Alaskan Nights (8 page)

Though that should have been an amusing statement, Brandon didn’t find it so. “You don’t like men?”

“Not ones with sex on the brain.”

“You don’t like many men then, do you?”

She slumped into the rickety chair. “Could we not talk about this?”

“All right.” He unbuttoned his jeans and started sliding them down his legs. She stood up and went into the kitchen area, keeping her back to him. Why was she worrying about his modesty now? He pulled the sleeping bag over him until he was adequately covered—barely. “I’m decent,” he announced.

Bella came to his side and began fussing over the covers. “You’ll freeze when the fire burns down.”

He let her tug and smooth and cover him from neck to toe. When she would have withdrawn, he grabbed her hand, dragged it to his lips, and kissed her palm. She smelled of dishpan soap and spruce sap. Her breath hissed out between her teeth.

“Thank you for everything. You’re a wonderful hostess.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. As she tugged her hand from his, she said, “Maybe you shouldn’t touch me anymore.”

He let her go. As she turned away to extinguish the lantern, he said softly, “If that’s what you would prefer.”

The cabin went pitch dark. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her watching him. He wished he knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling. “Goodnight, princess,” he whispered.

“G’night,” she said, and then climbed up the ladder to the loft. She took an inordinate amount of time moving around up there, as if she couldn’t get comfortable. She was grumbling and mumbling under her breath, but this time he decipher her words.

He could only smile.

“Ouch!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Isabella said as she frowned at Brandon, lightly pressing against the lump on his forehead. “Other than it being the most disgusting shade of pea soup yellow I’ve ever seen, I think it’s healing.” In three days, he’d bounced back remarkably well.

“Does that mean I can get up and walk around and not have you hovering over me every second?” He got to his feet in one smooth motion.

Isabella raised her eyebrows at him, not caring for his snide tone one little bit. “Well, by all means, walk around. Get the hell out of this cabin before I pick up that cast iron fry pan and give you another lump on that hard head of yours.”

Brandon closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Isabella grabbed his arms to steady him.

“I’m not going to fall over,” he said with affected patience. She let go of him. “Look, Bella, I appreciate the mothering. It was comforting when I was feeling like crap, but I’m better now. See?” He swung his left arm in a circle in a show of mobility. “I’ve always been a quick healer. You can back off now. You’re not the only one that can take care of themselves.”

“Fine. Done. I won’t say another word.”
Mothering!
He went from asking her to drape herself over him to calling her his mother.
Men are so fickle
.

“Bella, don’t—”

“No, you’re right. I was out of line to offer you comfort.” She threw up her hands in surrender. “Forgive me for caring.”

Brandon reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm. “Sweetheart, I love that you care. But a guy can only take so much.”

Her stomach tightened. Her skin tingled. He hadn’t touched her since she’d asked him not to do so. Now she wanted him to pull her into his arms and kiss her with those sexy full lips.
No!
She stepped back, away from his warm touch. “Go for a walk, Brandon. I think we both need the space right now.”

He nodded at her, giving her that heart-stopping lopsided grin. “I won’t go far.”

“Take your time. I’m going to go down to the stream and catch dinner.”

He nodded again.

When the door shut behind him, Isabella sank down to the couch.
Damn, damn, damn!
Why couldn’t some hideously ugly, troll-looking man have been the one to end up here? She was not going to give in to these silly urges to climb onto Brandon’s lap and beg him to have his way with her. She wouldn’t. Absolutely not.

But she really, really wanted to do just that.

The last three days she’d felt as if she’d been walking on eggshells. They were cordial to each other, talking about mundane things like different ways to prepare the fish or how long macaroni noodles were supposed to boil. Nothing personal. He lie on the couch recuperating, and she spent as much time outside as she could. Away from him. He was too big, too handsome, too darned charming. He made her tummy flutter with the tiniest of smiles, or the way he watched her so intently.

She had two and half weeks left here with him, and she wasn’t sure she’d survive.

Two hours later, covered in a thick layer of bug dope—as Brandon called the mosquito repellent—Isabella stood at the side of the stream cursing the bushes that kept catching the line as she tried to cast.

“Tsk, tsk. Such language. I’m not sure my heart can take the shock. And I’d been so afraid of insulting your gentle sensibilities.”

Isabella swung around and glared. “Shut up.”

Brandon had the nerve to chuckle at her. If she had a club, she’d use it on his head. “May I help, or would that be overstepping the boundaries of you taking care of yourself?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Between clenched teeth, she said, “I think my hook is dull. It’s the only one I have of its kind, and the fish seem to prefer it.”

“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out for the fishing lure.

With a disgruntled sigh, she carefully placed the hook on his opened palm.

He wanted to grab her and kiss her until all that fury vanished. Wound up so tight, he wondered how long until she exploded. He’d bet these little bursts of temper were only the sparks breaking off from the deeper fire that kindled inside her. She needed to quench it one way or another. He figured it would be much more pleasant for both of them if he just...

Ah, hell.
She said no touching. He wouldn’t touch. But she’d been petting him since he woke up four days ago, and he was about ready to burst. He hadn’t meant to sound like such an ass earlier, but if he didn’t get away from her, he was going to jump her and they’d both regret it...later.

“Is there a whetstone in the tackle box?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to use it. I didn’t want to ruin the hook.”

He wondered what it would take to push her over the edge. To get her to admit she was as randy as he was. Or maybe if she yelled, screamed and cursed him it would help. There had to be some way to break the tension between them. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Could you get it for me?”

She huffed out a breath and threw him a thoroughly disgruntled look before bending down to the tackle box.

