I follow and sink into a light leather couch; it squeaks as I settle in. I snuggle against the accent pillows patterned in Navajo-style geometrics.
I take a tentative sip from the sturdy stoneware mug stamped with a bear. The sweetness hits first—honey and fruit—followed by a mellow spice that feels like safety. I blink hard. The first siploosens something between my ribs. The next pulls heat into my chest until the room hushes around the mug.
He kneels before the hearth, and my eyes devour his back, a wall of muscle rippling beneath a khaki thermal. The way his Wranglers strain against thick thighs and that muscular ass? My heart’s a hummingbird. The firelight glints off his short-cut, burnished-gold hair. The composite is torture of the most exquisite kind.
I cross my legs, the ache between them undeniable.What is wrong with me?Somewhere in my body, a door I nailed shut long ago inches open.
“You’ve built something beautiful here. All of it.”
He leans back, gaze steady but unreadable. “Wasn’t much beauty in my life before … or purpose.”
His voice carries an undercurrent I ache to dive into. But intimacy is mutual, and I’m not ready to discuss my life with him. Or anyone, for that matter.
Instead, I clear my throat. “Are bears a thing around here?”
He chuckles low. “You could say so.” His voice has a steel to it, like he’s holding back. Don’t know if it’s to keep from scaring me or something else. “Wolves, too. You got a problem with big predators?” He glances over his shoulder, and I instantly feel like the hunted. A spark pricks low in my belly where fear should live.
He stands, eyeing me warmly, shifting his weight. “Anything else I can get you before I work on that shower?”
The golden light from the hearth dances across his face. His jaw is square-cut and bold, his features hard in all the right ways. I shake my head, unwilling to trust my voice.
“Alright, then,” he murmurs, softer than he needs to. “Be back shortly. Don’t let the bears get you.” He winks, boyish grin melting me.
I savor the cozy atmosphere, strategizing how to spend the next hour or more. I have books to look over, interview questions to review, notes to take about the day—how to write about Anson, the incredible beauty of Montana, and Off-Duty Ranch.
The faint overtone of sandalwood fills my nostrils. My eyes flicker to the hallway, and I jump, nearly spilling my tea. “Oh!”
He chuckles like a lion growls. Confident, a little dangerous. A white towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand, drying his hair. My gaze traces the long, silvery scar down his torso. Then, it drops. God, does it drop—right to where I shouldn’t be looking.
His face darkens, pupils widening. I force myself to look away, staring hard at my mug until my reflection steadies.
A streak of anger sears through me—better than desire. “But it hasn’t even been five minutes. How could you be done so quickly?”
“Navy shower. Two minutes tops.”
“Oh!” It’s all I can manage. My face burns all the way down my neck.Maybe you should get dressed.I open my mouth to scold him, but he cuts me off.
“Just wanted to make sure you haven’t bailed on me. Need more tea or anything before I get dressed?”
“Nope, still good.” My voice cracks. I want to bury my face in my hands, my pulse pounding in my temples. This is my worst nightmare. Old-man name, old-man occupation, old-man grump, yet the towel hangs scandalously on a V of hipbones.
He chuckles as he walks away, and I shamelessly track him, tracing the outline of what has to be the finest ass on this planet. I hate the plush white towel for keeping me from the truth.
A few minutes later, Anson saunters back into the room wearing gray jogging pants and a white V-neck T-shirt. It’s ridiculous. From his broad shoulders and narrow waist to hisbig, bare feet, my insides are in knots. He pads into the kitchen, grabs a mug, makes another tea. “You sure you don’t need a warm-up?”
Warm-up? Yes, please. Wait, what the hell are we even talking about?
My mind feels fuzzy, my body weak. I look at the mug in my hand.Tea! He’s talking about tea, Lacey. Get yourself together.“Still fine,” I say with a too-big grin.
He takes a seat next to me, leaving a cushion’s width between us. It relieves me, though every cell in my body wants him closer … much, much closer. “Tea okay?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Hmm. So good. So cozy … and safe. I can’t thank you enough.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” he murmurs. “Tell me about yourself, Lacey.” He pronounces my name like a sacred oath. Chills run down my arms, though I’m not the least bit cold.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I answer, trying to pull it together. “I’m the interviewer, which means I ask the questions.”
“That’s not gonna work for me,” he grumbles.
