Be My Love (4 page)

She laughed and stood up. “It’s just hot chocolate.”

“Said no woman, ever.”

She continued to laugh her way to the basic kitchen. Her hips swayed a little, but not in the over-exaggerated way some women walked to get attention. She moved naturally, confidently.

“Should you text someone to let them know where you are?” she asked over her shoulder.

Interesting.
Did she wonder if he was married, or had a girlfriend? He sat straighter and waited for Brenna to turn, so he could read her expressive eyes, but she milled around in the kitchen and kept her back to him. On purpose?

He drank in more of her curves, the way her worn jeans hugged her perky butt and shapely thighs.

“No,” he answered her. “No girlfriend or wife, if that’s what you’re asking. But I should let my parents know.”

She paused before returning to the task of making hot chocolate, like it was some complicated third-year chemistry lab experiment instead of mixing powdered chocolate with boiling water.

The sweet aroma of cocoa drifted in the air and blended with the smell of crackling wood from the fire. The heat coiled around him with familiarity. With a resigned sigh, he turned from the woman in the kitchen and pulled his phone out of his jean’s front pocket. He sent a quick text to his parents. Still had cell reception, surprisingly, but only two bars. It wouldn’t last long.

The wind howled through the snow-laden trees outside and rattled the cabin. A finality hung in the air as the storm set in, full force. With the rigid Rockies to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west, this weather could sit on them for days. Occasionally, an ice-cold draft would slip through the seals of the front door and snake across the room.

He glanced at his phone. No response. One signal bar.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you come up here in advance to lay rose petals on the floor and bed? Do I need to worry about a burly lumberjack barging through the door after tramping through wolf-infested forests during a snow storm, all for the promise of his lady-love seducing him when he reached the cabin? It is Valentine’s Day tomorrow, after all.”

Brenna snorted. “Hardly.”

Music to his ears.

She headed back to the couch with two steaming mugs. “No, I—”

The lights flickered.

Brenna paused, and looked up. “Oh no.”

“I’m surprised it lasted this long,” he said. He glanced at his phone again. No response. No bars. Hopefully, his parents got his message before the reception cut out. Despite their incessant meddling in his love-life, he didn’t want them to worry.

“Here, take this,” Brenna said. “I’ll get the candles and flashlights before—”

As Brenna walked quickly to close the distance and hand him the hot chocolate, another hearty gust of wind battered the cabin. The lights winked out.

Brenna gasped, “Oh no!”

****

Brenna’s foot snagged on the carpet. Her body pitched forward, and her heart lodged in her throat. Unable to stop her momentum, her fingers lost their grip on the hot mugs, as she tumbled toward the couch.

The hot chocolate hit Eric first.

He howled.

Her body impacted next. Her chest slapped against his chocolate-soaked T-shirt and hard body. With whip-like action, her head snapped forward and smacked Eric’s temple.

Pain flared across her forehead. The backs of her eyes throbbed.

“Oooooh,” she groaned. She tried to roll off Eric to sit by his side, but his arms circled around her.

“Ouch.” Eric’s deep voice vibrated in her ear. “You pack quite the punch…with your head.”

“I’m so sorry. How burnt are you?” She cringed inwardly. Maybe she should get off him first and give him a chance to check. What was it about this guy made her turn into a fumbling, bumbling teenager all over again?

His arms tensed around her, but he didn’t let go. “I’ll live. I have to admit, the follow up treatment saved me.”

Follow up treatment? Bonking heads? Since when was that a good thing? She rubbed her forehead. “Sorry about that, too. My mom always said I had a hard head.”

“Probably a good thing, considering how much you’ve smacked it around today. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Think my pride is more bruised.”

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. The action rubbed her breasts and sent a lightning bolt to her crotch. The same crotch pressed against his groin… What the hell? Suddenly, excruciatingly aware she straddled his lap in a dark, secluded cabin, Brenna scrambled to get up.

Eric’s arms tightened at first, as if he would fight to keep hold, but his muscles relaxed and he released her.

“For the record, I didn’t mean your head-butt,” he said, his voice more gravelly than usual, as if it had churned in a cement mixer before coming out, “when I said I enjoyed the follow-up treatment.”

What the hell did he mean then? Holding her afterward?

Brenna sucked in a breath. Her heart beat so loudly, he could probably hear it from where he sat, a foot away. Warmth radiated from his body. With the flickering light projected from the fireplace, Brenna looked down at Eric. She wanted to run her hands down his chocolate-splattered chest—the same hard packed muscles that had pressed against her moments before.

“Um, Brenna?” Eric’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “The candles? Do you need help finding them?”

Good thing he’d spoken up. Her thoughts had quickly become X-rated. She stood in front of him with her legs shoulder width apart and her hands on her hips. He’d essentially have to bowl her over if he wanted to get up.

“Right! Stay there. Let me get the candles and flashlights.” She ducked down, and patted her hands around on the dark floor, using the limited light from the fireplace to find the two, now-empty, mugs on the floor.

“Okay,” Eric said.

He sounded amused, but when she turned from where she crouched on her hands and knees, shadows shrouded his face. Her gaze drifted down the outline of his strong body. His pants looked tighter, as if…

She sprang up and clutched the mugs to her chest. She’d better find some alternative light sources fast, because the firelight played tricks on her mind.

****

Eric cleaned the sticky mess in the living room while Brenna searched for candles and more flashlights. His pants had grown uncomfortably snug.

Not entirely his fault.

Brenna had been on her hands and knees before him with her tight ass turned up, swaying as she fumbled for the mugs.

Now, the very memory made him hard, like some awkward, pimple-faced freshman with no experience. Well, he certainly wasn’t a saint, nor inexperienced, but the image burned into his memory. It set his imagination running to the nearest gutter to slop around. How he’d love to grip those hips and…

Eric cursed and readjusted his pants. Again.

