.

“Hm?” His hand rested on her waist. His fingers flexed. A shaft of pleasure pierced through her, settling between her thighs in a low thrum.

She sighed. “Shaving cream.”

One beat, two, and then he snorted a laugh. He kissed her forehead as if she were a simpleminded child. Could she be more of a fool?

“All right. What were we doing with shaving cream?”

He was laughing at her, damn it. She started to push away, but the hand on her waist slid around to her back and pulled her closer.