“No.”
“That settles that.”
She speared a piece of water chestnut. “It doesn’t settle anything at all.”
He gave off waves of restless, roiling energy as he planted his elbows flat on the table.
“I keep odd hours,” she said. “I’ll be out most of the day, and working most of the night.” She brought her fork to her lips but tasted nothing.
“You still have to eat.”
She shrugged and swallowed. “I’ll throw something together.”
“Candy and soda? For two weeks?”
“My health isn’t your concern, Macallister.”
“And I’m trying to be an adult, Jenny.”
“Listen.” She rolled her shoulders. “I don’t know how to cook. Period.”
“I’m not expecting balsamic-glazed salmon.” He waved a chopstick. “A burger will do.”
He just wasn’t getting it. “I order in a lot. My schedule doesn’t allow anything else.”
“Nothing else?”
She glared at him with a fork still in her mouth. What was he digging for?
“I have a friend who works twenty-four-seven like you. He’s very successful, owns whole buildings. I bet you lead the lab where you work.”
“I’m an associate professor,” she conceded, trying to sound not too defensive. “I have a lab of my own.”
“But no partner. No lover?”
Her jaw tightened. Was he flirting or was he playing cat and mouse? “We don’t have to get to know each other. I’m only here two weeks. Who I sleep with is none of your business.”
“I disagree, Red.” That green gaze pierced right through her. “I need to know if we’re going to have visitors.”
“There will be no visitors. I’m here to work.”
“That’s good news, Red.”
His eyes twinkled with something like humor. Was there something funny about her abstinence?
She said, “You’ll extend me the same courtesy, of course.”
“What courtesy?”
“No visitors. I don’t relish bumping into Bunny or Fi-Fi wandering around the kitchen in lingerie in the morning.”
“Bunny?” A flash of teeth. “Fi-fi?”
“Am I not making myself clear?”
“Oh, I hear you.” Dropping his chopsticks on his empty plate, he stretched his bulging arms out behind him, and then linked them to cup his head. His eyes glittered between lowered lids. “No visitors for me. I like my privacy, too.”
“Liking privacy doesn’t necessarily exclude female visitors.”
He nodded at her. “You’re a female visitor.”
“Not of the type we’re discussing.”
He grunted and let his chair sink down to its four legs. “You won’t be wandering around in the morning wearing lingerie, then.”
She concentrated on her plate, half-empty, remembering the heavy cream-colored silk nightgown tucked in her rucksack. The one that smelled of Chanel no. 5, the bodice edged in lace.
She did like pretty things.
“I’ll make a point,” she said, “of covering up.”
“Don’t do it for my sake, Red.”
“Logan.” She swept her napkin off her lap and planted it beside her plate. “I have a request.”
“And there she is, the Teutonic warrior-princess again.”
Her chest tightened. She’d been called a lot of things, but never that. “I request that you stop mentioning this afternoon’s incident.”
“You mean the incident when I glimpsed you naked in a bedroom?”
Damn her redhead’s skin.
“That’s a tough request.” He rubbed the scruff of his chin. “Not sure I can block that out.”
“I insist.”
“But nothing else makes you blush like that, Red.”
“Do you like making me feel uncomfortable?”
“No.” His grin dimmed. “But I do like to watch you come to life.”
She dropped her fork onto her plate. “Enough.”
“Easy, Red,” he said, he raised his hands. “It’s just a little good-natured teasing. Some banter over dinner. I’m trying to make light of an awkward situation.”
“I’ll clean up tonight.” She grabbed her plate and shot to the sink where she scraped the leftovers into the garbage disposal. “But we’ll fend for ourselves from now on.”
“Nonsense. I’ll do the cooking.”
“Not necessary.”
“I’m doing it anyway. I always cook enough for ten. I come from a big family, it’s an old habit.”
She shoved the faucet on and ran the plate under the stream. The hot water scorched her fingers. See? She wasn’t made of ice. She could feel heat, she could feel cold. She could come to life.
“Hey, hey…”
His voice soft, from just behind her. He leaned over and twisted the faucet to the colder side, careful not to brush his body against hers. The water temperature cooled to lukewarm and the steam that had risen from the stream settled.
“I’m a jerk, Jenny.” He took the plate out of her hand. “I meant no disrespect. I won’t bring up the subject again, that’s a promise.”
His sideways apology poked a pin into her pride. She thrust a dripping sponge at him. He took it and she let her fingers drop before they could touch his. She fixed her gaze below his chin and watched him stiffen in a slow hardening of muscle and sinew and jaw. Who was this guy? One moment he picked her to pieces, and the next moment he spoke to her in a voice that would calm a charging rhino.
“Apology accepted.” She stepped around him. “Thanks for dinner. I have work to do.”
She headed to the sanctuary of the dim basement, pounding down the stairs to grab the lab coat she’d left on a hook. Shoving one arm into the sleeve and then the other, she gripped the edges and pulled them tight.
Damn Logan. She did have a heart under this lab coat.
