“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I’m not usually so soft-spoken, but maybe between the fear of freezing to death and being around a shirtless Owen has me more discombobulated than I thought.
“Nothing to be sorry about, Tessa. I got you,” he weirdly responds. There is something in his voice that makes me want to believe him. Wants me to lean into him and take his words as a promise. But I know better than that.
His hand moves to tuck a stray hair behind my ear, and my breath hitches in the back of my throat as my body heat ricochets a couple of degrees. He never shortens my name. With anyone else, it may have annoyed me, but I kinda like it from him.
Once again, he lifts me, taking me in his arms like I weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes. My hands wrap around his neck by sheer natural instinct. I may be freezing, and it feels like it’s impossibly colder that it was just a couple of minutes ago, but somehow, in his arms, I feel safe. Like nothing in the world could even dream of touching me, much less harming me. I dip my face into the crook of his neck to shield myself from the harsh wind.Sure, that’s why, a voice sasses. It has nothing to do with the fact that I try to sneak in sniffs of his scent or try to subtly nuzzle my nose against him.
He carries me easily. Confidently through the snow! I try to ignore the way my body comes to life in his embrace, and I really try to bat away the happily-ever-after images that pop into my head as we cross the threshold of his spacsious cabin.
Of all the Woodman brothers, his is the biggest and most modern. Yet the homiest. Maybe because he’s always inside of it and hardly goes out. Whatever the reason, it’s my favorite cabin on Moonlit Pines.
He kicks the door shut behind him, and I prepare myself mentally. Ready for him to set me down on my feet. The tips of my fingers skim the skin at the crook of his neck. I can’t resist. This may be my one and only chance of being in his arms withhim shirtless. My only opportunity to touch his body. My eyes glance at his throat, and I catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs. And if I’m not mistaken, the pulse point at his neck thumps a little harder. Could he be as affectd by me as I am by him? I highly doubt it.
Then he does something that throws me off kilter.
He doesn’t set me down. Not when he passes the couches in his open-floor-plan living room or down the hall that leads to the guest rooms and guest bathroom.
Nope.
Instead, he walks the opposite direction. One I’ve always glanced toward but have never been down. Owen is walking us directly toward his master bedroom. My heart picks up speed, and a shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the snow falling outside.
“Owen?”
“Gotta warm you up, baby,” he rasps. I swallow hard.
Warm me up? Baby?So many images flash through my mind on just how he could manage that.
All of them inevitably end up pretty much the same. With his hands all over my body, his body covering mine as he fills me to the hilt. He pushes his bedroom door open with his meaty shoulder, and I breathe in deeply. His scent fills my lungs, making it somehow easier for me to breathe. Then he carries me to his master bathroom, and my eyes feel like saucers as I take in the space.
“Holy crap, Owen,” I gasp and wince at how much of an idiot I sound like. “I just mean, umm…”
“You like it?” he asks, and when I turn my attention back to him, his eyes are pinned on me. I blink once. Twice. Something in the air feels like it’s changing. It’s headier. Thicker. Almost electric.
“It’s beautiful.” I can’t hide the awe in my voice.
His bathroom is magnificent. A huge stand-in shower with a bench seat and what looks like three rainfall showerheads. Everything about it screams luxury and relaxation. A soak-in tub that is so big I wouldn’t be surprised if he told me it fit four. The vanity for two with a huge mirror and great lighting. Knowing his cabin was custom built, this tells me he was thinking of sharing this space with someone. And the thought of Owen and someone else making a life in this beautiful home makes me nauseous.
“You are.” His deep voice resonates through the bathroom. I frown. The cold has to be playing with my head.
“What?” I croak, wide-eyed. There is no way Owen Woodman just called me beautiful.Right?
“I mean,”—he clears his throat and slowly sets me down—“it’s a good-looking space. It came out okay.”
“That’s saying it lightly.” I grin then down and notice his flannel is still covering me. “Oh, here.” I grab the soft material and hand it to him. He grabs it with one meaty paw but doesn’t move to put it back on. My eyes move up and down his chest, my brain trying to memorize every tattoo. I love his body. I want to ask about every piece of art immortalized atop his muscles.
“Tessa?” he calls my name, and my face flames up. He totally caught me checking him out. I look down, taking in the black-and-white checkered tile on the ground before my eyes drift to the huge mirror. Where I could swear I see him sniff his shirt.
“What’s wrong?” I turn to him. He makes a face but simply shrugs my question off. I must have totally imagined it.Or maybe I stink?Now I feel self-conscious as I watch him set the flannel on the vanity.
“Come on. We gotta warm you up. How long were you out there, anyhow?” There is an edge to his voice that makes me feel like I’m in trouble. As I look at him, my mind wanders and goes straight into the gutter about how Owen could punish me.“Tessa?” He looks over his shoulder, and I shake away my dirty thoughts.
“Umm, not long.” I wrap my arms around myself. Without his body heat, the cold is starting to seep back into my bones.
“How long until you gave in and called Eli, princess?” he repeats, leaning his body against the vanity. I can see it in his eyes. The way he’s studying me closely. It almost makes me feel like I’m under the microscope.
“Umm…” My face feels hot because I know he can tell I’m about to lie. So, I don’t. Instead, I go with my usual plan of defense. Attitude. I roll my eyes.
“About twenty minutes,” I confess. His scowl deepens.
