But the man was just as tempting as the dinner. He’d changed his clothes since morning, his worn jeans and green plaid shirt giving him the look of a weathered lumberjack.
More like a lumbersnack.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“You missed dinner,” he said.
I folded my arms. “I’m not hungry.”
My stomach roared, the sound like a wild animal trying to claw its way from a cage.
One corner of Beck’s mouth twitched. “I made too much. My mother raised me to never waste food.”
I reached for the plate.
Beck pulled it back. “Can I talk to you?” An earnest look shone in his silver eyes. “Please, Charlotte.”
Oh god.The way he said my name, like it was a dessert he rolled on his tongue. How was I supposed to resist?
I stepped aside. “You can leave the plate on the desk.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly. He entered, trailing his spicy, masculine scent and the mouth-watering combination of baked chicken and fresh bread. Placing the plate on the desk, he turned and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets.
The room was smaller with him in it. My bed was rumpled, the pillows a mess against the headboard. One of my bras dangled from the bathroom door, which I’d left cracked. Visions of my shower fantasies invaded my head, and I curled my bare toes against the hardwood.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Beck said.
I lifted my chin. “For lying to me?”
His eyes were steady. “For not being honest.”
Frustration rose in a bitter wave. “I fail to see the difference.”
His chest lifted as he sighed. “You’re right. Ihavebeen steering you away from certain areas, but not because I want to sabotage your research.”
“Then why?”
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the silver-streaked strands. “Like I said, people live in those sectors. They value their privacy. If they knew a scientist was poking around their land, taking readings and collecting samples...” He shook his head. “They’d be upset.”
“I can be discreet.”
“They’ve chosen to live off the grid. I’m asking you to respect that.”
The wave of frustration built as I turned his words over in my mind. Alaska was home to plenty of people who distrusted outsiders—or anyone linked to the government. I wasn’t, but the reclusive residents Beck described were likely to see “state university” and order me off their property.
Or worse. Alaska was home to loners, but there were stories about militias and survivalists, too. They might not be satisfied with a verbal warning.
But this research had the potential to make or break my career.
“What if you asked them?” I asked. “You could explain what I’m doing. Reassure them I’m not here to cause trouble?—”
“They’d say no.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” Beck said firmly, his expression stern and settled. It should have scared me.
Instead, heat licked low in my belly. I moved toward him, drawn by something I couldn’t explain and didn’t really want to.
