Page 35 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

Octavia was seated on the sofa reading a book as he entered the cozy parlor. She didn’t raise her head, but from the way her body tensed, it was obvious she was aware of his presence. With a grimace of self-disgust at his lack of control moments ago, he sank down into a chair beside the fireplace and stretched out his legs. Octavia didn’t acknowledge his presence. Instead, she devoted her attention to the book she was reading.

At first he thought she might be pretending to read, but the moment she turned the page of her book, he realized differently. Fingers digging into the wood arm rests of his chair, disappointment and frustration crashed down on him. How had the woman recovered so easily from his kiss?

He could have sworn she’d been enthralled, and when he’d ended their kiss, Atticus was certain he’d seen disappointment in her gaze. Yet, here she was reading a book as if nothing had happened, while he was finding it extremely difficult to forget how wonderful it had been to hold her in his arms.

In an effort to refocus his thoughts, Atticus looked around the room. There was something warm and intimate about the parlor. It made him feel at peace and comfortable, as if all was right in the world. The sensation was one he’d found only in a few places. One of those was his artist’s studio, and another was at Peaceful Sky Ranch. But this room was made all the more pleasant because he was with Octavia. The thought surprised him.

He’d never experienced such contentment before, and never in the company of a woman. What was it about Octavia that made him feel so comfortable in her presence? It wasn’t just because he wanted her in his bed. This was a new, novel sensation aside from the desire she stirred in him. Still contemplating the revelation, Atticus’s gaze continued to sweep around the room.

The moment he saw a gown hanging over a ladderback chair close to the fireplace, he frowned in puzzlement. But the instant he saw two feminine stockings draped over the screen in front of the fireplace, his stomach knotted up as if he’d had too much to drink.

Atticus remembered being surprised last night to find her gelding wearing a blanket, with plenty of hay and his water bucket wrapped up to keep it warm. Everything about the horse said someone had ensured the gelding would be comfortable while waiting out the storm.

Freezing and exhausted from his harrowing ride, Atticus had been too worried about the reception he was going to receive from Octavia to think about much of anything. The memory of her well-cared for horse had fallen to the wayside the moment he’d found Octavia safe and sound in the cottage. Now, Atticus remembered how she’d greeted him in her night clothes. In a split second, fear unlike anything he’d ever known shot a bolt of horror through him. Had she gone out to care for the horse?

Don’t be an idiot, Ashurst, you know damn good and well she did.

Christ Jesus, she could have died just as easily as Thomas had at the ranch last year. Atticus fixed his gaze on her, while fear and anger wrapped a vise around his chest with the speed of a whip lashing its way through the air.

“When did you last go outside?” he asked. Octavia’s head jerked up in surprise at the soft question.

She stared at him in bewilderment for a moment, her brow furrowed, as if trying to understand the question. Atticus was convinced he already knew the answer, but he waited for her reply. Perhaps she’d done it the moment it had started snowing. Octavia shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” she said with puzzlement.

“I asked you, when was the last time you went outside of the cottage, Octavia?”

Confusion still on her face, Atticus yanked one of her stockings off the fire screen and waved it in the air. The instant her cheeks grew red with embarrassment, he knew the truth. Furious, his free hand clutched the arm of his chair, he thought it might break beneath the pressure.

Glaring at her, it took every ounce of self-control Atticus possessed not to lunge out of his chair, drag her off the sofa, bare her ass, and paddle her until her skin was a fiery red. The instant the image filled his head, he knew taking his hand to her plump bottom would present him with an even bigger problem.

It wouldn’t just be her lush buttocks his hand would touch. He knew without a doubt he would find it impossible not to explore the heat at the apex at her thighs. He suppressed a groan, not knowing whether he was angrier with her or himself and his erotic thoughts.

Chapter 11

The sight of her hosiery dangling from Atticus’s fingers made Octavia’s cheeks burn with a fiery heat. Dear Lord, she knew she’d forgotten something this afternoon. Embarrassment sent her scrambling to her feet and rushing across the room to snatch the hose out of his hand. The woolen undergarment brushed her fingers as Atticus jerked it out of her reach.

“Answer me, Octavia.” The autocratic note in Atticus’s usually hypnotic voice made her glare down at him.

“I went out to feed Napoleon and check on the hens yesterday evening,” Octavia exclaimed with impatience as she stretched out her arm to try and tug the stocking out of his hand once more.

“Bloody hell, I almost didn’t find the cottage last night because the wind and snow were so bad,” he exclaimed with harsh anger as he lunged to his feet, forcing her to take two steps backward. “Do you have any idea the risk you took going out in that kind of weather?”

“It wasn’t a risk,” she bit out through clenched teeth. “Things weren’t as bad as they are now. I could still see the cottage, and I was quite safe.”

The instant she disagreed with him, a dark fury slashed across his handsome face. Startled by his anger, she jumped as he took an almost menacing step toward her. In the next breath, Atticus towered over her, and she fought to ignore the heat of him warming her body.

“One of the cowhands I knew in America thought he was safe too,” he snarled with a ferocity that made her tremble beneath his glare. “The poor devil froze to death about three hundred feet from the barn during a blizzard last year.”

Stunned by his scathing retort, a chill swept over Octavia’s skin. Atticus’s savage tone caused an image of a man freezing to death to form in her head. A shudder rocked her body at the thought. What he’d just described had to have been a terrible fate.

Another tremor pulsed through her when she realized the unfortunate cowhand’s fate could have easily been Atticus’s last night. He’d just said he’d had trouble finding the cottage in the snow. What if he’d failed? He would have died. The risk he’d taken to reach her had been far greater than she’d realized.

The thought of him freezing to death while trying to reach her made her stomach lurch in a sickening manner. But it was the possibility of him dying that made her cheeks grow cold as she felt the blood drain from her face. Unable to reply, she remained silent. His expression grim, Atticus shook his head.

“You put yourself in harm’s way last night, Octavia,” he said in a fierce, clipped tone as he offered her the hosiery. “You’ll not do it again. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she said with quiet regret.