“Not dressed like that you didn’t.” Mitch gestured to her spike-heeled boots. What possessed someone to wear shoes like that in the winter?
She shrugged. “A girl has to grow up at some point. Can’t run wild through the forest forever.”
Why the hell not? It sounded like a perfect lifestyle to Mitch. Very similar to his own. Well, the one he’d fashioned out of necessity, anyway.
They drove with only the music filling the truck. Major, apparently not taking Candy’s insult personally, had fallen asleep behind the front seat. When Mitch stopped the vehicle in his snow-covered driveway, the dog popped his head up and barked. He pushed a wet nose into Mitch’s ear, then turned toward Candy.
She held up a hand. “Don’t even think about it.” She opened the passenger door.
Major scrabbled into the front seat, ignoring Candy’s shouts as he bounded across her lap, and hopped down into the snow.
Mitch bit his bottom lip, trying desperately not to laugh. When Candy turned fiery eyes his way, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He laughed for a good twenty seconds before wiping his eyes.
“Your animal ruined my skirt. That’s funny to you?” She indicated tiny pulls in the expensive fabric.
He had clothes that looked far worse, and he certainly preferred his faded jeans and T-shirts over stuffy business suits and offices and meetings and…his chest tightened thinking about all the crap he'd left behind.
“Major would offer to buy you another, but he’s short on cash at the moment.” He motioned to the open passenger door. “Hang on a second and I’ll shovel a path to the door.”
He climbed out of the truck while Major barked at something in the backyard. Mitch grabbed the shovel he’d rested against the front door before leaving for work in the morning. At least someone had listened to the weather reports and made sensible plans. If Miss Manhattan had taken his advice and shacked up in the motel, he wouldn’t be freezing his ass off shoveling a path for her majesty right now. He wouldn’t be faced with the prospect of having her spend the night in his home. His castle. His refuge.
Something told him she would be less than impressed by the accommodations. She had VIP Treatment written all over her, and Mitch didn’t consider anyone VIP material. At the heart of it, people were just people. No one was any better than anyone else. Everybody had the same potential. Every life had worth. This was where he and his father had disagreed. Repeatedly. When his throat tightened, he pushed the thought aside like he always did.
“It’s freezing out here,” Candy called from the truck.
No shit, princess. He couldn’t feel his fingers, and snow had seeped into his work boots, icing up his ankles. He just wanted to get inside and take a hot shower. Alone.
Mitch cleared the rest of his narrow path and bowed before Candy, still seated in the passenger seat. “Your Grace.” He thrust out an arm, indicating the path was now ready to accept her.
She pursed her lips and placed one of those ridiculous heels onto the running board. The moment she put weight on it, the boot slipped, sending her tumbling into the snow pile Mitch had created at the end of the hastily shoveled path.
Again, laughter bubbled out of him. Twice in one day? Unusual, but she was just so…so…unlike anyone in Elridge.
He extended a hand to her, but she refused the help. Instead, she struggled to her feet like a newborn calf, then stalked to his front door. She would have succeeded in regaining her dignity if not for the compacted snow stuck to her skirt.
She turned to look at him through narrowed eyes. “Let’s go. I'm freezing.” Mitch put a chokehold on the shovel handle, imagining Candy’s neck in its
place. The quicker they got through this evening, the quicker morning would come. The quicker he could get her off to Atlanta. She didn’t belong in Elridge. She certainly didn’t belong in his house.
The screen door squeaked as he pushed open the front door.
“No locks?” Candy looked up at him as they stood close together in the threshold.
“Don’t need them.” Though someone should lock him up for bringing her here.
Her brow furrowed, as if the notion of not locking, double locking, triple locking one’s front door was incomprehensible, then stepped inside. “It’s cold in here.”
“What do you mean?” Mitch shuffled in behind her and flicked the light switch by the door. Nothing. Judging by the frostiness in his small kitchen, the power had been out for a while.
Wonderful.
“Let me guess; you don’t believe in electricity. It hinders your pure living out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Mitch growled at her as he felt his way through the dark to the hall closet. He grabbed a flashlight and shined it on Candy.
“Stay here. Don’t touch anything.”
The last thing he needed was to have her wandering through his house. He’d get the power running, set the ground rules, and figure out what to do with the princess.
Chapter Four – Candy Heats Up
Standing alone in the freezing darkness, Candy wrapped her arms around herself as a deep shiver chased through her body. Her teeth chattered. She clamped her jaws tight and rubbed her upper arms in an attempt to rev up her circulation through the soft cashmere. She wiggled her toes in her tight, pointed boots.