That does it. Her temper tantrum needed to be dealt with right now. Time to take matters into his own hands, whether she liked it or not. Brandon dropped the fishing lure and in one fast, smooth motion, scooped Bella up into his arms, waded into the middle of the shallow stream, and dropped her in on her shapely little fanny.

When she came up sputtering, sitting chest deep in the crystal clear, icy cold stream, Brandon calmly stated, “Thought you could use some cooling off.”

She grabbed for his leg, but he backed out of reach. “Ah, ah, ah, you don’t want to do that.”

She growled and lunged for him again, only to end up sliding on the slick rocks, dunking her head again. Brandon grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet. She swung a foot at him. He sidestepped it. She growled again and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You slimy bastard!”

Brandon grabbed her, one hand at the back of the head, the other firmly planted on her bottom, and pulled her against his body as his mouth came down hard on hers. At first she pushed at his chest. Then she held perfectly still. Then, slowly, her fingers spread out on his chest and her tense muscles softened against him.

He hadn’t intended to kiss her, but he couldn’t deny himself any longer. When he gentled his mouth from punishment to pleasure, she wrapped her arms around him and her lips parted.

So sweet, Brandon thought. Sunshine and honey. Unlike anything he’d ever tasted. Hot and tempting, so utterly feminine. She moved closer, her wet body warming against his. When she let out the softest of moans, almost a purr of satisfaction, Brandon thought he might self-combust.

Slowly, inch by torturous inch, Brandon eased from the kiss. “Damn, baby,” he groaned against her lips, his breaths ragged, his body humming with need. His groin tight and aching.

A tiny whimper slipped out of her. He smiled against her lips. She started shivering.

“Cold?” he asked, the picture of innocence.

“You... are such... a jerk,” she said between chattering teeth.

Laughing, Brandon lifted her into his arms, waded out of the knee-deep stream, and set her to her feet on the gravel bank. “Why don’t you go change your clothes and warm up?”

She’d better get away from him before he did more than kiss her. Her T-shirt clung to her breasts, and even though he knew she wore one of those thick, industrial strength sports bras, her puckered nipples protruded. The sight did not help his control.

~*~*~

Isabella wrapped her arms around herself and headed for the cabin. She couldn’t believe he’d kissed her like that. That she’d returned the kiss was even more astounding. Her toes were numb from the freezing cold stream. She supposed she’d been having a bit of a temper all morning. She could even allow that she deserved to be dunked in the stream. What she could not believe was the fact that he had not only tried drowning her, but that he’d then made her melt so completely.

“Damn you, Brandon Wilks,” she muttered as she stripped off her squishing boots on the cabin porch.

She couldn’t let him kiss her again. She couldn’t. They were alone. Very, very alone out here. If he kissed her like that again, then he’d want to touch, and kiss more and eventually it would all lead to
sex
.

No, absolutely not. She would not have sex with that man. She was far too attracted to him, and if she had sex with him she’d probably go ahead and fall in love with him. Not that she wasn’t already halfway there as it was. She would not, absolutely would
not
, fall all the way in love with him. She couldn’t.
No.

She stripped off her shirt, dripping jeans, and socks before entering the cabin. There were too many reasons not to fall in love with him. But damn it, she feared she already had. Even when she went into a snit—that was what Cam called her temper tantrums—Brandon had gotten her back. No one except for Cam had ever put her in her place. No one had ever tried. Brandon wouldn’t take her crap. And instead of running off to some other woman, he’d probably just dunk her head again.

After stripping off her drenched bra and panties and hanging them over the cold barrel stove, Isabella wrapped herself in a beach towel she pulled from the pantry.

Stretching out on Brandon’s couch, she pulled the sleeping bag over her. Brandon’s scent engulfed her, and she unconsciously took a deep breath, drawing him deep inside her. Why couldn’t he have just yelled at her and called her a bitch? That was what Bart had always done when she’d had a snit. But no, Brandon had to retaliate in a way that made her heart ache.

She couldn’t love him.

She’d vowed she would never, ever, under any circumstance, fall in love again. The heartache would be too unbearable when she couldn’t give him…anything.

~*~*~

Brandon found Bella asleep on the couch when he came into the cabin an hour later. Dinner was in the proverbial bag. Actually, they were still in the stream on the stringer so they didn’t go bad, the icy water keeping them fresher than any refrigerator could.

He stood over her, watching her eyelids flutter. What a crazy, wonderful woman she was. She went from tender and nurturing to a little hellion. And that kiss.
Wow
. It had been years and years since a single kiss had aroused him to the point of pain. She was hot, she was sweet, and the way she flowed against him when she accepted his tongue... Lordy, she was amazing.

Her fire, her gentleness, she was something all right. Now what did he do with her? She’d professed to not want a man, not him or anyone else. But she hadn’t fought too hard when she was in his arms. And all she’d done after that sizzling kiss was call him a jerk. He wasn’t sure if that was because he’d kissed her or because he’d dropped her in a frigid glacial stream. Either way, he’d have to get around it. He wanted her. Not just in his bed, but in his life. For a very, very long time.

Her eyelids popped open, revealing the stunning green of her irises. “Staring at people when they’re sleeping is rude.”

“No it’s not,” he said with a gentle smile as he sat down on the edge of the couch, his hip pressing firmly against hers. “You’re an incredibly sexy woman. I enjoy watching you.” He stroked a few wildly curling locks of hair off her cheek. “At least when you’re sleeping you’re not all spit and fire.”

He didn’t like the way she flinched at his touch. The expression in her eyes turned wary, almost frightened. That little fist tugged at his heart again. “Sweetie...”