North of Need (Hearts of the Anemoi, #1) (3 page)

Chapter Five

Not letting herself think too much about what she was doing, Megan returned to the great room with a pile of clothes. Now that she was making nice with the guy, an unsettled flutter rippled through her stomach.

He accepted the items and looked around. “Thanks. Um, where—”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Here, take the flashlight. That door over there
is
the bathroom. I grabbed a bunch of stuff, not sure what you might want.”

“Sounds good.” The yellow glow of the flashlight swung back and forth as he crossed the great room to the single bathroom in the cabin.

As soon as the door closed behind him, she threw her head back and whispered to herself, and to who-the-heck-ever-else was listening, “What the hell is going on here? What the hell am I doing?”

This time, she listened for a response, but the oh-so-helpful voice she’d been hearing, the one that encouraged her to accept the stranger, remained quiet.

“Got nothing to say now, huh? Figures.” She snorted.
Hearing
voices was one thing, but talking back to them probably hiked her up to a whole other level of psychosis. Awesome.

Across the room, the fire had settled into low-burning embers. Since it was their only heat and light for the foreseeable future, she piled on more logs, then sat back and stared as the low flames erupted into a great blaze. The heat eased her aches. Her muscles were still sore from yesterday. She was just weary.

Two years without him. Two-
plus
years without him, now. But she was still here.

The bathroom door clicked open, and Megan turned her gaze to find Owen in clean jeans and a short-sleeved black shirt. The shirt was tight through the chest and shoulders, in a totally good way. Jeez, did he look hot in black. Skin fair but not pale. The dark eyes and long-layered jet hair swept over to one side gave him a dangerous vibe. Though, he’d already proved he wasn’t. She was completely mystified by his presence, but there was no denying he’d been gentle and respectful.

“Find something?” she asked.

He walked into the firelight and held out his hands. “Yes. Thanks.”

She pressed her lips together to restrain her smile.

“What?” He looked down at himself. “Oh.” He stuck out a white foot and made a face. “Little short.”

“Yeah, just a bit.” The jeans were about three inches too short. John had been trim through the middle like Owen, but definitely not as tall. “You didn’t want the socks?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Megan pushed up from the hearth and stretched. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

Owen rubbed his stomach. “I could eat.”

Megan nodded toward the kitchen. “Let’s see what I have. I can get the camping stove from the garage if you want something hot.”

He followed her into the kitchen. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

Megan opened the refrigerator. She felt Owen’s presence behind her, looming over her shoulder. “Uh, hand me the flashlight?” He pulled it from his back pocket, and she shined the light into the fridge. “Well, I can make turkey and cheese sandwiches and a salad. It’s not fancy, but it’s quick and easy.”

“Sounds great.”

Megan piled all the fixings onto the breakfast bar and collected plates and utensils. Busying her hands took her mind off how damn weird this all was. “Have a seat. More water?”

He settled onto one of the stools. “Yes, please. Can I help?”

“Sure.” She poured them both glasses of water, lit a few candles on the bar, and sat on the stool next to Owen.

Outside, the wind howled against the side of the cabin. They prepared their meal in relative silence as Owen built the sandwiches and she chopped some veggies for the salad, only exchanging words to ask what the other wanted or liked. After a few minutes, working with him felt more comfortable, which was totally absurd given the situation. Something in her gut said to just go with it, so, for now, she would.

“Looks good.” Owen lifted half a sandwich, took a big bite, and moaned.

The sound of his pleasure drew Megan’s eyes. She swallowed, hard, and she hadn’t even eaten anything yet. His obvious enjoyment of the food sharpened the angles on his face. Jeez, he was hot. She could hardly believe her own reaction, but there it was. This whole situation was so bizarre. “Glad you like it.”

Owen finished his turkey and cheese and moved on to the salad before Megan had finished her first half.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“Starving.”

“Been a while since you ate last, huh?” The words resonated with her. Having put the chili away earlier, this was actually her first meal of the day. God, her aborted lunch seemed like days ago, not hours.

Owen froze, his hand midway between the salad bowl and his mouth. “Huh. That, I can’t remember.”

Megan finished her sandwich, sneaking glances in Owen’s direction every so often. Aside from eating a little fast, he was perfectly polite in his table manners. But for all the little moans and words of appreciation, he acted like he was dining on filet mignon. Megan’s stomach flip-flopped. Having provided him with a meal he so obviously enjoyed set off a warmth in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d fixed a man a meal and watched him devour it, a long time since she’d felt that kind of satisfaction. A wave of guilt immediately washed away her pleasure. What was she doing?

When not a speck of food remained, he pushed his plate away. “Thank you for a great dinner.”

She nodded. “You’re easy to please.”

“Just appreciative.”

His intense gaze brushed over her face like a caress, raising the hair on her arms. The candlelight played games with his eye color. She couldn’t quite make it out. But she didn’t need more than the candlelight to admire Owen’s rugged handsomeness. Her eyes couldn’t decide whether to focus on his thick shoulders or smooth, square jaw. Her fingers nearly twitched to learn if his hair was as soft as it looked. She gripped her plate. She was lonely, just lonely. That’s all this was.

“Now, you eat.”

“I’m eating.” She made a show of picking up her fork and taking a bite of salad.

“Good.”

Under his intense observation, her face flamed hot. “You’re watching me.”

His eyes fixed on her mouth. “Mmhmm. You’re nice to look at.”

She shook her head and took another bite. All of a sudden, the candles made the dinner feel intimate, charged with some unnamed energy. It took concerted effort to stay on that stool, to not flee from his straightforward compliments, from her enjoyment of them.

“What happened to your cheek?”