Anything to get warm. She’d never imagined Georgia could be so cold. She’d locked her winter coat in the trunk of the rental car along with her suitcase for the drive to the airport, thinking she’d be plenty warm in her sweater and skirt with the car’s heater running.
Her suitcase. Damn. Damn. Damn. Her rustic savior in denim and flannel had whisked her away to this icebox in the woods without her suitcase. And she’d let him. Suddenly, all she could think of were her cozy wool slacks, warm socks, and favorite fuzzy slippers imprisoned in the trunk of the wrecked car.
“Hey!” she yelled into the empty blackness. Pipes clanked somewhere but no response came. “Hey!” she called again.
More clanking. Then doggy toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. Candy raised her voice. “Mitch!”
“What?”
She jumped as a flashlight beam danced across her face. “Don’t do that,” she protested.
He swung the light toward the wall so she could see him without being blinded. “What do you want?” he asked.
“We need to go back.” “Go back where?”
“To my car. I need my suitcase.”
He stepped toward her, gripped her shoulder, and marched her to the front door. When he opened it, an icy blast blew up her short skirt, and Candy recoiled. Mitch aimed the flashlight out into the whirling maelstrom of white. “I don’t think so.”
Her heart sank. He was right. Only a fool would venture out in a storm like that, and he didn’t strike her as a fool.
Mitch shut the door with a firm click. “Looks like the power may be out for some time. The lines are down, and I couldn’t get the generator started.”
“Won’t the power company come out to fix it?”
“Not ’til the storm’s over, and there’s no telling when that’ll be.”
Great. Now she was doomed to freeze to death in Middle-of-Nowhere, Georgia, with a complete stranger and his sloppy dog—if she didn’t starve first. She felt a whine coming on and couldn’t muster the strength to suppress it. “But I can’t stay here in the dark with no clothes and no food.”
Mitch laughed. “I have food. We just won’t be able to cook it on the stove. Besides, I thought you said you grew up in the woods. What happened to your survival skills?”
“I ditched them for civilization.”
“Well, better bring them back. You’re going to need them.”
Candy closed her eyes. She never should have come on this trip. She should have stayed home in her comfortable apartment on the upper West Side where she had heat and light and…do what? Spend the holidays alone? Ever since her
mother died, she’d dreaded spending holidays by herself. That’s why
she’d wanted to keep the office open. If she worked straight through this cursed time of the year, she barely noticed. Tears tickled the back of her throat, and she balled her fists.
I will not cry. No matter what.
But she made no promises about pouting. “I’m cold and wet and need a hot shower.”
Mitch raised his left brow at her tone, but she didn’t care. Let him think she was a spoiled princess. At least he was in his own home.
Then he smiled, and a tiny flame of warmth flickered inside her. “You’re in luck. We may not have heat or light, but we do have hot water.”
“How?”
“The water heater’s gas. Just don’t take too long. The pump’s running on the back-up battery, and I don’t know how long it will last. I’d hate to have to resort to melting snow for water if the power doesn’t come back on in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days!” That wasn’t possible, was it?
He shrugged. “You never know. Follow me. I’ll show you the bathroom.” Candy didn’t balk when he grasped her small, cold hand in his big, warm one
and led her down the dark hall to a compact, white, spotlessly clean bathroom with an old-fashioned claw foot tub. A large, round rain showerhead projected from the wall above it.
Mitch turned the taps to adjust the temperature, then pulled the valve for the shower. Water cascaded down, and clouds of steam boiled up to fill the frigid room. He opened a cupboard and handed her a thick, white towel. “Here. Remember, don’t take too long.”
“But I don’t have anything to wear.” Her sweater and slip of a skirt were damp from the snow.
“I’ll leave something next to the tub for you.” “I won’t be able to see.”
“I’ll leave you the flashlight.” He set it on the toilet seat, aimed at the ceiling. “Now you won’t be able to see.”
He heaved a sigh. “I’ll be fine. I know every board and nail of this place.” The door clicked sharply behind him.
It crossed her mind that stripping down to nothing in the house of a man she’d known less than an hour might not be the brightest move. But common sense didn’t stand a chance against the siren call of hot water. Thirty seconds later, she stood stark naked under the spray as the glorious heat brought her chilled flesh back to life.
With a sigh of regret, she turned off the water much sooner than she would have liked and poked her head around the curtain. In a neat pile on the bath mat lay a pair of gray sweat pants and a red plaid flannel shirt. She grabbed the towel and rubbed her skin briskly to generate as much heat as possible before slipping into the clothes Mitch had provided.
They were obviously his. Candy tightened the drawstring of the pants and rolled the legs until her toes peeked out. She felt warmer already. Then she pulled on the soft, worn shirt and turned the cuffs several times to free her hands. A pair of thick wool socks completed the ensemble. She wiped a dry end of the towel across the steamy mirror, peered at her image, and stifled a snort. Definitely the Anti-Fashionista. It was a good thing no one she knew could see her now.
