Lord of the Grrr's (60 page)

Her mouth dropped open, and the sound that escaped her was something between a whimper and a gasp. Still grinning, he turned and headed for the kitchen. After a moment of hesitation, she followed, hoping she didn't look as hot and bothered as she felt.

Nicolas grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge—not Guinness—and they headed for his comfortable living room. The house was larger than the cabin he used to live in, but the open living space still felt cozy. She settled into his comfy couch while he added a couple of logs to the fire.

“This place is a little homier than your other cabin,” she said.

“I do find I like electricity now that I have it.”

“Really? I thought your oil lamp held a certain charm.”

He shot her a serious look over his shoulder as he crouched in front of the fire, poker in hand. “What can I say? Oil lamps just do it for the ladies.”

She laughed, then abruptly stopped, images of other women in his cabin filling her mind. Dumb. It wasn't as if it was
their
place. One night did not give her ownership over the man or the cabin.

Nicolas didn't seem to notice her change in mood, and he walked around to settle on the loveseat, kitty-corner from where she sat on the couch. Close enough to make it feel intimate, but far enough away that she wasn’t crowded.

They fell into small talk. Movies, sports, even a little bit of chatter about the weather. Weirdly, the conversation didn't feel forced. They had far more in common than she would've guessed. And before she knew it, hours had passed. The sun disappeared, and she glanced around, looking for a clock. Her eyes widened when she found one over the mantle. Had they really been talking for nearly three hours? About almost nothing?

“So how have you been, really?” he asked, and she got the feeling the conversation was no longer stuck in the small talk arena.

She shrugged. “It's been…fine.” Dammit all. Why had she said fine? Fine was code word for not that great. She should have said ecstatic, fantastic, wonderful. There were countless adjectives she could have used that didn't sound nearly as forlorn as
fine
.

Sure enough, he seemed to pick up on the undercurrent. “Just fine?”

Maybe it was the fact that it felt like she’d known him for years—really known him. Or maybe it was that they'd settled into small talk like they were old friends. But far too much truth tumbled from her lips. “Taking portraits for a living is isn’t exactly how I pictured my life. Definitely not what my parents hoped for.”

To her surprise, he didn't offer a look of pity, or even one of sympathy. Instead, he shrugged. “You have plenty of time to make your dreams come true, Evie. I don’t doubt that you will.” His eyes twinkled. “You're too stubborn not to.

“Stubborn, huh?”

“Maybe stubborn isn't the right word,” he conceded. “Determined. You're a very determined woman. And you will make all your dreams come true—even if it takes longer than you’d like. And even if it’s in a field other than the one your parents might wish.”

Her throat burned. How could this man—this practical stranger—have such faith in her? “Well, it certainly won't happen as fast as law school would have.”

“That's because law school wouldn't have been a success—not for you.” He leaned back and took a sip of beer. They’d been chatting so much that they were only on their second bottles. A good thing, too, because after three, the sexy man across from her might prove irresistible.

Shit, after two beers, she was tempted to hop onto his loveseat and kiss him. If only to test her memory. Surely, the man couldn't be as sensual, as remarkable in bed, as she remembered. She'd been high on adrenaline—her life just saved by this sexy stranger. That had to have affected the experience. But somehow, she knew that was a lie.

He was just as desirable as she remembered. Maybe even more alluring since he’d had three more years to mature. He was probably nearing thirty now, maybe a year or two shy. And he'd really gained a man's form, a man's confident demeanor. He'd been big before, but the way he filled a room now…he made her feel tiny, and she was hardly a small woman.

But it was more than that.

There was a hardness in his face, a knowledge in his expression. The absolute confidence in his eyes.
Those eyes.

For a moment, they both went quiet. He didn’t break her gaze, and she couldn't look away.

No. Memories weren’t playing tricks on her mind. The man across from her had done things to her body she couldn’t quit thinking about. Had made her feel inexplicable things in the short time they’d been together.

What could the even stronger, even more confident man do to her now?

