Wild Heat (Northern Fire)

by Lucy Monroe

  “Your gran used this to teach us company manners and we felt so special she shared it with us, we didn’t even mind.”

  “Gran was smart that way.”

  “Yes.” The expatriate Scottish woman had taught her own son and two hearty Alaskan grandsons polite behavior that wouldn’t embarrass them meeting royalty.

  And to Caitlin’s knowledge, not one of them ever complained.

  Tack ran his hand along the back of one of the chairs. “It’s a house blessed by family love.”

  And one day, he would fill it with his own. Tack would make an amazing husband and father, when he met a woman worthy of all that Taqukaq MacKinnon had to offer.

  “Can I see the rest?” she asked, not wanting to dwell on those thoughts.

  He waved toward the other side of the room. “Well, that’s the living room.”

  A huge brown leather sectional dominated the space, but a matching recliner was set up to also take advantage of the view of the huge plasma screen mounted on the wall opposite the short end of the sectional.

  The long side faced a huge stone fireplace, its raised slate hearth jutting a good foot into the room.

  The loft was set up as a library/home office, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the walls. There was a desk off to one side, no doubt one of his father’s or grandfather’s creations. A sofa in the same brown leather as the sectional downstairs faced a smaller fireplace on the other side of the room. They must share a chimney.

  Waist-high bookshelves made up the half-wall that overlooked the great room below.

  “Down that hall are two smaller bedrooms that share a bath on the left, and the master suite is on the right.” Tack waved to a log-framed arch, centered in the back wall.

  She didn’t ask to see the bedrooms and he didn’t offer, but led her back downstairs where he showed her the dry sauna he’d boasted about. The cedar-lined room housed a hot tub as well.

  “Now, this is decadence, Tack,” she told him.

  “It feels more like a necessity after a week of winter hunting.”

  “I bet.” He’d never talked her into going on an overnight hunt in the winter, much less one that lasted a week.

  Beyond the sauna was a utility and mudroom that opened into a heated garage that filled the space under the upstairs bedrooms.

  “It’s an amazing house, Tack,” she said as they came back into the great room. “Everything you ever dreamed of.”

  A strange expression came over his rugged, masculine features. “Almost, but neither my Scots nor my Inuit ancestors believe in perfection.”

  She couldn’t imagine anything that could improve on the beautiful dwelling and told him so.

  “That’s funny coming from a woman who lived in a Los Angeles mansion.”

  “That house was as soulless as the man who bought it.” She much preferred Tack’s welcoming log and stone home but figured he knew that by her already voluble praise.

  They drifted to the kitchen and she leaned against the big center island. “Aunt Elspeth would go into raptures in here.”

  “She pestered your gran and Miz Alma to put an island in her kitchen for weeks after her first visit.”

  Of course her aunt had already been here. Life in Cailkirn had gone on without Caitlin’s presence.

  “How did they talk her out of it?”

  “Miz Alma tried to appeal to her practical side, telling her it would be ridiculously expensive to do the remodel.”

  “You make it sound like that didn’t sway Aunt Elspeth.” And honestly? Caitlin wasn’t surprised.

  Practicality wasn’t her youngest aunt’s strong suit.

  “Not even close, but when Miz Moya said they would have to get rid of the kitchen table the Grants had been eating at since their first homestead cabin, Miss Elspeth decided she didn’t want the disruption of the remodel anyway.”

  “Clever gran.”

  He nodded, his body suddenly closer than it was before, though Caitlin hadn’t been aware of him moving. Which was odd, considering how in tune she was to his presence since sitting so closely to him in the diner.

  She tilted her head back to look at him, confusion at his nearness in no way masking her desire to pull him even closer. “Tack?”

  “Kitty.”

  “You’re very close.”

  “Observant of you to notice.” His big hand tucked under her hair to cup her nape in a move she’d quickly learned to crave.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I don’t understand.” Her heart sped up from his nearness.

  “You didn’t eat lunch.”

  “I wasn’t hungry.” With him so close, taking up all her senses and concentration, she didn’t have anything left over to feel shame or worry about that.

  “You haven’t been hungry since our hike.”

  She couldn’t deny it. She’d done her best to eat, but she’d skipped more meals than she could afford to.

  He nodded, as if she’d confirmed something he was thinking. Only he didn’t bother to share it with her.

  “I’m trying,” she told him, not wanting Tack to think she was more broken than he already believed. “I’ve done pretty well.”

  “I lifted you into the truck.”

  “Yes.” Her breathing turned shallow and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  His proximity was wreaking havoc with her equilibrium.

  “You’ve lost weight.”

  Not much and it could only be a guess on his part, one she wasn’t about to confirm. So she said nothing. Because she wasn’t going to lie either.

  “You enjoyed what we did at the overlook.”

  “You know I did.” He was the one who didn’t want to repeat the experience again.

  Tack shifted so his body pressed hers against the island. “Enough, I wonder?”

  “Enough for what?” she asked, unable to bring her voice above a whisper.

  He just shook his head, his masculine lips tipped in a barely-there smile.