When she opened the bathroom door, a faint glow drew her down the hall toward the living room. She turned off the flashlight and followed the light. When she stepped into the living room, her breath caught in her throat. A dozen lit candles flickered on the coffee table, end tables, even the windowsills. Mitch knelt in front of a crackling fire in the stone fireplace, tucking more kindling around the logs. He turned his head toward her then rose in one fluid movement.
Chapter Five – A Hard Liquor Kind of Situation
Mitch told himself to stop staring, but despite the heat of the growing fire in the hearth, the command froze before it could take effect. Funny, he’d thought the oversized flannel and sweatpants would lessen her effect on him.
No luck there. Her wet hair was combed back from her face, which only managed to make her hazel eyes look deeper, larger. Between the flames of the hearth and candles, her beauty took on a luminous quality. It feathered along the high arch of her cheekbones and softened the bottom curve of her full mouth.
The tightening in his chest eased into a welcome ache. It had been some time since he’d felt like this, and he didn’t know how to curb it.
That wide -eyed gaze locked onto his, and his pulse picked up pace, the air going thick in his lungs. After several beats of continued silence, she blinked and looked away.
“Thank you for the clothes.”
He frowned, clearing his throat to jumpstart the stalled words. They came out rougher than he intended. “It’s not much, but you’re welcome.”
She licked her lips. His traitorous stare followed the quick flick of her tongue. “This is a nice room. I imagine there’s a lot of light during the day,” she said. Turning, he looked at the wide windows aligned with the western horizon. If not for the whiteout blanketing the landscape as far as the eye could see, they would be enjoying a nice sunset right about now. “This room is the reason I purchased the house. It was a bit of an impulse, to be honest.” But he wasn’t going into that now. Wiping palms that were surprisingly damp on the thighs of his jeans, he stepped back. “Here, sit by the fire.” He shooed Major from the foot of
the armchair closest to the hearth. “Are you hungry?”
“I could use a drink,” she said, sinking onto the leather cushion. She was a tall woman, but the chair enveloped her, somehow making her look small and delicate.
“A drink.” Yeah, he could use one of those, too. Maybe whiskey was what he needed to douse the warm, cozy fire she’d lit in him. As cold as the house was, he had no right to feel such riotous warmth. “I’ll see what I have.”
The kitchen, separated from the living room by a high granite countertop, ran toward necessity. He used the flashlight to find his way more easily around the rustic wood cabinetry. There wasn’t much he could whip up for her besides the whiskey and a bottle of cabernet he kept around for whenever he was in the mood to cook anything nicer than microwave dinners. “Is wine okay?” he called back into the living room.
“I’ll take some of that whiskey,” her voice said close behind him.
Glancing over his shoulder, he watched her run a hand over the smooth wood face of one of the cabinets. “You sure?” he asked, holding up the bottle. “It isn’t the smooth kind.”
She rolled her eyes, and the jaded, city attitude that cloaked her face skewered him. “Just pour me a glass. This is without doubt a hard liquor kind of situation.”
Taking a tumbler down from the cupboard over his head, he poured her a glass and set it down on the island between them. “There you are, princess. Have fun.”
She lifted the tumbler but frowned at him as she cupped it in both her hands. “You don’t think I can handle my liquor?”
“Did I say that?” he asked, amused. He poured a second glass and swirled the liquid. Rarely did he allow himself to indulge in whiskey anymore. Not alone, anyway. It had helped him cope with the most haunting events of his life. And from coping had grown a dependency he solved by pulling up roots and changing his lifestyle completely. In a way, whiskey had saved his life. He never took a drink without remembering—
She took a sip.
He waited for the flinch when the burn kicked in, but she did no such thing. Damn it, she was exceeding every one of his expectations.
“You didn’t say it, but the whole chauvinistic act leads me to believe you’re thinking it.”
It took him a moment to grasp the thread of the conversation. He snorted out a laugh. “Chauvinistic?”
“Yeah.” She set the glass down so she could prop her hands on the counter behind her and pull herself up on top of it. Crossing her legs comfortably, she lifted the glass again and gestured with it toward him. “You know what I’m talking about. The sweep-the-damsel-off-her-feet thing you did back there on the road.”
“Down here we call that chivalry, darlin’.” He smiled despite himself. “Chivalry is dead. Didn’t you get the memo?”
“Apparently n
ot.” Truthfully, surrounded by the rustic wood of the kitchen and with the glow of candle and firelight from the other room, if he hadn’t known
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