The Red Collection (35 page)

3

‘Why is it so bloody cold in here?’

Lois hugged the quilt around her, and took another swig of her wine. It was supposed to be spring but this accursed place felt like the depths of midwinter despite the underfloor heating. The cabin was far from a wretched hovel, with its electricity and plumbing and whatnot, but at the moment she
might
as well have been residing in a primitive mud hut for all the benefit the mod cons seemed to be providing.

Not the only thing around here that’s primitive
, she thought, scowling fiercely at her laptop, which sat on the small wooden table, dead as a doornail. The bloody thing had insisted on repeatedly crashing all day, which was doubly frustrating now she’d mysteriously gained a wireless broadband connection. She could probably fix it, but it would take some troubleshooting, and she didn’t feel like tackling it in this perpetual depressing cold.

Casting one last fulminating glance at the recalcitrant computer, she set aside her drink but not her quilt, padded over to the wood-burning stove and, using an old potholder to open the front door panel, she peeped inside.

Goddamnit to hell!

The bloody thing was burning down and there were no more logs chopped. The stove was the only thing that seemed to be keeping the room above Antarctic temperatures.

The logical thing would be to turn in, just throw all her clothes and all the available blankets over the top of herself and sleep. But she was restless. Feverish inside, despite the cold. She wanted to stay awake because she had the strangest idea that she needed to.

Nothing in the log basket. Not a splinter.

Was it worth nipping out the back and chopping some wood? Normally she would have copped out and waited until morning, but that funky sense of expectation – and the glasses of wine she’d drunk – made her grit her teeth and pull on her jeans and fleece over her jersey shorts and top. After stuffing her feet into her slippers, she shuffled outside.

The second thoughts kicked in when she reached the hard standing at the back of the cabin, where the chopping block
stood
. The high full moon made the night brilliant, almost unearthly, but was it really a good idea to start chopping wood at this hour, especially when you’d been drinking and you were probably the world’s worst survivalist to start with?

‘Just one or two, Lois.’ She opened the woodshed that contained the boiler, the wood … and the axe.

Third thoughts halted her once she had a log on the block, but dragging in a deep breath she lifted the axe and aimed as best she could.

And missed, sending the lethal tool sliding erratically sideways across the chopping surface.

Another blow resulted in a quarter-inch sliver of the edge of the log.

The third missed again.

‘Oh, bloody fucking hell!’

Her profanity assaulted the beautiful night, and echoed back at her from the surrounding woodlands that backed on to the rear of the cabin.

‘Can I be of any help?’ enquired a soft amused male voice that seemed to emanate unexpectedly from somewhere above her.

What the hell?

Flinging the axe across the hard standing, safely clear of her feet, Lois looked up towards the moonlight sky.

There was a man crouched on the roof of the woodshed.

Oh, God!

She staggered, not even knowing whether she’d spoken aloud or not, and as she tumbled backwards, then landed hard on her bottom, she observed the most astonishing phenomenon play out in slow motion.

The crouching man was big and clad all in black and, as he launched himself from the woodshed roof and jumped
down
, his long black coat billowed and flapped like the wings of a great dark bird. His descent seemed to take an age, although she knew it was only in her mind, and, when he touched down, he seemed to land as lightly as if he’d been fashioned from thistledown.

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ The stranger swooped down in a low crouch again, and reached out to touch her.

Lois scuttled away from him, terrified for any number of reasons.

Do I know you?

To her astonishment, and shivering excitement, she realised that she did.

The descending man was also Dream Lover!

The same broad intelligent face. The same dark clothing. Dear God, the same astonishing gold-tipped hair … Dazzled, she hardly dared look too closely at him, but she would have put good money on the fact that his eyes were odd too.

In the flesh, so to speak, and in reality, he was quite, quite beautiful. Big, in the sense of very tall, and built like the proverbial, but glorious with it.

His great head tilted on one side; he was obviously waiting for her answer, but the sheer impossibility of his presence had struck her dumb.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

How the hell can you
be
here?

