The room exuded a delightful charm.Sweet and inviting and all pink. Ophelia had wished for this kind of a bedroom while growing up in government-sanctioned apartment buildings. Well, without the very cranky and overlarge male taking up all the space in the doorway and grunting with what sounded like disapproval. He hovered near the tiny, elderly widow as if afraid Ophelia would somehow hurt the petite woman’s feelings.
Okay. That was kind of sweet. Insulting but sweet.
His gaze caught hers—green and dark and intense. “You left your backpack in the truck.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned on one massive boot and headed down the hallway.
Was she supposed to follow?
Flossy, dressed in a gray cardigan that reached below her knees and touched her tall slippers, turned to trail him. “Get your backpack. I’ll rustle up some warm food. You must be starving after traveling all day.” She walked down the quiet hallway toward the curved staircase, still talking. “I assume you traveled all day. It takes hours to get to Anchorage and then even more to reach Knife’s Edge. You must be hungry.”
Ophelia’s stomach growled, and she followed the elderly woman down the stairs. “I’ll, ah, just grab my pack and meet you in the kitchen.” She assumed the room was beyond the formal living room with its floral sofa and matching chairs, and if Flossy cooked nearly as well as she quilted, then dinner would be phenomenal. It had been so long since Ophelia had eaten a goodhome-cooked meal that she nearly forgot the backpack and ran straight to the kitchen. However, a little decorum wouldn’t hurt anything, and she needed to remember her job. She’d come to the small town to investigate most of its inhabitants, so she had to take it down a notch.
Clearing her throat, she opened the heavy oak door and stepped onto the rough front porch. Small snowflakes cascaded down as if in a dream, and she looked up, watching the snow fall from a darkened sky with clouds now covering the moon. Wow. Night had arrived quickly.
“Get used to the darkness.”
She yelped and jumped to see Brock at the bottom step. The shadows swallowed him, leaving only the sizzling green of his eyes visible. He took a step toward her, looking dangerous for the first time. Like a predator in the night. “Maybe I like the dark.” Her voice shook just enough to be noticeable.
His grunt, once again, told her nothing. A quick jerk of his head toward the B&B conveyed that he wanted her to go back inside, and a perverse part of her wanted to stand in place. Smack dab in the middle of his path.
So, she did.
He took the second step, leaving them eye to eye. Man, he was tall. Most guys would’ve asked what she was doing or requested she move.
Not Brock Osprey.
He stood there, his eyes glittering, and his wide shoulders catching snowflakes that instantly melted.
Her breath quickened, and she stared him down with her best FBI look—or she tried to, at least. No reaction came from Brock for long enough that her heartbeat began echoing between her ears.
Finally, he spoke. “Are you, for some odd reason, trying to challenge me, Agent Ophelia Spilazi?”
It certainly appeared so. She didn’t really have an answer that made sense, so she bit her tongue. What in the world was she doing facing down a mountain man in the snow for absolutely no reason other than he had gotten under her skin—without trying to do so? “I don’t know how to decipher your grunts,” she said, instead of going with the truth, whatever it might be.
His chin, rugged and strong, lifted just enough to be intimidating. “My last grunt meant for you to get your sweet ass back inside the warm house.”
She gasped, and her hackles rose. “Oh, you did not.”
“I did.” More snowflakes landed on his five-o’clock shadow, mixing with the dark bristle. His nose was straight, his cheekbones high, and his skin smooth and bronze. “You’re out of the city, Agent. You might want to take note of that fact and head back to safety at first light.”
Did he want to tick her off? Something told her he wouldn’t make the effort, so he was just being himself. “I’m here for the duration.” Why did this man make her want to smack him? As a reasonable woman who had graduated at the top of her class, she could handle all sorts of personalities. Yet this guy, without even trying, was truly pissing her off. “I can’t help but think you want me to leave. Why is that? Are you afraid I’ll do my job and solve your guardian’s murder?”
He took the next step, and his coat brushed hers. “No.”
Prickles erupted along her skin when she had to tilt her head to keep his gaze, even though he stood a step below her. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not working.” Good. Her voice had steadied.
His long eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he slowly, very slowly, blinked, the move oddly threatening. That strong jaw moved, but before he could speak, a phone buzzed in his pocket.Keeping her gaze, he handed over her backpack and withdrew the cell to press against his ear. “Osprey.”
Cold swirled around her, and she shivered, her cheeks chilling.
The door opened behind her. “Oh, Ophelia. It’s freezing out there. Get inside,” Flossy said, fluttering across the porch and grasping her arm to tug.
Ophelia let the woman turn and lead her into the home, where warmth instantly slammed into her.
Heavy footsteps thunked as Brock followed. “All right. Thanks, Amos. I’ll spread the word.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket, more heat coming from him than the B&B interior.
Flossy peered around Ophelia. “That was Amos? How fortunate we still have cell service. Maybe it’ll hold up better this year. Well? What did he say?”
Ophelia partially turned, acutely aware of the odd current running between the mountain man and her. What in the world? Perhaps all of the travel had exhausted her.