He’d successfully mopped up the floor in the limited light and cleaned the couch as best he could. The sweet aroma of chocolate still drifted off the worn blue fabric of the cushions.

He glanced down.

Or maybe the smell came from him. He chucked the chocolate-soaked sponge into the kitchen sink and peeled off his shirt and sticky jeans. He used the last of the water in the tank to wash them in the sink.

Luckily, the cabin’s supply room held multiple large jugs of drinking water. With the power out, there’d be no more water pumped into the tank that supplied the cabin. The Jones family might have a generator, but the last thing Eric wanted to do in the middle of the night during a storm was tramp around in knee-deep snow to find a generator and set it up.

Eric plunged his clothes in the sink water one last time before twisting them to remove the excess water. He carried the shirt and jeans to the fire and hung them on a makeshift laundry line, the one used often by the family. The crackling fire burnt a little low, so he threw another log on the fire.

Clean room? Well, close enough. Check.

Clean clothes? Check.

Clean Eric? He ran his hands down his chest. Sticky. Maybe Brenna would lick of the hot chocolate if he asked, really nicely. Or begged.

He smirked. Doubtful. But the image sent his imagination running again, and blood rushed to his groin.

Eric groaned. Forget his chest. He needed to clean up his mind before Brenna came back.

Footsteps thumped down the stairs from where the bedrooms were, and the light from a flashlight bounced along the wall before flooding the stair landing. Here came Brenna, and he wore boxer-briefs, and nothing else. He glanced at the couch. The one towel he’d found earlier currently soaked up the excess water he’d used to clean up the couch.

Well, guess Brenna would get more of an eyeful than she bargained for. Maybe she’d ask for more?

Christ!
Forget the X-rated options. This woman hated him. Maybe he could use this time to convince her to change her mind about him.

When the light turned from the stair landing and illuminated him from the darkness, like a giant spotlight, Brenna gasped.

“Why are you naked?”

****

Broad shoulders, chiseled abs, a defined V of muscle and a trail of dark brown hair led to fitted black boxer-briefs with a definite bulge, left little to Brenna’s imagination.

An image flashed through her mind, one of her peeling down the elastic waistband of those briefs while tasting his skin and trailing the rippling muscles with her tongue.

The candles she had tucked under her arms and clasped in her hand fell to the floor in a clatter.

The boxer-briefs clung to Eric’s tight ass and accentuated the muscles of his strong legs.

She licked her lips.

The heady scent of the burning logs and unlit candles along with her imagination of what could transpire left her head spinning.

“Well,” Eric crooned. “I’m
almost
naked because this beautiful woman dumped hot chocolate all over me.”

“Oh, my. Yes, I did.” Her heart raced. He thought she was beautiful? Her cheeks heated as she continued to rake his body with her gaze. Thank goodness she hid behind the light of the flashlight. What would he think, what would he do, if he knew she eye-groped him?

“Are you okay? The hot chocolate was pretty hot.” She quickly scooped up the fallen candles.

He turned to her, giving her memory a full frontal view to archive.

“Yes,” he said. “Though I wonder now if you did it on purpose.”

“I did no such thing!”

“No? My mistake.”

She took a deep breath and willed her gaze away from his hotness. Sweat prickled along her skin. “Are you going to put something on?”

She couldn’t continue to visually molest the guy. She intended to keep hating him, and wanting to slap her naked body against his wasn’t exactly going to help.

Eric grinned, flashing even white teeth. “For someone shocked and insulted by my near-naked state, you’re certainly keeping the spotlight on me.” He held his hand, palm out, as if to block out the light.

She aimed the flashlight at the couch. “Sorry!”

Her cheeks burned red hot, but hopefully he wouldn’t see it. Forcing her gaze away from his rippled abs, again, she took in the couch. He’d cleaned up. Nice. She hadn’t looked forward to dousing the couch to get the hot chocolate out. She’d assumed he’d leave it to her. Most of the men she dated would have.

“You’re not forgiven,” he said.

Her muscles tensed. “Huh?”

Eric ran his hand down his bare chest. “I’ll forgive you for trying to scald off my first layer of skin
after
you help me finish cleaning up the mess you made.”

“Looks like you’ve already done a good job.”

“Brenna?”

She kept her gaze pasted on the couch. “Yes?”

“I’m still dirty.”

She turned the flashlight back to him. He squinted in the light, but it did little to deter his cheeky grin.

“Dirty mind, maybe,” she muttered.

His sexy mouth twitched, and his grin widened. “Give me a sponge bath?”

Need flooded her body, and her stomach lurched with need. Inwardly, her mind screamed “yes, yes, yes!” But she kept her mouth firmly shut and stalked to the kitchen. She placed the candles on the counter. “Here,” she said, and plucked a soaked sponge from the sink. “Let’s compromise.”

She chucked the sponge at him from across the room. Thanks to high school softball, and social adult leagues, her aim was spot on. Eric laughed as he caught it.

“Fair enough,” he said.

He ran the wet sponge over his corded muscles, the trail of moisture evident in the flickering light from the fireplace. Her tongue could be the sponge.

She tore her gaze away and turned back to the kitchen. Bracing herself on the counter, she took a few deep breaths to calm her raging libido. She hated Eric.

Didn’t she?

Focus, Brenna. Light the stupid candles. Ignore the temptation vibrating from the six feet of sexual energy a few feet away—the one who currently lathed himself with a wet sponge in front of a roaring fireplace while he watched her with a glint in his eye.
Dammit! He must know the effect he had on her.

She cringed.

Candlelight probably wasn’t a great idea. It wouldn’t exactly dampen the growing tension in the cabin, but at least it would distract her from the near-naked man a few feet away.