The words were silent, and she blinked at him, expecting him to disappear and for her to be back in the cottage, huddled beneath the covers and dragging herself out of sleep with her hand in her knickers.

But a second later, his gentle but firm hold on her arm was real. And so was the way he effortlessly helped her to her feet.

‘Are you all right?’ he repeated softly, and, now that she managed to look into his eyes, her suspicions were confirmed.

One was the colour of fire-lit brandy, the other a brilliant aquamarine blue.

‘Um … yes, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Thank you.’

He was gorgeous, and seemed benign, but still her terror made her lash out.

‘At least I would be if you hadn’t given me such a shock. What the hell were you doing up there? And who are you for that matter? Skulking around here at the dead of night on people’s roofs.’

His face split with a wide personable smile that exhibited a set of brilliant, immaculately even and possibly quite
sharp
teeth. In the moment before he spoke, notions of vampires and werewolves flitted disquietingly through Lois’s mind. She loved a horror fantasy as much as the next person, but, until now, that was all they were … just fantasies and stories.

Until now …

‘I’m sorry, that was rather bad of me, wasn’t it?’ He nodded in the general direction of the woodshed roof. ‘But there’s such a good view up there, and I was concerned for your safety. Who knows what might be lurking in the forest at this time of night?’

Did he just wink then?

‘Well, it’s very kind of you to be concerned, whoever you are, but I think I can manage to look after myself, thank you very much.’

‘Well, you weren’t doing too well at chopping your own wood, were you?’ He cocked his head towards her pathetic splinters and the axe lying at the edge of the woods where she’d flung it. ‘Would you like some help?’

With what?
her stirring libido suddenly prompted. Dream
Lover
was even more of a dish standing in front of her, and she was reminded alarmingly of her confession to the bird that morning. She
was
lonely. And it
was
a long time since she’d had the pleasure of a man.

Dream Lover looked as if he was more than enough man for any woman, and if there were the slightest chance that he performed as well in reality as he had in her fantasy … Well, wouldn’t it be worth taking a chance?

Even so, putting a sharp and heavy axe into the hand of someone who might be a pervert or a stalker, and who peeped at women from roofs was tantamount to booking a slot on
Crimewatch
in advance, wasn’t it?

I should run into the cabin and lock the door. Now
.

But, instead, she heard herself saying, ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. A few logs would be great, if it’s not too much trouble?’

Dream Lover beamed, which did weird things to her knee joints, and even weirder, hotter things between her legs. He really did have the most sumptuous white smile.

‘Not at all.’ Still smiling, he held out a large capable-looking hand. ‘And my name is Robin. What’s yours?’

‘Er, Lois … and I’m – I’m pleased to meet you.’

She put her small hand in his big one and only just managed to keep herself from trembling.

His skin was cool and smooth. Just like in the dream. And his lips were cool too. Deliciously cool and firm and supple as he drew her fingers up to them and pressed a light kiss upon her trembling skin.

‘And I’m very pleased to meet you, Lois,’ he said crisply, releasing her hand, giving her a little nod, before striding away to retrieve the axe. ‘Now how much chopped wood do you need?’

‘Oh, just enough for tonight, really. That’d be great.’

He nodded again as if she’d said something very wise and sensible, then, after setting the axe on the block, he shed his voluminous black coat.

And then his T-shirt …

Dear heaven, what a bod!

Lois watched entranced as Robin hefted the first log on to the block and began to splice and dice it like an expert woodsman. His torso was like wood too, honeyed gold wood, polished and gleaming in the brilliant moonlight, every bit as ripped as that of his dream counterpart and just as toffee-golden.

His muscles flexed and bunched as he worked, like visual poetry.

This is crazy … I just dreamt him up … Why is he actually
here
?

But there was no denying that Robin was here. The rate at which he was racking up the firewood proved that. Within a few minutes there was a stack big enough to heat twenty cabins.

‘Thanks ever so much. That’s fabulous!’ That prime body was making her gush like a giddy teenager, and she could feel her face getting hot as he straightened up and smiled at her again, axe still in hand. ‘I … er … would you like to come in for a glass of wine or something?’

