Chapter 2
Rose
When I return fromthe shower, with my skin deliciously warm and faintly redolent of his shower gel, he has set the table with a pot of tea, china teacups on saucers, and a milk jug and sugar bowl.
“Very proper,” I tease.
He follows my gaze to the table.
“My gran always did it this way when we had visitors.”
He looks at me. His mouth twists, and he ducks his head.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“What is it?” I growl, miffed.
“It’s just...those clothes.”
I look down at the t-shirt, joggers, and socks he has given me. The clothes swamp my body, and the socks are so big they are dangling off the end of my feet.
I laugh and do my best to roll the socks so they no longer constitute a trip hazard.
“Just as well you aren’t going anywhere,” he laughs.
“Indeed,” I muse as a loud clap of thunder affirms the position.
“Don’t know what I’m going to give you to wear for the rest of the week,” he says thoughtfully.
“The week?” I squeak. “I’m going to be stuck here for a week?”
To be honest, the thought is not unappealing. I could quite happily look at this bear of a man for days on end and not get tired of it. But I’ve got work tomorrow. And if I don’t appear, I’ve got a feeling Mrs. Boardman will send out a search party in the form of a mob. Possibly bearing pitchforks.
“I’m teasing. They should hopefully get the road cleared and open again in the morning. They are normally pretty prompt about these things.”
I try to keep the disappointment from showing on my face. “Oh, that’s...great.”
He looks at me, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight.
“You are welcome to stay,” he says. “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Thank you. You’ve been so...kind.”
“My pleasure.” He replies politely, but I can tell my expression of gratitude makes him uncomfortable.
“You aren’t from around here, are you?” I ask, changing the subject.
“No. Sligo in Ireland originally. I’ve moved around a bit. For work.”
“Oh, what do you do?” I ask. He doesn’t need to know that Mrs. Boardman has already enlightened me.
“I am...or at least, I was...a rugby player. I’ve just retired.”
I take a sip of tea. “Wow. Were you a...Gossie?” It takes me a second to recall the nickname of Oakheart Glen’s beloved rugby team.
His brow furrows. “Yes, I was. For my final season. They were the team I always wanted to play for. I played in France for many years before that.”
“Oooh, romantic...” The words are out of my mouth before I apply my brain.
He laughs. “Big, sweaty guys pummelling the hell out each other, day in, day out?” he quips, his lips twisting into an amused grin.
I style it out. “Like I said...romantic...”
I purse my lips together and try to ignore the heat that flickers in my core at the thought of that image.
He laughs and takes a sip of his tea.
“Do you miss it?” I ask.
“Yes, a bit. But this place keeps me occupied. Bought it as a bit of a fixer-upper project. To keep me busy after the div—”
Another peal of thunder cuts off the end of his sentence.
I look around. The cabin is a haven of bookshelf-lined walls and squashy couches and roughly hewn wooden tables. Everything about it would invite you to curl up in its comforting depths and forget about the outside world.
“It is beautiful. Very Cozy Chic.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly the...er...vibe I was going for.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded.” I tuck my toes more tightly underneath me and take another sip of my tea.
“What about you?” he asks. “You aren’t from around here either, are you?”
“No, I just moved here,” I admit. “What gave it away?”
“Your accent, mostly. But also the fact that it took you way too long to remember what the Gossies were called. No Oakhearter would ever blank on the Gossies.”
I laugh. “Busted.”
“Look at us, two interlopers together.”
I laugh. “They can be so funny about that, can’t they! The lady I work with, Mrs. Boardman, you can just tell that she doesn’t know what to make of me. I’m from Glasgow and they still struggle to understand my accent.”
“Might as well be the moon,” he mutters. “Are you a Warriors fan?”
“No, I don’t like rugby,” I declare, then realize I might have been a bit too vigorous in my protest. “Sorry, no offence.”
“None taken.”
“I’m just not into sport. I prefer a cup of tea and a good book.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I laugh. “Boring, some might say.”
“Well then, some have just never had the pleasure of a good book. Add some chocolate into the mix and it sounds like an ideal day to me.”
I look at him. He doesn’t look as though even the merest morsel of chocolate has ever passed his lips. Not with that physique.
My eyes slide across his broad shoulders and over the biceps bulging under the thin cotton of his t-shirt. The thick muscles of his forearm seem almost incongruous to the delicate china cup perched between his fingers. Iron and silk. Hard and soft. It makes me wonder what this bear-like mountain man would be like between the sheets. Would he be a throw you over his shoulder, take no prisoners, drive you to orgasm with his raw power type of lover? Or a surprisingly gentle for his size, skilled craftsman, guiding you to pleasure with every sinew of that glorious body type?