  And then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her. Again. Right there in his kitchen.

  Completely unprepared for this turn of events, Caitlin had no hope of withholding her response. Her arms wound around his neck of their own volition, her body maintaining a rigid posture for all of about three seconds before she melted into him.

  He teased at the seam of her mouth with the tip of his tongue and she brazenly parted her lips to give him entrance. He swept inside, taking possession and teasing her with the need for more at the same time.

  He kept the caress of his tongue light, barely there.

  She pressed up against him, wanting more contact, but he dropped one hand to her hip and held her in place.

  Frustration overrode pleasure and she pulled away from the kiss. “Why are you teasing me?”

  “You want more, wildcat?”

  “Yes.”

  He dropped both hands away from her and stepped back, his expression firm. “Eat the lunch I make you.”

  “You want me to eat?” She didn’t understand.

  “That’s the deal, Kitty. You eat and I’ll rock your world.”

  He was aroused; she could see the impressive evidence pushing against the front of his jeans. So why was he talking about eating?

  Noticing where she was looking, he gave her a feral smile. “Like what you see?”

  “Yes.” There was no point trying to deny it. Not to him and not to herself.

  “I do too.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t sure why those words were so shocking.

  She knew he was turned on, but the idea she had done that was a new concept for her. At least lately. She’d been told countless times how pretty she was as a teenager and young adult, but it had been a long time since those days.

  His claim that he liked how she looked impacted her deeply, warmth suffusing her physically and emotionally. Sometimes she wanted to be thin again, but she knew that was the anorexia talking. She tried to enjoy breasts that actually filled her bra and
a bottom that curved.

  It was a lot easier to like her new body when she knew it excited the man in front of her.

  Tack tucked his thumbs in the front pocket of his jeans, outlining his obvious erection with his hands. “You want some of this?”

  She nodded, her mouth too dry for speech.

  “Eat lunch.”

  Sparks of desire traveled down her body, right to her core, and made her legs squeeze together to try to control the overwhelming sensation. He wasn’t just offering her a few kisses; he was offering sex.

  Real sex. The stuff he said she was too damaged for.

  She didn’t know what had changed his mind, but she wasn’t about to ask. Not beforehand anyway.

  She still didn’t understand why he was linking sex with her having lunch, but Caitlin wasn’t an idiot. If eating would get her access to Tack’s body and his big hands on her again, she would eat.

  The nerves and nausea that had plagued her earlier were gone, too, making the inner declaration an easy one to make.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  His smile was both pleased and just a little smug. “Sit over there.” He pointed to one of the two bar chairs on the side of the island.

  She did as instructed, her stomach clenching with unusual but welcome hunger. “What are you feeding me?”

  “Leftovers. I’ve got chicken and vegetable rice from last night.” He pulled a couple of containers out of the refrigerator and then poured a glass of the chocolate drink he’d given her on the hike.

  He handed it to her. “Drink up.”

  While he plated and microwaved the food, she sipped at the chocolaty goodness. “You sure you won’t give me this recipe?”

  He just gave her a look she’d known well a long time ago. The one that said, Yeah, not in this lifetime.

  “Do you cook like that for yourself all the time?”

  He shrugged. “I eat at the Homestead several nights a week with the family.”

  Just like the Grants, the MacKinnons had built their current large dwelling on their original homestead. It always passed down to the eldest son in the family and was the traditional gathering place for the entire MacKinnon clan living in or near Cailkirn.

  “But yeah, I like to cook. It’s relaxing. I usually make enough for two meals anyway, so it’s not so much effort for one person.”

  “Was that supposed to be your dinner tonight?” she asked, nodding toward the microwave that had just beeped.

  “Nope. We’re eating with the family tonight, remember?”

  When he put the plate in front of her, there was a chicken breast and at least a cup of the rice-vegetable mixture.

  Her heart sank. Even hungry, there was no way she could finish that amount of food. “This is too much.”

  “So, do your thing. Divide it in half.”

  It didn’t surprise her that he’d noticed her ritual. Tack always saw what others didn’t.

  His easy acceptance of it was a little startling, though. “You don’t mind?”

  “No.” He winked at her. “I’m not going to withhold sex if you eat half of what I served you.”

  She nodded, as if she understood, but really? She didn’t. This whole sex-for-food thing was still proving problematic to her sense of logic.

  However, the food ritual was something she was very familiar with. So, it should just be a matter of doing what she’d done hundreds of times before, but she couldn’t seem to act on what her brain was telling her to do.

  She was reeling from his acceptance. She was used to odd looks, even from her aunts, but Tack acted like it was perfectly normal for a woman to meticulously separate her food and only eat half.

  “Need some help there?” he asked, a devilish light in his dark eyes.

  She wanted to say yes, just to see what he’d do. Only that would be silly. It was one thing for him to play her quirks off like they didn’t matter and another for her to pull him into them.

  With a shake of his head, but no condemnation that she could see, he picked up the fork and table knife he’d placed beside her plate. Then Tack proceeded to cut the chicken breast in half lengthwise, careful to make the portions equal. He diced one side into small, bite-size pieces.

