Gray, Ginna (17 page)

He'd lusted after many women, had bedded his share of them. He
was, after all, a healthy, thirty-seven-year-old man. However, his past
encounters had been purely physical. His feelings for those women had been
pleasant and in some cases there had been affection, however fleeting. Still,
he'd never before felt this strong sense of...of...connection and rightness,
this unrelenting desire.

Sam huffed out a disgusted snort. Hell, Rawlins, you might as well
admit it. Where this woman is concerned, you've lost the battle. But then, how
could he not have?

He had expected her to be a spoiled, useless, not too bright bit
of fluff, to whine and complain and be helpless—in general be a royal pain in
the butt.

He should have known better. From the beginning, when she'd been
an unsuspecting witness to murder she'd kept her head and shown surprising
intelligence and resourcefulness in the way she'd escaped Carlo and his thugs.

Since then she'd continued to surprise him. She was not only
bright, she was quick to learn and adaptable. If she didn't know how to do
something, she watched him intently and absorbed the lesson. And if her efforts
were less than perfect, she doggedly kept right on trying. In all the ways that
mattered, she pulled her own weight and shared in the chores without prompting.

That, he supposed, he could chalk up to her determination to stand
on her own two feet and depend on no one else, and he could certainly
understand and respect that. He'd been a loner most of his life, himself.

But there was more to Lauren than that. For the last two days
she'd gamely followed him over some rough terrain without a word of protest.
Sam's mouth twitched again. Well...unless you counted the walleyed fits she had
after the plane crash and again after climbing up that sheer cliff-face.
Apparently her way of dealing with stress was to let off steam in one burst.

Anyway, he could hardly blame her. Both situations had been dicey
as hell.

Absently he ran his hand up and down her back. He knew she was
terrified of the assassins on their trail, yet she'd held herself together and
kept her head when others would have fallen apart.

Lauren shifted and released a long, shuddering sigh. Once again, a
hint of a smile tugged at one corner of Sam's mouth, and he stroked her back
again. For such a tiny package, there was one hell of a lot of grit in this
woman.

Lauren
arched her back and stretched. Slowly she opened her eyes, blinked
to focus—then jackknifed to a sitting position.

Her gaze darted around the unfamiliar room, her heart knocking
against her rib cage. Where was she? Puzzled, she looked down at the flannel
nightgown she wore and frowned as she realized that she had nothing on
underneath it but her panties. How...?

She looked around at the big, comfortable bed. When her gaze
landed on the dented pillow beside her own, she frowned.

A small noise from the next room made her jump and brought her
gaze snapping around to the doorway. Cautiously she tossed back the quilts and
climbed out of bed. She looked around for a weapon, then tiptoed barefoot
across the hardwood floor to the dresser, picked up a heavy pottery vase by its
neck and held it like a club.

Two things occurred to her as she crept toward the open doorway.
First, wherever she was the place was blessedly warm. Second, the delicious
smells drifting from the next room were making her stomach growl.

At the bedroom door she stopped and peeked around the frame, and
caught her breath. A strange man stood in the kitchen, stirring something on
the stove.

She must have made a small sound, because he looked up and spotted
her. "Morning. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep the clock
around."

Lauren's jaw dropped. "Sam?" She stepped around the door
frame and into the main room. "Oh, my goodness, you shaved! I didn't
recognize you."

It was the first time she'd seen him without at least a three-day
growth of whiskers, and she was stunned by how attractive he was. He wasn't
exactly handsome, but his rough-hewn face had the sort of sharp-edged
masculinity that was far more appealing than mere conventional good looks. Just
the sight of him did strange things to her insides.

"Yeah, well, it seemed like the thing to do. Who knows when
I'll get another chance."

He glanced at the vase in her upraised hand and cocked one
eyebrow. "I hope you're not planning to bash my head in with that
thing."

"What? Oh." She quickly jerked her hand down and felt
her cheeks pinken. She was so rattled by her reaction to him she had forgotten
she had the vase. The almost teasing tone of his voice added to her confusion.

"I, uh...when I woke up I...I didn't know where I was, and I
couldn't remember how I got here. I still don't."

"I'm not surprised. You were asleep on your feet when we
found this place."

"I'll, uh...I'll just go put this back," she announced
self-consciously, and darted back into the bedroom. She took a moment to
compose herself, taking several deep breaths and willing her nerves to settle.
What on earth was the matter with her? It was just Sam. They had been stranded
alone together for days. They'd even slept in the same sleeping bag. Sharing a
bed with him was no different. She glanced at the dented pillow and rumpled bed
again. Somehow, though, it was.