A shiver runs down my spine.
His eyes darken.
“I’m sorry. I’m keeping you talking. Get some tea into you.”
I gulp down some of the amber liquid, glad of the opportunity to duck my head for a moment. What on earth has gotten into me today? Why am I fantasising about what this stranger—admittedly an incredibly handsome stranger, but a stranger nonetheless—would be like in bed?
I’m a thirty-year-old woman, for goodness’ sake. Surely I can be in the company of a man and not want to rip his clothes off.
That’s just the thing. Normally I can. Absolutely no problem.
I’ve just never met anyone who makes my blood pound in my veins the way this man does.
Maybe it is just because I haven’t had any for a while. And when my ex did decide to grace me with his attention, he was very much a lights off, covers up, oh I’m sorry, didn’t you finish...kind of lover. I still don’t know what made me sadder—how easy it was to fake it with him, or how easily he bought it.
There would be no faking it with Murray. Those dark eyes would know.
There’d be no need to fake it.
Murray Walsh strikes me as the kind of guy who knows his way around a woman’s body. And pleasure.
Goodness, Rose, behave!
I’m going to need to ask for a shot of bromide for this tea if I can’t get a grip of myself.
I hastily take a gulp of tea to distract my wayward thoughts. A sigh of pleasure escapes my lips as its heat spreads through my core.
I look up to find Murray watching me, his face thoughtful.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much,” I confirm, eternally grateful that he can have no idea what was actually going through my head.
He reaches forward and holds out a packet of biscuits.
“Biscuit? My apologies, my grandmother would have had these on a plate.”
“You are slacking,” I tease. I look at the packet as I take a biscuit. “Rich tea,” I observe. “Old school. I didn’t even know they still made those.”
“When you are quite finished bossing me about my paperwork, criticizing my hospitality, and mocking my biscuit choice...” he grumbles. “I wasn’t actually expecting company, you know.”
I meet his teasing eyes with a jut of my chin. As his glittering black eyes catch mine, warmth completely unrelated to the heat of the tea glows in my chest.
He blinks and reaches from his seat to the lamp on the table next to him. He flicks the switch, but nothing happens.
“Grid must be down. I’ll get some candles.”
He goes to rise, but I shake my head. “The light of the fire is fine.”
A flash of him lying me down on the hearth rug springs unbidden into my mind. I blush.
I hope he thinks I’m just warm from the tea.
* * *
Murray
She’s so shy. My small-talk game isn’t great at the best of times, but this quiet soul with her easy blush and downcast gaze is challenging me to the limit. I need to bring my A game.
The thought almost makes me smile. If I were bringing my A game, she’d be in my bed by now.
What I’m bringing right now is my very best behavior. And that’s not something I’m terribly well acquainted with.
But man, she’s worth the effort. The way she looked at me when I set the tea tray down, you’d think I’d just dragged a freshly clubbed animal into the cave for dinner. Whether that was attraction or her body’s natural response to staving off the prospect of hypothermia, I’m still not quite sure. But I like to think that hungry look was for me.
I sense there is more to Rose Wallace than her soft, gentle demeanor would have you believe.
There’s something in the way her blue eyes glint when they meet mine, the way her eyebrow raises ever so slightly when I say something cheeky. The expression that flashes across her face for a split second that suggests that she could easily outwit me, and that she knows it. I know it. She could have me for breakfast if she wanted to. That’s a match of wits I’d happily sink in. And I’d enjoy every second of it.
I know it is in there, buried under the nerves, and the fear of the storm, and her carefully trained reserve. Rose Wallace is a good girl. A woman who has had a lot of training in being quiet, staying in line, never rocking the boat. Never asking for what she wants.
I know that below that timid, almost mousy exterior, there is a lioness waiting to roar.
I could make her roar.
She could eviscerate me with her mind, while I tamed her sweet curves right there on the hearth rug. She could moan big words into the dark of the night while my tongue made her body melt in ways it never had before. She could swallow down pithy comments as my cock slid between those rosy lips. And she could find her happily ever after with my cock buried deep in her pussy, driving her body to sweet release time after time after time.
My shy little Rose would roar my name.
And I’d never tire of hearing it.
I could give her pleasure like she’d never experienced before.
But my pretty little lioness would fuck me.
Because once I had had her, I wouldn’t ever want to give her up.
I’m game for that.
I want to fuck her.
I want to know her.
I want to learn everything about her.
I want to listen to her.
I want to protect her.
I want her.
I want to make her mine.
The more tiny glances she steals at me over that teacup, the more I think she wants me too.
I just have to find the key to unlock her cage.