Oh, did I mention he had his shirt off?
No, not just like… open.
Nope.
The green flannel was bunched up and sitting next to the pile of chopped wood.
And, ah, yeah, somehow he was exactly how my fantasies had painted him without his shirt on.
Again, those weird concussion dreams flashed across my vision, and I knew exactly what that skin felt like, pulled taut over firm muscles.
As if sensing me, he straightened, his head turning over in my direction, giving me a soft smile.
Feeling caught, I jerked away from the window and made my way into the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee to bring him out as a thank you, then slipping on shoes and one of my grandmother’s warm shawls to partially cover my thin nightgown that was definitely more pretty than practical.
I was going to go ahead and not analyze why I was suddenly wearing pretty nightgowns to bed when my usual nighttime attire was sweatpants and oversized tees or sweatshirts.
As soon as I made my way around the corner of the house, Way was swinging the ax down into a big log.
My mouth went dry.
And other parts of me, well, dry was not the problem.
Almost as if he sensed my thoughts, his body stiffened and he turned to look at me.
Was that heat in his eyes?
The way my body warmed said it was.
“Hey,” I said, feeling dumb, like I should have come up with something to say while I waited for the coffee to drip.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, tone soft as I held out his mug to him.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, looking at his progress.
“Couple hours,” he told me, shrugging it off.
“It’s barely eight,” I said, shaking my head.
“I get up early. There’s a cold snap coming. I wanted to make sure you have enough wood to keep you warm,” he told me, and I swear his gaze dipped down to my chest where my nipples were pebbled up hard against the thin material.
“That is really sweet,” I said. Because it was. Because I couldn’t say what I was really thinking.
Which was something about riding him until we both came hard.
“Just being a halfway decent guy, baby,” he said, shaking his head.
“Do you know how many men I’ve had not hold a door for me?” I asked. “Trust me, this is more than halfway decent.”
“They may have been males, but those were not men,” Way said, looking disgusted on my behalf. “How was your night?” he asked as he drained his too-hot coffee, putting the mug down on the wood pile.
“It was good. The fire really helped.”
“You’re cold,” he said as the wind kicked up, making a shiver course through me.
Then this man grabbed his discarded flannel and brought it over to me.
“Here,” he said, pulling it behind my back, settling it on my shoulders, but holding the material by the sides, his warm fingertips touching my frigid skin above the deep square-neck of my nightgown. The touch and his nearness made an entirely different kind of shiver move through me. “There are other ways to warm up,” he said, voice lower, deeper.
“Really?” I asked, looking up at him, my chest getting tight, my thighs clenching together to try to ease the ache there.
With a small yank of the material, he forced my whole front to his whole front.
“Oh,” I said, the sound part surprise and part disappointment. There was no denying I thought he meant something else entirely. “You’re so hot,” I said, then felt my cheeks heat at the way that could be taken. “Warm. You’re so warm.” Though, yeah, he was undoubtedly hot as well.
One of his hands rose, grabbing the back of my neck, applying pressure until my head rested against his chest, where I took a deep breath of his unique scent. Something woodsy and masculine.
It was practically narcotic.
I felt oddly drunk off of just the scent of him.
“Better?” he asked, his chest vibrating into mine, making my breasts feel heavy, desperate for touch.
“Mmhm,” I said, not caring how that sounded.
I didn’t seem entirely capable of rational thought right then.
I felt completely and thoroughly… consumed by him.
I mean, closeness with a guy you were attracted to was always kind of intense.
But nothing in my life had ever felt quite like this.
It was overwhelming.
I felt like I might cry if he didn’t touch me.
As if sensing that thought, his other hand lifted, anchoring around my back, holding me tightly against him as the other hand shifted up, and his fingers started to gently massage my scalp.
I didn’t purr.
But the sound that came out of me then, well, it was, you know, purr-like.
And that sound made a delicious little growling sound move through Way’s chest, vibrating into mine.
Suddenly, his fingers turned, grabbing a handful of my hair, and gently yanking me back by it until I had no choice but to angle my head up to look at him.