Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
I glom onto that thought as I walk out and find him in the kitchen, pulling a giant rainbow trout from the oven.
“Mmm, that smells amazing.”
He grunts but doesn’t turn around.
“Did you catch it yourself?”
“Yep.” He still hasn’t looked at me. He carries the fish to the table and sets it on a trivet. Only then does he turn and wave a hand toward one of the chairs. “Come and eat.”
“Thank you.” I’m acutely aware of my nipples protruding through the flannel shirt. Oh hell, why is it flapping open? The memory of unbuttoning it down past my sternum comes back along with a flush of heat. I fumble with the buttons, but the way he watches my fingers only makes me blush harder.
I wonder if my clothes are out of the dryer? A bra would probably be appropriate.
I dive into the chair at the table to hide my embarrassment and pick up the fork there. Wait. He set the table?
I’m suddenly absurdly pleased that he went to the effort to cook and set the table. In an attempt to impress his chosen female, the male embraces acts of domesticity. Well, maybe he’s not trying to impress me. If there were wine glasses out, I’d be sure he was trying to woo me, but there aren’t. He’s probably had enough of tipsy Miranda.
He sits down across from me and serves the fish along with baked potatoes and eyes me like a creature he doesn’t completely understand, one who might say or do something outrageous at any moment.
I decide to shock him. “So when are you going to show me what a real man can do?”
He goes still, fork halfway to his mouth, lips open. I savor his surprise. Faced with a female who makes the first move, the male reassesses his strategy.
The silence stretches on and I resist the urge to squirm. Most men don’t like women pursuing them because they’re so used to it being the other way around. They think if a woman wants them, there must be something wrong with her. Or it takes away the thrill of the hunt. I’d hoped Caleb would be more evolved, but maybe I read him wrong. His body definitely screams macho.
After a long moment he shrugs and says, “Well, you are here for research purposes.” He takes a bite of food. Is there a playful gleam in his eyes?
“Right. Strictly research,” I agree. “Scientific studies.”
A ghost of a smile plays around his lips. “We do still have the whole night to kill.”
“Right. And we’ve already played truth or dare.”
His booming laugh startles me. I swear it surprises him, too, because he cuts it off immediately and blinks like he’s bewildered such a sound would come out of him. I’m struck suddenly by what a likeable guy he is. What makes a naturally charming man with a babe-magnet body turn so sour and hole up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere?
What’s he escaping from?
Bear looks over from the rug in front of the fire where he’s been parked and wags his tail.
“Do you get lonely up here by yourself, Caleb?” I ask softly, dropping my eyes to my plate to take the intensity out of the question.
“I don’t know.” Again, he sounds almost surprised by his answer. “I mostly hibernate. I mean, I just sort of shut down. You’re forcing me to turn back on. It will probably feel strange when you leave.”
My gaze shoots up to meet his and tangles there. I’m dragged under by the depth of confusion and pain I find in his his dark brown eyes. And then I’m sure of it—Caleb the grouchy, kind mountain man is definitely lonely.
My heart tugs for him, especially because I know loneliness too, but I don’t allow any sympathy to show on my face. He’s way too alpha male to appreciate that. I want to ask what happened to him, because I’m certain something did—but the timing’s all wrong. If I really do want this man to show me what good sex is, then I can’t keep killing the mood.
He gets up and clears our plates. I gather the rest of what’s left on the table, watching the wide expanse of his shoulders as he stands at the sink. He’s as singular and spectacular as any natural wonder up here. One of the gems of the mountain.
I smile to myself, thinking of scientifically cataloging him. Homo sapiens squalentum. Yeah, that fits. Rugged Man.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says, clomping off toward the bathroom without looking at me. But then as he reaches the door, he turns and gives me a look.
It pins me to my spot on the floor, makes my belly flutter with excitement, my nipples get hard. There’s dark promise in that gaze. Homo sapiens squalentum. Wicked, feral rugged man, getting clean for me. Grooming is an essential part of the mating dance.