Ice. Steel. The desire froze where it started. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she responded, every word razor sharp.
“I never do.” With that cryptic mutter, he dismissed her, his giant strides eating the distance to his cabin. His heavy boots thudded on the plank steps before he disappeared inside.
This isn’t worth it.
Akira looked around the clearing filled with nature and birds and trees and crap, and considered abandoning her mission. What was the point, really? This was a long shot, and her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep.
She’d been forced to put in a surprise-but-totally-planned appearance at her Vegas club the night before in light of some dipping numbers. An appearance, in her line of work, took a lot of fucking energy. It meant four-inch heels, a dress so short she had to keep a constant eye out for inadvertently flashing paparazzo (purposeful flashing was okay), and fake drinking shot after shot so she could ensure patrons had a good time and buzz was generated while she kept a clear head. Partying all night and hopping a flight in the wee hours of the morning had been far easier in her twenties.
She should be working right now to make up for the time she’d missed yesterday. Or better yet, curled up in front of a fire while the gloomy San Francisco fog rolled in. Or best, curled around a guy whowantedto touch her.
She didn’t need to be in the middle of fucking nowhere with a man who hated her, who had never been able to linger long in her presence. Hadn’t she endured enough of that attitude from her real family?
Well. Most of her family.
She gritted her teeth. There it was. The reason there would be no bed or fire or fiery bedmate for her, not until she’d chased down every lead in her hunt for her grandmother’s lost legacy. Uttering a vicious curse under her breath, she made her way to the porch, keeping a wary eye on the ground for surprises.
“Yoo-hoo,” she called out, putting as much annoying cheer into her greeting as she could muster.Play your role.“If you’re naked, put your pants on.” She finished on a mutter, letting the screen door shut behind her, “Or don’t.”
Maybe he was naked—the sound of running water came from the other room. Mmm. If half-naked Jacob made her lightheaded, what would the full monty do to her? She allowed herself a moment to linger over that image before shaking her head.
The cabin was tiny, with one slightly ajar door presumably leading to a bedroom and bathroom. Everything else was laid out in front of her: a bare-bones kitchen, a sagging couch, and a two-person breakfast table tucked away in the corner. No television, but a shiny, thin laptop sat on the linoleum counter.
Tall piles of newspapers sat in a corner. Who on earth read the newspaper anymore? Jacob, that’s who. She kept a twenty-four-hour news station on mute all day at work, and checked her tweet stream for the latest goings-on.
The place was clean and well-maintained, but she had to suppress a shudder. The closest she’d come to camping was when she’d organized a corporate retreat at a glamping site, which mostly consisted of creatively built structures that allowed tenants to feel like they were enjoying nature while still appreciating the comforts of home.
She loved nature. Except it had so many creepy-crawlies and animals and things that made her sneeze. Peering out at it from a fully equipped yurt was far preferable to wallowing in it. You got WiFi in the yurt.
“I like your couch,” she commented. “Orange is my favorite color.”
No response.
At a loss for entertainment, she prowled the room until she came to the bookshelf, which was crammed tight with mystery and horror novels. None of Jacob’s books lined the shelves. Made sense. He was far too perfect and humble to have them displayed all over the place. She bet they were properly tucked away in his home office.
Idly, she pulled a novel off the shelf and perused the back of it. The water in the other room shut off. “I didn’t realize you knew how to chop wood,” she said, pitching her voice so he could hear her through the thin walls. “You know, I bet if there’s a zombie apocalypse, you would do really well with that ax and all. I bet you have a whole host of survival skills up your sleeve.” She pushed the book back in and ran her finger along the dust-free shelf, until she came to a framed photo. A younger but still solemn Jacob in the center, his arms around two smiling teens and a pigtailed little girl.
Jacob had been twenty-two when their parents had united for their brief marriage. He was older in this photo, maybe twenty-four? Yes, that was about how old he had been when his father had died and he’d taken custody of his siblings. She remembered, because she’d been regaled with the news of Jacob’s sense of responsibility when she called her mother to tell her she was posing forPlayboy.
Akira cleared her throat and put the frame back, adjusting it so it sat at the same angle as when she’d found it. “I doubt I’d do so well. In a zombie apocalypse, I mean. No weapons and no survival skills. Though I imagine I would be excellent at looting.” She paused. “I can’t guarantee I would only loot necessities, especially when every store would be open and mine for the taking. But proper footwear is important. I could be a ninja with the right pair of shoes.” Too bad he wasn’t in the room, so she could shift and draw his attention to her legs in the navy heels she was wearing. She didn’t consider her legs her finest feature, but she made the best of what she’d been given.
As if he would be swayed by something as simple as a pair of nice gams. Moron.
Suck it up, buttercup.
“I assume I can come running to you for help when—” Her words cut off when he reentered the room pulling a white T-shirt over his head in that sexy way sexy men sexily pulled T-shirts on. He wore the same jeans, but he had washed up even if he hadn’t showered; his hair was damp at the ends.
He glided to the kitchen, surprisingly quiet for such a large man. “What do you want, Akira?”
The way Jacob said her name…well, it almost made her forget she hated it with the passion of a thousand suns.
“What makes you think I want something?” she hedged. “Can’t I come see my favorite brother?”
His shoulders tightened, and he reached for the coffee maker, his motions economical. Like a sexy robot. “Call me your brother one more time,” he said quietly, “and I will carry you to your car and put you inside it.”
No, that wasn’t a seductive threatat all. Not when it was delivered in that measured, deliberate way.
She really wasn’t imagining he’d sound the same when he was threatening to spank her.