Slowly, without taking his eyes away from hers, he set his beer on the table. The tiny ding of glass against glass roused her from her memories. She sat up straight. Damn. She hadn't even realized she'd been leaning toward him.

Eyes suddenly hooded, he continued to stare at her. “You'd better stop looking at me like that, or I'm going to assume sex is back on the table.”

“Back? It was never on the table.” She was proud of herself—her voice didn't even shake.

“Wasn't it?” He arched a brow at her.

She couldn't breathe, and her body tightened. She could feel her sex growing damp. Her body readying itself for a man she couldn’t have.

Shit.

She couldn't risk him knowing she wanted him. Couldn't risk letting on how much he turned her on. Because in that moment, all it would take was a crook of his finger, and she'd be his.

It had taken three years to stop thinking about him constantly. If she ended up in his bed again, she might never get him out of her head.

“Of course not,” she managed. She didn't sound convincing, even to herself.

“If that's true, you’d better go to bed alone while you still can.” His voice was a low growl.

She shivered, but not from cold, not from fear. Before she could think better of it—before she could contemplate how ridiculous it would look—she pushed up from the couch and headed for the guest room. Barely—just barely—managing not to run.

CHAPTER FOUR

Evie woke up feeling embarrassed but not mortified. She was determined not to let Nicolas get to her. Besides, she was an adult. She could admit—even if only to herself—that he was right. She
was
attracted to him. Heck, what woman wouldn't be? He was a handsome specimen of a man. But that didn't mean she was going to allow herself to get distracted, to veer from her goal. A single night with him could impact her for much longer down the road, something she knew from experience.

She wasn't willing to risk her heart.

Mentally flinching at the thought, she pushed the word
heart
right out of her head. Part of her wanted him badly, that was for sure, but that part was a good deal lower than her chest.

She got dressed then headed for the kitchen. The smell of bacon and eggs stirred her stomach. The man at the stove, broad shoulders covered by a T-shirt that fit just right, stirred something else in her.

“How many you want?” he asked without turning around.

She stilled. It was so easy to forget what he was when he was doing something so human, so domestic. “None, thank you.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a granola bar. “I'd like to get going as soon as we can. I can eat on the way.”

He looked at her granola bar like she’d pulled a snake from her bag. “You’re refusing bacon and eggs for
that
?”

“I like a light breakfast,” she lied.

Something about allowing him to take care of her felt dangerous. It would be too easy to get used to that kind of treatment, to that kind of man. They weren't even the same species—how could they hope to make something work for longer than a night?

They couldn’t. Not when she could only trust the human part of him.

“We have a long climb ahead of us. You'll need your strength.” He set a plate in front of her, and she tried not to drool at the sight and smell of the sizzling bacon.

“You don't have to take care of me,” she said, but she grabbed the fork and started digging in before he could respond. She tried to refuse, but a woman could be expected to have only so much willpower. No one could blame her for folding when faced with bacon.

“You’re willing to go on that kind of hike with only a granola bar in your stomach? Obviously, someone needs to take care of you.”

She snorted around the bite of food. Together, they cleared out every bit of breakfast he'd made, and she had to admit that she felt better with a full stomach.

After they finished, she helped him load the dishwasher and then he grabbed her bags. She followed him to his truck. “Is the trailhead far?”

“There's not really a trailhead, but the place we’ll have to start on foot isn't far.” He frowned at her. “I’d normally take horses up—I have a friend down the road who will loan me a couple to ride—but I figured you wouldn’t like that.”

Relief quelled the sudden spike of fear that had hit her when he’d said horses. “You’re right. I'd rather hoof it with my own two feet.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “Thank you.”

She was scared to death of horses. Ever since she’d been bucked off one when she was a kid—sending her to the hospital with a broken arm—she hadn't been able to stomach the idea of literally getting back in the saddle. It was nice, knowing that he’d taken that into consideration.

“So the first mile will be pretty easy, but then we have about a quarter mile of some tricky rocks to get up. Nothing we’ll need ropes for—no real climbing—but it will slow us down. After that, more easy hiking.” He continued to brief her on the trail that lay ahead, but a sudden niggling in the back of her brain distracted her. It took her a few seconds to grasp, and she almost yelled in outrage.