All because of those kisses he'd given her. She frowned at her
reflection in the mirror above the dresser and raked her fingers through her
tangled hair. Or had he kissed her? Had she been so delirious with fatigue she
had imagined that?

Lauren shook her head. No. No, he had definitely kissed her.
Twice.

But so what, she told herself. It hadn't meant anything, after
all. People do all kinds of things under stress that they wouldn't normally do.
It would be foolish to read too much into a couple of kisses.

Squaring her shoulders, she went to join Sam. "Please tell me
that's coffee I smell," she said, sniffing the air.

"Yeah. Want a cup?"

"Are you kidding? I'd kill for a cup of coffee."
Actually she was dying to make a trip outside, but she hadn't had a cup of
coffee in five days, and the aroma was just too tempting to resist.

"The mugs are in the cabinet and the pot's on the stove,"
Sam said, tipping his head toward the counter to his left as he continued to
stir the contents of the skillet.

Lauren scooted around him in the small kitchen and retrieved a mug
and poured herself some coffee. Leaning back against the counter, she took a
sip and closed her eyes and sighed. "Oh my, this is wonderful."

Sam cast her a quick look, a ghost of a smile twitching his mouth,
but he said nothing.

Lauren sipped the coffee in silence for a few minutes, but the
niggling discomfort wouldn't leave her alone. She cleared her throat.
"Like I said, I don't remember much about last night. Did you, um...that
is..." She pinched the flannel nightgown between her thumb and forefinger
and held it away from her body. "Are you responsible for this?"

"If you're asking, did I strip you and put the nightgown on
you, then the answer is yes."

The reply was so blunt and matter-of-fact she didn't know how to
respond. Before she could think of anything he went on.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable out of those clothes."

"Yes, I'm sure I was, but...well..."

Sam turned his head and pinned her with one of his searing looks.
"I've seen naked women before, Lauren."

She felt hot color surge up her neck and spread over her face.
"I'm sure you have. Still..."

"You have a beautiful body," he said in a low voice that
sent a shiver up her spine. "I'd have to be dead, blind or a eunuch not to
have noticed that. But if you're worried that I ogled you or took advantage of
you in any way, don't. That's not my style. I like my women responsive. Anyway,
you were too exhausted to undress yourself, and since I wanted you to be
comfortable and get the rest you needed, I did it for you. No big deal."

Maybe not for you, she thought, but the idea of him seeing her
naked—or as good as—made her feel odd. Still, if he'd done it out of concern
for her she could hardly complain.

But neither could she let it go. "You, uh...you slept in the
bed with me last night, didn't you?"

"So?"

"Well...it's just that..." She glanced up at the loft
and the beds that were clearly visible there.

"I thought it best. If I'd miscalculated, and those goons
caught up with us here, I didn't want us to be separated."

Lauren's gaze flew to the front door. "Is there a
chance—?"

"Relax." He turned his attention back to the skillet and
started stirring the contents again. "It's blowing a blizzard out there.
If they're smart, they're hunkered down somewhere, waiting for the storm to
pass. If not, they're dead. Either way, they're no threat to us right
now."

Expelling a relieved breath, Lauren leaned back against the
counter and took another sip of coffee. Then the delicious aroma filling the
cabin drew her attention. "I know it's impossible, but that looks and
smells like ham and potatoes."

"It is. With a little onion thrown in. Whoever owns this
cabin keeps his larder well stocked. There's a root cellar and an old-fashioned
icebox on the service porch out back, both brim full. Under the circumstances,
I don't think they'll mind that we helped ourselves. I'll leave them a note and
enough cash to cover the costs, but for as long as we're here we're going to
have real food."

"Mmm, that'll be nice."

Lauren studied Sam. Not only had he shaved, he'd changed his
clothes.

She became suddenly aware of how awful she must look. Her hair was
mussed from sleep and two days without being brushed. She probably had circles
under her eyes, she hadn't had a bath or a shampoo in...what?...four—or was it
five days now? A fastidious little shudder rippled through her, and immediately
her gaze wandered around the great room.

"If you're looking for the duffle bag, it's in the
bathroom."

Lauren's gaze whipped back to Sam. "This cabin has a
bathroom? An honest to goodness bathroom?"

