Did she truly expect him to believe she was fretting over some water entering the ramshackle building? Surely not, and yet she had said it.
He could not help but chuckle as he raced into the cottage, shoving the door closed behind him. Nor could he help the urge that rose in him to tease her. “It’s the rain that has you worried, then?”
“Do not make light of the storm.” Her body trembled as she spoke. “I detest storms.”
He met her terror-filled gaze, and his amusement fled. Concern welled up in him as he crossed the room and took her into his arms. “Everything will be fine. You are safe here with me.”
She gave a brave nod, but her body shook even as he held her.
“I will not allow anything to happen to you. I promise.” Graham rubbed his hands up and down her arms. Her clothing was soaked through, and her skin chilled his touch. “You are freezing,” he said, then glanced around the sparsely furnished space.
There was a small, round table with two chairs near the window and a tattered sofa off to the right across from a fireplace with a moth-eaten blanket draped over one arm. A fire poker and stack of decaying wood sat on the stone floor beside the hearth.
The cottage was decidedly not the type of accommodations she was used to—or him, for that matter—but he would make do. “I will build a fire.” He stepped back, releasing her. “You need to take off your gown.”
She jerked her head up to stare at him, shock filling her eyes. “I cannot.” She shook her head.
“You will catch a cold if you do not.” He nudged her toward the sofa. “Remove your frock, then wrap yourself in the blanket.” He nodded toward the worn blanket. “Go on, I will not look.”
Phoebe nibbled her lower lip as she glanced from him to her soaked gown and back. “I have your word.” She studied him through narrowed eyes, then added, “As a gentleman?”
“You do,” he said, before turning his back on her and moving to the fireplace. Every fiber of his being pulled at him to turn back to her as he worked at starting the fire. The delicate shuffle of her feet on the floor called out for him to take her in his arms. While the shutter of her frightened breathing tugged at his heart, and the rustle of her clothing ignited his desire.
Everything about her affected him in ways he cared not to consider.
Graham’s hand trembled as he grabbed a log from the pile. As he lifted it, his mind filled with vivid scenes of her: unbuttoning her dress slowly, letting it fall to the ground in a whisper of fabric; standing before him in the soft glow of a fire, lips slightly parted, inviting him closer with every breath. His muscles tightened as he longed for her touch once again.
In his imagination, she was his own little siren, warm and welcoming. He would take her in his arms and kiss her wanton lips. She would lean into him, winding her arms around his neck as he trailed his hands over her soft flesh and…
“Here.” She held her soggy gown out beside him, pulling him from his fantasy.
Graham cleared his throat, then stood.
“Do not turn around,” she said.
“Why ever not?” he asked.
“I am not…decent.” There was a tremor in her voice, though he was not sure if it came from her fear of the storm or her state of undress.
He took a moment to poke at the logs, stirring the flames higher. “You have the blanket covering you.”
“One can hardly consider it proper attire.”
Rather than argue with her, he reached a hand out, snatching her gown. After laying it out by the fire, he clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the flames. With any luck, the storm would end soon. Otherwise, he may lose his mind from standing here all the while knowing she was nearby, and yet out of reach.
A deafening crack of thunder shook the ground, causing Phoebe to jump and scream. Without a second thought, Graham wrapped his powerful arms around her, pulling her close. The primal instinct to protect her propelled him into action.
Phoebe’s body was shivering, goosebumps rising on her bare skin as she clung onto him tightly. In between flashes of lightning, she buried her face into his chest, seeking comfort and protection.
Graham held her closer, murmuring words meant to soothe, though based on the way she trembled, he was failing miserably. At a loss for what else he might do, and completely out of his element, he said, “Everything is all right. I’ve got you.” Graham led her to the sofa, then sat beside her and pulled her close to his side. “I will hold you until the storm has passed.”
She gave a slight nod as she clutched his lapel, holding on so tight that her knuckles turned white. If he’d had any doubts that she was afraid before, they would be well and truly vanquished now.
The woman was terrified. Frightened beyond what might be expected. And it most certainly was because of the weather. But why?
He brushed his hand over the crown of her head while his other arm remained circled around her. Every time she squealed, jumped, or attempted to snuggle closer, his curiosity grew. Something must have happened to her to warrant her unusual reaction to the weather, but what?
And dare he ask?
