He crossed his arms over his chest, apparently uncaring that he was still naked.
‘Do you own clothes?’ she muttered, aware that she sounded like a petulant child.
In the living area once more, he lifted a chair towards the fireplace and set it down. ‘Sit.’
‘I’m not a puppy, you know. You can speak to me like a fellow human being. Or is courtesy in short supply out here, in the middle of nowhere?’
‘I didn’t ask you to come into my home, and if it weren’t for the fact you could not survive out there—’ he jerked his thumb towards the single window of this cabin, large and just to the right of the front door ‘—I would have no compunction in turfing you out. Perhaps once the storm passes…’
‘Definitely once the storm passes,’ she responded, though she did sit on the chair, careful to keep the towel wrapped around herself, protecting her modesty.
‘Good.’ He turned away then, disappearing to a rustic-looking piece of furniture near the large bed, and removing—to her relief—a pair of cotton boxer briefs. He dragged them up his body but Genevieve was startled to discover that, clothes or no clothes, the sight of him in all his glorious nudity was burned into her brain.
She looked away quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—other than this man.
‘Do you live here?’
‘I’ll ask the questions.’ He turned to face her, gaze narrowed. ‘Who are you?’
She opened her mouth to answer that, then faltered. For three long, miserable years, she’d been The Senator’s Wife. That was how she’d been defined by her husband, and everyone she’d come to know. Genevieve, as a person in her own right, was nothing and no one.
‘Genevieve,’ she answered shortly. Why give him the whole tragic story of her life? A first name was enough.
And it appeared to satisfy him, as he nodded once, albeit curtly.
‘And you are here, on the island, because…?’
‘I crashed,’ she muttered. ‘The storm came out of nowhere. I was too far out at sea to turn back. Then I saw this island and made my way here…’
‘You were in a boat, in this,’ he said.
‘Well, there was no storm when I set out,’ she repeated. ‘Or I would never have come so far from the mainland.’
Another grunt, this time the derision was abundantly obvious. ‘It is January—you cannot go two weeks without a storm like this.’
‘Yeah, well…’ She tapered off, hating that he was right. Hating that she felt stupid, and worthless, just as she had almost her whole marriage. The weather had been unseasonably warm, right up until that afternoon. ‘I thought it would be fine.’
He crossed the room then with easy athleticism to what she now saw was a rudimentary kitchen. Everything about this cabin was rustic to the extreme. The fact it had electricity and running water were the only saving graces. She watched as he removed a can from a small cabinet, then used an old-fashioned opener to take off the lid. He grabbed a fork from the bench and stalked over to her. ‘Eat this.’
She stared at it, frowning, her nose wrinkling at the smell. ‘Tuna fish?’
‘It’s good for you.’
There was something about the statement that drew a small smile to her lips, despite the desperation of her situation. He didn’t really seem like someone who’d follow nutritionist accounts on social media or something.
‘It will fill you up,’ he added.
‘It’s cold.’
‘This isn’t a five-star hotel.’
‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Hey, if you’ve got complaints, you’re welcome to take your chances out there.’ He gestured to the windows again.
‘I thought you didn’t want my death on your conscience?’
‘I don’t. So eat something.’