  This man was going to make the most wonderful father someday. She found the fact that he was doing this for her, a grown woman, touching instead of embarrassing. Go figure.

  He separated the rice, again making sure the two portions were equal. “There you go, wildcat. Have at.”

  Emotion choked her, but she discovered it didn’t impact her ability to take the first bite. Or the second, or even the third.

  “You’re a good cook,” she complimented him eventually.

  He snagged the extra half of the chicken with his fingers and started to eat it. “Thanks.”

  “You’re still hungry?” she asked with surprise.

  He grinned. “I wasn’t finished with my lunch when we left.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t noticed. “I’m sorry.”

  “No reason to be. Aana didn’t mean to upset you with her fussing, but you weren’t going to eat that salad with dressing all over it.”

  “I could have refused it.”

  “You’ll get there.” There wasn’t an ounce of censure in his voice. “Just remember, Aana and your family don’t want to tear you down like Barston did. They want to help you get well, but they don’t know how.”

  “Why are you so good at it?” she asked without meaning to.

  His easy acceptance meant too much, but no way would she turn away from it.

  “You’ll find your feet with your family and the town again.” Which wasn’t an answer, but she understood it was the only one she was getting. “You’re slowing down. Do you need a little more incentive?”

  “What?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

  Until he moved in, swiveling her chair around so he could kiss her, a soft caress of his lips against hers. Nothing more than that, but it blew her away. This easy intimacy.

  She’d never experienced it before, couldn’t imagine it with anyone but him.

  Then he fed her a bite of chicken with his fingers. She got a little taste of him with the meat. When she finished chewing, he kissed her again, another simple bussing of lips, and Caitlin thought she would never hesitate to eat if doing so was always so pleasurable.

  She was finished with her lunch before she even realized she was close. That hadn’t happened in a very long time. There was still way too much have to with eating, but like Tack said, she’d get better.

  Dr. Hart had believed it and on her good days, Caitlin did too.

  She stood up to put her plate in the dishwasher, but before she got the chance, Tack swept her up in his arms and headed out of the kitchen.

  One of her shoes clattered as it landed on the hardwood floor.

  “What are you doing?” She was breathless and not even a little embarrassed about it.

  “I thought you knew what came next,” he answered in a voice richer than gourmet chocolate.

  “But the dishes…”

  “I’ve waited long enough, wildcat.” His low, masculine voice went through her like a caress. “You aren’t the only one who wants this.”

  Which she’d known, but it hadn’t sunk in completely. Even with the evidence before her eyes. That he would admit it was outside her experience too.

  But that he was impatient to make love? That was better than a hot fudge sundae on a summer day and a lot less stressful.

  He took the stairs two at a time, the burden of carrying her not slowing him down at all. Her second shoe made a noisy descent down the stairs as they went up. The loft library went by in a blur, the hallway barely registering.

  She didn’t know if it was because he was moving so fast or simply because nothing but his big body registered with her.

  Nuzzling into the spot where his neck and shoulder met, she inhaled his scent. It had always meant safety to her, but right now? The manly fragranc
e filling her senses caused a visceral reaction in her, beading her nipples, sending a blush of desire to wash her body with heat, causing prickles of excitement to spark down her nape and spine, right to her inner thighs, making her vaginal walls contract almost painfully with the need to be filled.

  She’d never responded this way to Nevin, not even in the early days.

  And that was the last comparison she was going to make. There was no place for even the tinge of those memories in the present.

  She’d never craved making love as she did right now, had never responded to another man’s touch, much less his presence, like she did to Tack’s. Everything felt new and different. And that was all that mattered.

  He laid her in the center of the huge bed and then stepped back, yanking his Henley off as he went. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his boots and socks, the sound of them thumping to the floor in quick succession making her smile.

  She knew there was probably something she should be doing. However, she was too entranced watching the play of afternoon light over his dusky skin as his muscles rippled with every movement.

  He stood up to yank off his jeans, revealing thighs heavy with muscle, long masculine legs sprinkled with black hair. His dark blue knit boxers stretched obscenely in front, making his erection look bigger than it was.

  Right? Of course he wasn’t that big. Just because he was six and a half feet tall and as broad as a door didn’t mean he was proportional everywhere. Did it?

  Filled with fascinated trepidation, she watched him shuck the boxers and turn to face the bed.

  She let out a sound between a gasp and a squeak at her first sighting of the club between his legs. Rigid and dark with blood, the thick hardness rose toward his flat stomach, its tip crowned with pearls of viscous fluid.

  “You look like you’re staring at the Eighth Wonder of the World there, wildcat.” Aroused humor infused his tone.

  “I think maybe I am.”

  He gave a strangled laugh. “Nope. Just a man.”

  Or rather a very particular part of a man, because she couldn’t pretend to be looking at anything but his extremely impressive erection.

  With effort, she shifted her gaze up to his face, meeting dark eyes filled with pure sexual desire. “There’s nothing just about you, Taqukaq MacKinnon.”