She just knew better than to let anyone near it.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, Logan seriously considered drinking his coffee in the nude. After all, he’d had an eyeful of Jenny, and he figured the only way he could even the scales would be to give her equal time. But just imagining the feel of her gaze roaming over him was enough stiffen him up. Naked, there would be no way to hide his attraction.
He opted for black boxer shorts instead.
About eight o’clock, his fingers tightened around a cup of coffee as she padded barefoot into the kitchen. A screaming red silk bathrobe draped her figure, falling only to mid-thigh. Unaware of his presence, she flipped a tangled braid off her shoulder as she walked to the refrigerator, opened the door, and then bent over to search the contents, giving him a glimpse of a few more inches of creamy thigh.
“Good morning, Red.”
She jerked around, fumbling with the carton of orange juice. No longer the frosty aristocrat who’d parried with him yesterday, she looked unkempt, confused, and vulnerable, like the intriguing woman he’d taunted into distraction after dinner.
She blurted, “You’re in your underwear.”
He lifted the coffee in salute. “I heard scientists had keen powers of observation.”
“You’re not dressed.”
“The important parts are covered.” He swallowed a fireball of the brew.
“But…” She waved the orange juice carton, her gaze fixing on and fluttering away from his boxer shorts, landing on his naked chest, and then flitting away again. “You made a promise.”
“I did.” He liked her like this, half-asleep and one step short of sputtering. For the moment, at least, there was no wall of ice between her thoughts and those soft-looking lips. “About not talking about a certain unmentionable event.”
“No. You said—you said there’d be no walking around in lingerie.”
“For you, and Bunny and Fi-fi.” He pulled on the hem of his shorts. “This isn’t lingerie.”
A flush crept up her jaw. The lack of sleep had taken its
toll on her wits. He knew she’d spent most of the night in the basement, clanging glassware, running water, unpacking boxes. He hadn’t heard her climb the stairs until nearly two a.m. He’d noted the time, because he’d been lying wide awake atop tangled cotton sheets, trying not to remember the thing he’d promised to forget.
“Those rules apply to you, too.” She turned away from him, yanked open a cabinet, and searched for something. “If I were in plain cotton underwear, you’d consider it lingerie, wouldn’t you?”
He spoke around the tightening of his throat. “I’d make that judgment as I saw it.” Can I see it?
“I consider what you’re wearing,” she said, slamming the cabinet door and yanking open another, “the male version of lingerie.”
“Consider me misinformed, then.” He crossed one arm across his chest and shrugged. “From now on, I’ll wear nothing.”
She slapped open and closed another set of cabinets. The orange juice carton wobbled where she’d placed it half atop the cutting board, half on the counter. He reached over his shoulder, pulled open a cabinet and curled his fingers around a glass.
He held it out for her. “Is this what you’re looking for, Jenny?”
She snatched it, showed him her back, and poured herself some juice. She was freezing into ice again. The time to make a better impression was before she hid within a block of it.
“So,” he said, scalding his tongue on the coffee. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Field work.” She rolled against the counter and cast him an odd look. “I’ll be out of your way.”
“At the national park.”
“Yes.” She took a sip of juice. “I need to collect samples. It’ll take a good long time.”
“You will need help finding them.”
She raised a brow. “I do this for a living. Dr. Springfield gave me directions.”
“Last time I checked, there were no street signs in that old forest.”
“I’ve got a Ph.D. in botany, Macallister. I’ll manage.”
Man, he’d gotten under her skin. He let his gaze slip over the skewed kimono and thought about how he’d like to put her in a better humor—and then pushed the thought away.
He’d made a promise “It can’t be easy searching for green plants in green woods—”
“I’ll stick to my job, Mr. Macallister. You stick to—” she waved a hand around the room “—to whatever is yours.”
He flinched. He knew he deserved that. He hadn’t worked an honest day in over six months, and hadn’t yet bothered to make any effort to do so. Until this very moment, he hadn’t given a damn.
“You’re in this cabin, invading my privacy,” he said, “so that makes you my job today.” He slid the half-empty cup on the counter and braced his hands behind him, on the solid granite. “The sooner you’re done with your work, the sooner you can be free of me and my lingerie. So. Let me help.”
She crossed her arms, holding the orange juice aloft. “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“John told me.”
“In the briefest of details, no doubt.”
“Back in March,” he said, feeling like a grunting brute, “when John first lent me the place, he dragged me to the park to help him search for some new species of honeysuckle. I took photos while John blathered on, like he always does when he’s excited about work.” Logan had just come back from the South American clinic and John’s chattering had been a welcome balm. “John mentioned something about another researcher he intended to contact to research the possibility of medicinal properties—”
“That’s me.” Jenny said, a line deepening between her brows. “But there were three species he was interested in testing. The honeysuckle and two others.”
“I know where the honeysuckle is.” He buried his nose in his coffee cup and breathed the bitterness of the grounds, trying to mask the memory of the funereal fragrance. “I can take you to the other places where John collected samples, but once there you’re on your own.”
“I’ve got a map of the park—”
“It’s dozens of square miles with very few trails.”
