Her delicate hand briefly touched his as she took the cup from him. She studied the empty contents but made no move to get up. “I guess I still feel bad about earlier.”
He wanted to kiss the frown from her forehead, but such a move would probably be met with a slap to the face, or a punch to the gut. Knowing Mr. Jones, the man would’ve taught his daughter a thing or two about defending herself, especially after he discovered she couldn’t shift.
Besides, Eric wanted herforgiveness.Having her apologize to him felt wrong. The uneasy feeling settled around his shoulders like an itchy wool blanket. He stretched his neck, side to side, and tried to shake the feeling.
Oh hell, he wanted a lot more than that.
“So you plan to ply me with chocolate beverages?” he asked, settling back in his seat.
She laughed and stood up. “It’s just hot chocolate.”
“Said no woman, ever.”
She continued to laugh her way to the basic kitchen.
Her hips swayed a little, but not in the over-exaggerated way some women walked to get attention. She moved naturally, confidently.
“Should you text someone to let them know where you are?” she asked over her shoulder. “You can use my phone. It’s on the coffee table.”
Interesting.Did she wonder if he was married, or had a girlfriend? He sat straighter and waited for Brenna to turn, so he could read her expressive eyes, but she milled around in the kitchen and kept her back to him. He drank in more of her curves, the way her worn jeans hugged her perky butt and shapely thighs.
“No,” he answered her. “No girlfriend, wife, or mate, if that’s what you’re asking.” If his parents had their way, things would be different. “But I should let my parents know.”
She paused before returning to the task of making hot chocolate, like it was some complicated third-year university chemistry lab experiment instead of mixing powdered chocolate with boiling water.
The sweet aroma of cocoa drifted in the air and blended with the smell of crackling wood from the fire. The heat coiled around him with familiarity. With a resigned sigh, he turned from the woman in the kitchen and plucked Brenna’s phone from the table. It still had cell reception, surprisingly, but only two bars. It wouldn’t last long. Her dad had texted her to be safe, so she must’ve already contacted her family. Not wanting to snoop, he left the message unopened and sent a quick text to his parents.
“Your dad replied,” he spoke over his shoulder.
“What did he say?”
“Be safe. That’s all I saw. I didn’t open it.”
Brenna made a sound from the kitchen something between a hum and a grunt.
The wind howled through the snow-laden trees outside and rattled the cabin. A finality hung in the air as the storm set in, full force. With the rigid Rockies to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west, this weather could sit on them for days. Occasionally, an ice-cold draft would slip through the seals of the front door and snake across the room.
He glanced at the phone. No response. One signal bar.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you come up here in advance to lay rose petals on the floor and bed? Do I need to worry about a burly lumberjack barging through the door after tramping through wolf-infested forests during a snowstorm, all for the promise of his lady-love seducing him when he reached the cabin? It is Valentine’s Day tomorrow, after all.”
Brenna snorted. “Hardly.”
Music to his ears.
She headed back to the couch with two steaming mugs. “No, I—”
The lights flickered.
Brenna paused, and looked up. “Oh no.”
“I’m surprised it lasted this long,” he said. He glanced at the phone again. No response. No bars.
Hopefully, his parents got his message before the reception cut out. Despite their incessant meddling in his love-life, he didn’t want them to worry, and he didn’t want to offend the Sapphire pack.