His strange eyes twinkled at her, almost as if he’d known she was going to say that. Unease fluttered through her, but faced with his beautiful smile – and his beautiful body – she squashed it, embracing the risks.

‘Why that would be splendid, Lois,’ he said roundly, setting down the axe and pushing his fingers through his crisp gold-tipped hair, ‘Thank you, I would be delighted to share a glass of wine with you.’

Oh, his eyes, his mouth, his whole body, even … They were all saying how much more than wine it was he hoped to share.

‘Cool.’ Muttering, Lois scooted for the cabin door, too dazzled to be able to look at him any more. She heard him scoop up his clothes and an armful of firewood and follow her, yet strangely it was the rustle of his leather coat against the wood that marked his progress, not his footsteps.

What is it with him? He barely seems to touch the ground and yet he’s such a great big hunk
.

Swinging open the door, she wondered just what kind of madwoman she was being. But it was too late. Robin was right behind her and already inside.

For a log cabin, Sandy’s hideaway was spacious, and Lois had been favourably surprised on arrival, having expected a dismal shack. But now, however, it felt as if she were in a rustic doll’s house, complete with miniature furniture. The kitchen area, the cosy fireside with two comfy armchairs, and the large bed and chest of drawers at the other end of the long room were all dwarfed by the massive man who strode forwards and flung his dark coat and T-shirt across the back of a chair.

Still stripped to the waist, Robin jammed a couple of decent-sized logs into the stove, and then stacked the rest of them in the wood basket. With the age-old seriousness of ‘man who make fire’, he plied the poker expertly and coaxed the flames. Within seconds the freezing room became a tropical paradise. In fact, far more so than it had a logical right to be.

Stop standing around like a lemon just staring at him! Say something, woman!

But all she could manage to do was stare … at a set of
splendid
pecs, a narrow waist and a luscious and suggestively packed crotch.

Robin beamed back at her as if he knew that before the night was out they’d be sleeping together.

‘Er, would you like a shower or something … with all that chopping and flinging wood about?’

She half expected him to laugh, but he didn’t.

‘Of course, that’s a wonderful idea. Thank you.’ Before she could stop him, he’d taken off his boots and kicked them away across the room. The next moment, he was at his belt and the zip of his jeans and then stepped out of them.

Lois’s jaw dropped. It was a cliché, but she almost had to pick it up off the floor.

Robin wasn’t a wearer of socks or underwear, it seemed. He stood there unperturbed, displaying his majestic male equipment as if it were perfectly normal to fling off his clothes in front of a woman he’d met just minutes ago.

‘Through there?’ He gestured gracefully towards the door to the cabin’s small shower room.

‘Um … yes.’ Lois’s tongue froze and she swallowed. Hard. Somehow she was incapable of raising her eyes above his waist level.

He was so big … and he was actually getting bigger as she watched.

‘Thank you, I won’t be but a few moments.’ Robin’s smile was calm, but there was a cheeky confidence in his odd eyes. He was totally aware of the effect he was having on her and, as he strode fluidly towards the bathroom in long loping strides, he had the gall to lightly frisk himself and look back to make sure that she was watching.

‘What am I doing? What am I doing?’

Lois ran for the wine bottle on the table and poured a
large
measure into her glass. ‘What am I doing?’ she repeated, cradling it in both her hands like a magical chalice, hoping that the Merlot would wash away the last of her doubts and her qualms about Robin.

He’s just bloody glorious!

She drank a few mouthfuls of the rich red wine, trying to concentrate on the positives of having the best-looking and best-built man she’d met in years tucked away with her in this cabin miles from anywhere. At the same time, she tried to dismiss the fact that there were some things that were undeniably strange about him.

Not bad. Just weird … very weird.

As the water sluiced down in the room beyond, Lois had a feeling that her new friend had been neither dirty nor sweaty. She’d noticed no odour of work-induced perspiration as he’d passed her, and there was no hint of it now, as she picked up his clothing and couldn’t resist sniffing it.