Like you?He kept that question to himself. What do you know? He was getting wiser.
“I’m going to change.” She started down the hallway before pausing to ask, “How did you find my truck keys?”
“They were in your coat pocket.” He gestured to the living room. “Now they’re on the coffee table.”
She uttered a noncommittal “Hmm” and then disappeared to “change” even though he thought she looked fine.
Ten minutes later, he was downstairs wearing a sweatshirt and running pants, his legs still so cold that the newfound warmth was almost painful.
“Coffee or tea?” Mimi called from the kitchen.
“Both. Either. Add some antifreeze.” He knelt in front of the hearth, looking over his shoulder to catch her laugh, but she was facing away from him. A pair of tight skin-hugging pants rounded her bottom. He promptly forgot about building a fire. No need now that there was one flaming to life in his pants. Damn, she looked good. Those subtle curves more pronounced thanks to the stretchy material. He watched her backside while she reached for mugs and bent for spoons.
When she hid that fine ass behind the kitchen island, he went back to his work. Which was...what again? Oh, right. Making a fire.
“Coffee,” she said when he’d bent to light the twisted newspaper. He accepted the mug and watched as flames licked along the bottom of the wood.
“Not bad.” She reached in and adjusted a log. He snatched her hand away.
“Don’t put your hand in there. It’s on fire.”
“It’s not going to catch unless you allow some air between those logs. Fire needs air. Your stack resembles a log cabin. It’d be lucky to see a faint draft.”
“Very funny.” He handed her the wrought iron fire poker. “Use this. I happen to like your fingers attached to your body.”
She slid him a foxy little glare and he got out of her way. Her butt shook as she poked and prodded his handiwork. That sexy wiggle made him want to beg for mercy—or relief that could only come from her naked and lying against him.
“There you go.” The fire was high and bright when she turned to face him. “I’ll make a mountain man out of you yet.”
“Sorry, honey. I’m a Texan first and foremost. But good luck with that.” She moved to stand and he stayed her with one palm. “Stay put.”
He pulled a folded blanket from the cabinet and tossed it to her. She spread it out on the rug in front of the fireplace and arranged a few pillows from the neighboring love seat on the floor.
He sat next to her and handed her a coffee mug, keeping his own in hand.
“Thawing out yet?” she asked, lifting her steaming mug to her lips.
“Finally.” His eyes slid down her long legs, folded to one side. “I like those pants.”
Her eyes widened, her lashes fluttering a few times.
“A lot.” He punctuated that comment with a nod.
She threw her head back and laughed for a solid three seconds before sobering on a hum and sipping her coffee.
“Only you, Chase Ferguson.”
“Only me what?”
“The consensus by most men is that a rail-thin brunette with dark eyes, sticks for legs and a practically nonexistent chest does not a pin-up girl make. Yet you look at me like...” She shook her head, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Like what?”
Her cheeks went rosy and her throat worked when she swallowed. “Like you used to.”
She ducked her head, but no way in hell was he letting her ignore what was roaring between them. Not again. Not after she’d come outside to pull him in from of the cold.
“Like I know your calves lead from delicate ankles to the crooks of the sexiest knees I’ve ever laid my lips on?”