"Uh-huh. Nothing fancy, mind you, but it has all the required
fixtures. In fact, you're in for a real treat. This place is self-contained.
There's a generator out back for electricity, though I won't bother to fire
that up for no longer than we'll be here. There are plenty of candles and a
couple of kerosene lamps that we can use for light. The gas for the cookstove
is propane and the water is piped in from a hot spring out back. There's a
shower and a big soaking tub in the bathroom."

Lauren's mug hit the counter with a
thunk.
"Why didn't
you
tell
me?" She rushed out of the kitchen, but halfway across the
living room she stopped and looked back at him. "Is it safe here? I
mean...do I have time for a bath? What if the storm lets up and those men
come?"

"Relax." Sam nodded toward the front window. "It's
a complete whiteout out there, and according to the weather forecaster, this
storm is going to be with us until midday tomorrow."

"The weather forecaster?"

Sam grinned and pointed toward the TV in the corner. "Yeah.
The owner may enjoy the wilderness, but apparently he can't do without his TV.
I picked up the
Weather Channel
on his satellite dish."

That startled a laugh from her. "A satellite dish? Way up
here?"

"Yeah, well, some guys have withdrawal pain if they can't
watch
Monday Night Football."

"I'm just grateful he's civilized enough to have installed a
bathroom," Lauren said with a chuckle and headed for the bedroom.

The bathroom was rustic almost to the point of being crude. The
shower, a prefab unit, was so small there was barely room to turn around, and
the toilet and the clawfoot tub looked as though they had come out of a salvage
yard, but Lauren didn't care. The water that flowed from the faucets was nice
and hot.

In the shower she shampooed her hair and scrubbed herself until
her skin was pink, all the while moaning in ecstasy. When done, she filled the
deep tub and sank down into the hot water with another protracted moan. After
all the hiking and climbing and snow-shoeing she'd done over the past couple of
days every muscle in her body ached and purple bruises splotched her skin.
Leaning her head back against the rim, she sighed and closed her eyes. Heaven.

She was drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when
something thudded against the bathroom door. Lauren screeched and bolted
upright, splashing water over the sides.

"Are you all right in there?" Sam demanded.

She put her hand over her thudding heart and lowered her head,
trying to breathe.

"Lauren? Dammit, if you don't answer in three seconds, I'm
coming in."

Her gaze flew to the door, which had no lock, and she hunched down
beneath the water as far as she could. "No! Don't come in! I'm okay."

"Thank God. You've been in there so long I thought you'd
drowned or hit your head or something. You sure you're okay? If you need
help—"

"No!
No, really, I'm fine. Just give me a
minute."

"Well, hurry it up, will you? Breakfast is ready."

"I'll...I'll be right there."

She walked into the kitchen moments later with her wet hair combed
back away from her face and wearing the smaller of the two white terry-cloth
robes she'd found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The garment was
miles too big and dragged the floor, and she'd had to roll the sleeves up two
turns, but it covered her from her chin to her toes and it had been the
quickest thing at hand.

The small pine table was set with real dishes. A bowl of scrambled
eggs and a platter piled high with the fried potato and ham concoction that Sam
had put together, along with a basket of steaming biscuits, sat in the middle
of the table.

"Sorry I took so long," she murmured, slipping into a
chair next to Sam. "I couldn't resist having a hot soak in that tub after
I'd showered."

Sam stopped in the act of picking up the platter. His dark eyes
sizzled at her through the steam rising from the potatoes. The look in those
ebony depths was so blatantly sexual and transparent that Lauren realized that
he was picturing her naked, lounging in the steaming water.

Only then did she recall the stunning admission he'd made two days
ago, and her heart gave a little flutter.

He'd claimed that he'd kissed her because he'd wanted to, that
he'd been wanting to ever since he'd first seen her, but once she had recovered
from her initial shock she'd dismissed the statement out of hand. She'd been so
certain that he'd said those things merely to distract her from the danger they
were in, which, of course, they had done.

After that the arduous two-day hike had taken all her
concentration and so taxed her, physically and mentally, that she hadn't given
the matter another thought. Until now.

The look in Sam's eyes told her that she had misread him.

Feeling her face grow hot, Lauren ducked her head and reached for
the bowl of scrambled eggs.

"Those are from our supply of powdered eggs, I'm afraid, but
the potatoes and ham are courtesy of our host," Sam said.