How had he known about her fear of horses?

She narrowed her gaze at him, but with his eyes on the road, he didn't seem to notice—or maybe he thought it was related to whatever he was saying about the trail. She'd lost that thread of conversation with her realization.

She was about to call him out on it when she thought better of it. She could keep this little bit of information to herself, until she decided what she wanted to make of it. Was it weird or nice?

There were any number of ways he could have unearthed that little fear. It wasn't exactly a secret. In fact, she'd embraced it by listing horseback riding as one of her top three things she was scared of on Facebook, but that had been years ago.

She wanted to get over her fear someday. A good opportunity just hadn't presented itself yet. Was him checking that deeply into her Facebook page—the most likely candidate for the source of his information—creepy or sweet?

One thing was certain, it did suggest that their single night together had maybe meant more to him than she’d assumed. The thought made her simultaneously want to squeal with joy and run away.

Instead, she fiddled with her coat and boots. She’d already worn her light, waterproof pants over long johns at breakfast, although she’d considered wearing something heftier after snow had greeted her the day before. But it was spring. And she'd really be dying while hiking if she'd worn her heavier snow pants.

Nicolas glanced at her. “You certainly learned to dress better for the mountains, I'll give you that.”

She looked away so he wouldn't see her blush at the compliment. “Knowing my luck, the snow will melt by noon, and I'll be stripping it all off.”

Sudden energy arced between them, and he cleared his throat. “Then you’ll really need those boots—mud is far worse than snow.”

She met his gaze, and he winked at her. He hadn't missed the electricity between them either, but it seemed he was at least attempting to be a professional. She appreciated it, so she smiled back at him.

“I’ve found myself in quite a bit of mud, thank you very much.” She said, pertly.

“Have you now?”

She arched a brow. That silly question wasn't worth dignifying with a response.

A low laugh. “I guess you don't build a portfolio as a wildlife photographer without encountering some mud,” he conceded.

“It doesn't really come off. Ever.”

“Nope. You should have seen my clothes in the old cabin. Having to go to a laundromat every time you want to clean something while living out there…well, mud is a way of life.”

She shuddered. “What a nightmare.”

“You have no idea.”

The ride up to the trail took less than fifteen minutes, and she wasn’t even certain the last ten were on an actual road.

Just as he'd warned, the trail looked nothing of the sort. Even more dubious than the “road” they’d driven on to get there. But at least the accumulated snow was minimal, and it was a beautiful day. The air was still a bit brisk, but the sky was so blue it looked like something out of the movie or a surreal painting. “Must be something about the elevation…”

“A little different from the city.”

She stifled a grin. Only a man who lived out here would consider the small town she'd relocated to after college to be a city. Less than fifty thousand people, and with close access to the wilderness of northern California that she loved to photograph, did not a city make. Then again, given where Nicolas lived, she couldn't fault the term.

“It's beautiful,” she said.

“It's home.”

They started hiking with Nicolas behind her, directing their way. She suggested he lead, but he said he'd rather she set the pace. She couldn't say she didn't appreciate that. Less than a half a mile into their journey—still the easy part—and she was already finding herself a little winded. Sure, she tromped around on the weekends to get pictures, even took camping trips, but that wasn't at well over a mile above sea level. And her hikes were punctuated with long pauses to take lots of pictures.

“What's our elevation?” she asked.

“My cabin’s at eight thousand feet. Still got a bit more to go before we find your foxes. Most of it isn’t going up. You’ve probably noticed that getting to their territory is more of a horizontal hike.”

She suppressed a sigh. It wasn't that she minded the hike—she didn’t care for doing it in front of somebody that was obviously so fit. The man didn't even seem to be breathing hard, and a quick glance over her shoulder proved that not one drop of sweat touched his brow.

So not fair.

They hiked in silence for another fifteen minutes, then the rocks he'd mentioned they'd need to climb closed in. Rocks? More like boulders.