“Oh, uh.” Her fingers grazed the mark, which still tingled and was starting to itch. She waved her hand. “Nothing. Stupid.”

He frowned. “I sincerely doubt that. Does it hurt?”

“Not too bad.” She emptied her plate, tilted it toward him. “You approve?”

“Mmm. Very much so.”

His words made her stomach flutter. What was wrong with her? She hopped off her stool and rounded the breakfast bar to escape his intensity. Grabbing the empty plates and perishables, she asked, “You have a sweet tooth?”

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

His quizzical expression was so damn adorable. “You know, do you like sweet stuff? Desserts?”

“Oh. Like ice cream?” His dark gaze brightened.

Megan smiled, the rare expression drawn out by the sincerity of his enthusiasm. “For one, yes.”

“Aw, yes, ice cream, please.”

She shook her head. “So easy to please.” The flashlight revealed half gallons of chocolate chip cookie dough, chocolate chunk, mint chocolate chip, and peaches and cream. A girl alone in a cabin couldn’t have too much ice cream. She turned to him for his preference.

“Scoop of each?” He rocked forward on his elbows like a kid hoping his mom would say yes.

It was such an incongruous action given his size and age—a little older than her, she guessed—that she laughed. She covered her mouth with her hand, unused to the sound, unfamiliar with the lightness of being it caused. “Okay,” she finally managed. “Why not.”

Bewildered by her own reactions, Megan chose peach for herself and prepared his sampler bowl. She nodded him over to the sofa with their dessert and curled into her favorite corner. How odd to be so comfortable with him when just an hour ago she’d been prepared to assault him with an iron poker. She couldn’t explain it, but felt the rightness of it down deep.

§

Owen watched Megan’s lithe form retreat from the kitchen before springing into action and following her. Her actions, her words, the flash of her blue eyes and heating of her soft cheeks—everything about her already intrigued him.

She was so much more than he’d been shown.

Bowl in hand, he sank into the opposite corner of the couch. He waited until she had her first spoonful, then dug into the ice cream with fervor. He tasted a little of each. The flavors exploded on his tongue, the cold creaminess filled him with strength. Gods, between the coldness and the sweetness, he couldn’t get enough. He looked up when Megan chuckled. “What?”

“I take it the ice cream is a hit?”

Damn, what he wouldn’t do to see more of that smile, reserved as it was. “So good.” He stretched closer and peered in her bowl. “Is that the peach?”

She nodded and spooned the cream between her lush pink lips.

His spoon sagged in his hand as he watched. He stifled a groan when she licked her lips and he added another attribute to his newfound favorite dessert: dangerous. Because it made him want to throw his peach ice cream away in favor of tasting it from her tongue. He looked down into his bowl and decided to save the peach for last. So he could savor the same flavor coating the inside of her mouth.

Once he refocused on the ice cream, he became a man on a mission. He plowed through the mint, then the chocolate chunk, then the chocolate chip cookie dough—ice cream and cookies together? He was powerless to stop the little moans that escaped his throat as he ate. Between the dessert and his company, he was in heaven. Well, heaven on earth.

And, oh gods, the peach ice cream was the sweetest sin. The thought that
this
was what she tasted like, right now… He had to shift in his seat.

When had he last taken such pleasure in the world? In another being? He savored the dessert, forced his thoughts to focus on the goodness of it. Because the last thing he wanted was to focus on the answers to those questions.

When the scoops were all gone, he tilted his bowl to spoon out the melted cream.

“You
so
want more.”

Owen’s gaze cut to Megan’s face, painted with humor and a challenge to deny her words. He couldn’t. “I do. But I’ll hold off for now.” He rubbed a hand over his stomach, stretched in satiation. Her smile grew, and it touched him in strange places. And he thought he’d enjoyed the ice cream.

She twisted her lips, but her eyes danced with amusement. “You sure?”

“For now.”

“Okay.” Megan carried their bowls to the sink and returned to the couch, picking up the discarded blankets in front of the fireplace as she moved. She curled back into her seat and draped a blue one over her lap. “So.” She picked at an invisible thread in her lap. “Is it soon yet?”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, you know, you said I’d get some answers ‘soon.’”

“Ah.” Her expectant gaze pushed him to open up, no matter his hesitancy about overwhelming her by telling too much, too soon. “Well, what would you like to know?”

She stared at him a long moment. “How did you end up on my doorstep tonight? How did you know my name?” She scooted toward him as she spoke, readjusted the throw over her legs.

Owen debated, then took a leap of faith, hoping she’d leap with him. “I know what this sounds like, Megan, but I was sent here. For you.” He released a deep breath. “A Christmas gift, of sorts.”

She shook her head. Her brow furrowed over narrowed eyes. Her fingers massaged one temple. “What does that even mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“But, who would send me a”—she gestured to his body—“man? As a Christmas present?”

He swept his hair back off his face. The breathy way her voice had lowered when she’d said “man” made it necessary to shift in his seat. Again. He dropped his hands to his lap. Damn borrowed jeans. “Well, when you say it like that, I might as well be the hired entertainment at a, uh, what do you call it? Oh, a bachelor party.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She looked away and smiled. “And I think you mean bachelorette.”

Soft pink bloomed over her cheeks. His fingers itched to know if the skin would feel as warm as it looked. “Perhaps. And, I know you didn’t.” The smile melted off his face as he recalled what he’d learned about her,
before
his arrival to this place. “You’ve had a rough go of it, Megan.”

Her whole body stilled. “And you…
know
…about my rough time?”

“A little.”

“Like you knew my name without my telling you?”

Owen nodded, appraised her reception of this information. Her thought process worked out in her facial expressions, but she wasn’t running for the hills. Or grabbing the fire poker again. So far, so good.