“Then I’ll show you Dr. Springfield’s written directions.” she said, wariness on her face, “and you can add context.”
“Better if I just take you there.”
Frost lightened those Icelandic eyes. “What happened to staying away from each other, Macallister?”
“We can go our own ways after.” Why the hell was he offering? “Once you’ve found what you came here for.”
“It’s generous of you,” she said, “to take a day off for my benefit.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So is this how cowboys apologize?”
He wasn’t apologizing. Not really. Well, maybe he was. But why the hell couldn’t she just swallow the story he’d given her? She was squinting at him now, like she was trying to determine his genus and species. He turned his back on her using the excuse of washing his now-empty coffee cup. Shoving the faucet on, he grabbed the sponge. Had he been away from human company for so long that he no longer knew how to act like a decent guy around a pretty woman? It didn’t help that he had the sight of her fixed in his head. The cooler she behaved toward him, the more he wanted to tease her, the more he wanted to see the flush of anger on her face, or lust, or any passion, any passion at all, as long as it was directed toward him.
“Listen.” He shoved the faucet off and wished he could turn off his libido as easily. “I have no plans today. I’m offering to help.” He turned to face her square. “Do you want it or not?”
She had that stunned-doe look on her face again. Couldn’t much blame her. He was going all hot and cold this morning. Even now, he couldn’t stop himself from looking her over, from the tips of her bare toes to the rumple of her rosy red hair, pausing lots of places in between.
“All right,” she said.
His cock twitched at her unwitting response to his thoughts.
“John’s directions aren’t great,” she confessed. “It’ll save me time if you can guide me directly.”
Cool professionalism brushed over her face like a coat of paint. Ah, yes. Dr. Vance had an obsession with work. Not him.
“I’ll show you.” He tossed the sponge to the back of the sink. “Be ready to leave within the hour.”
***
Jen adjusted the weight of her backpack and tried to concentrate on the path through the misty woods, rather than the sight of Logan loping in front of her. She’d been tripped up too many times by gnarled roots and jutting rocks beneath the layer of Sitka spruce needles. The last thing she needed was to go sprawling face first across a rock covered thick with racomitrium moss.
She should have declined Logan’s offer altogether, and she would have—had he not reacted so startled in the kitchen that morning when she’d called him out for apologizing. His awkwardness had spiked her curiosity. Her mouth had spoken before her better sense could intervene. And now Logan was here, bulldozing his way among western red cedar and hemlock. And here she was, trudging in his wake, fog dripping, her thoughts a mangled mess. She should be scouting the terrain, identifying tufts of Orthotrichum growing on tree branches, and the distinctive leaves of licorice fern Polypodium glycyrrhiza, not watching the flex of Logan’s thighs and wondering if he still wore black boxers under his khaki shorts or if he’d slipped into something that fit the hard curve of his Grade-A ass instead.
“The stream is just ahead,” he said.
“Good.” She glanced at the mist-soaked directions in her hands without reading a single line. “We must be close.”
“Three miles in, I’d say.” He glanced over his shoulder without breaking his stride. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
She couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. He’d asked a simple question, no reason to feel defensive, but one look at her battered hiking boots and scruffy leather backpack should have clued him to the fact that she’d done plenty of fie
ldwork.
He dropped back to walk beside her. They strode for a while under the misty green canopy, the rhythm of their movements slowly synchronizing until his step fell the same time as hers, until he exhaled as she did. The matching of gait reminded her of when she used to ride show horses as a teenager. There’d been a connection between her and her horses, an ability to read each other’s body language with the slightest tightening of a muscle. The connection unnerved her, so she gestured to the binoculars and the long-lensed camera dangling from his neck.
“You haven’t touched your camera,” she said. “Planning to shoot anything today?”
He absently touched the lens. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“If I get lucky. Sometimes my subjects are less than cooperative.”
“Subjects?”
“I have to tease them into showing themselves.”
What were they talking about? “Teasing can send a ‘subject’ screaming for cover, in my opinion.”
“Or it can coax them out of hiding. Hear that?”
He paused and she couldn’t help it, she stopped with him. She heard nothing but water gurgling and the slow sibilance of Logan’s breathing.
“It’s a cedar waxwing.” He gestured to a netting of branches above them, to the flutter of a bird. “Hear it now? That’s its mate, calling back.”
She heard a high-pitched whistle, a trilling in the trees “You’re a birdwatcher?”
“I bet you a beer that isn’t what you were thinking.”
Birdwatching sure as hell wasn’t on top of the list of things she’d expect this guy to enjoy. He looked built for rugby and wrestling bulls.
“And here I was,” she admitted, “assuming you were a common cowboy.” She stepped over a patch of thalloid liverwort. “Profession or hobby?”
“Hobby.” He offered up a hand as they approached a fallen log by the stream, already sprouting with fruticose lichen. “Does that make me any less threatening?”
“I’m not threatened.” She swept close to him, catching the scent of rain and a warm man before she strode a few steps closer to the stream’s edge to breathe, not that she would let him see that. “You’re just annoying.”
Alone With You (Cabin Fever Series Book 1) Page 3