Her breath was already coming fast, her body fighting for oxygen at an elevation she wasn't used to. But something inside of her rebelled at admitting that aloud, even though she didn’t doubt Nicolas would be kind about it. Understanding even. He'd already saved her life once, but that fact seemed to have made him a little overprotective of her. She didn't want to add to his worry.

Plus, it was embarrassing. The man could sweat a little so she didn’t feel so bad. Jeez.

“So, what have you been up to the last few years?” she asked, pausing in front of the first section of rocks they’d need to traverse. Hopefully, a tiny bit of conversation, even if a bit winded on her part, would give her a minute or two to catch her breath.

Nicolas didn't seem in any rush. He leaned against the boulder they’d have to climb, not caring about the dirt that clung to it. “Not much.”

She huffed. “All the personal stuff you got out of me last night, and that's the best you can give me?”

“Well, I built the cabin.”

She raised eyebrow.

Nonchalant, he shrugged. “I don't know if you remember, but when we met before, I told you I was living out in the middle of nowhere for a reason.”

“You said that you were dangerous.” He hadn’t exactly offered a lot of information about it, other than that.

“Might not sound like much, but that's what I’ve been working on.”

“Your…danger-level?”

His dark green eyes flashed, seeming to glow for a moment. “Control.”

Genuinely curious, she asked, “How's that going?”

He met her gaze head-on, and without even a slight bit of hesitation in his voice, he said, “Good.”

Damn the man and his penchant for few words. “Is that—the biting thing?”

His horror at biting her was a big part of the reason why she'd run away rather than snuggled closer after their night of amazing sex. He'd said he hadn't meant to bite her, but bite her, he did. She trusted Nicolas
the man
instinctively. He had a kindness in his eyes, a steadiness to his actions—other than that one moment three years ago when he lost control. But that moment, that painful bite, made her distrust his tiger.

And how could he separate the tiger from the man?

“Yes. It wasn’t the first time restraint escaped me.”

“So you’ve figured it out then? Found that control you were looking for?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I have.”

A shiver ran through her. If Nicolas truly controlled of the beast inside of him, then did her worries, her fears, cease to have a basis?

Thoughts tangled, she turned away from him and started up the first clump of boulders. Climbing slowly, she felt the heat of his body close behind her—only inches away. She was suddenly too hot.

Her foot slipped, and for half a second, her stomach flew into her throat. Strong arms caught her before she could slide more than a few inches.

“I got you,” he murmured, low voice close to her ear. The clean, earthy scent of him filled her lungs. His arms wrapped around her middle, grazing the bottom of her breasts. She held her breath and leaned against his hard chest.

God, it felt good to be in his arms again.

***

He caught her easily, she’d fallen barely a foot—none of the places he’d planned to take her had drops more than a few feet. But seeing her slip sent his protective instincts into high gear. And he couldn't help but enjoy the lush, warm body pressed against his. She was soft in all the right places, and her body fit against his perfectly. She smelled sweet. Like some sort of exotic fruit. Without thinking, he sniffed her hair.

She pulled away abruptly, as far away as she could get with them still pressed against the rock. “I'm good,” she said, voice pitched far too high.

Before he could reply, she'd scrambled up and over the big rock, moving quickly for someone still adjusting to the elevation. He groaned under his breath. One soft, simple touch, and he was hard as the fucking rocks they had to climb.

“Have you seen these foxes yourself?” she asked after they had gotten through the worst of the climbing.

“Yes.” It wasn't a lie. He had seen the foxes—or, more accurately, the fox—many times. The words still tasted wrong on his tongue.

The rest of the hike was done mostly in silence. He was tempted to tease her, mention that he could smell her desire. But he didn't want to push her too hard. Besides, his focus was on her safety right now. The hike wasn't terribly difficult—there were no life-threatening drop-offs along the way, which is why he'd chosen this place. But it was slippery out. The spring snow the night before had worked against him. And it was too easy for the delicate human to crack her head on a rock. He'd save the teasing for when they were indoors and safe.