Page 18 of The Roper & the Author

“I …” He held her gaze, but only because his mama did not raise any wimps. “I looked in on you.”

Her gaze grew smoky and warm, like hot fudge oozing over ice cream. Everything about her was delicious.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to clarify, “For your safety. You are under my protection.”

She studied him perceptively, and he didn’t know that his add-on was convincing. It appeared she liked being under his protection. “How did I look sleeping?” she asked, blinking up at him.

“Incredible,” he admitted before he could stop himself. He would never forget seeing her stretched out on that bed, her dark hair contrasting against the white pillow, her lips soft and her eyes closed. It was a confirmation of their initial meeting. Marci was an angel sent from heaven, to him.

How would he get any sleep tonight? He rubbed at his neck and then shoved his hand through his hair again. It was extremely warm in the upstairs hallway at the moment.

She grinned and the hallway grew even warmer. “I’ve always wondered how the heroine would look to the hero when she was sleeping.” She arched an eyebrow, imperious, adorable, alluring. “Can you describe it?”

His heart missed a beat. Describing how she’d looked sleeping would make him transparent. “Your dark haircontrasted with the white pillow. Your face and lips were soft. Your long lashes were resting on your cheek.” He took a breath, thrilled by the happy sparkle in her eyes. “You looked like an angel sent to me from heaven.”

The hall was silent as he finished. Marci beamed but didn’t say anything.

“Forgive me,” he felt he should say. He’d overstepped bounds.

“No!”

He jerked back. “No?”

“There is nothing to forgive. Your description was inspiring.” She smiled at him, and the floor shifted.

Walker wished there was nothing to forgive. He was flirting with the woman his twin brother was interested in. There was a lot to forgive.

“Let’s get you fed.” His voice was too gruff. He gestured, and she gave him a lingering look before walking down the hall and the stairs. As her dark hair swayed across her white T-shirt, he wanted more than anything in this world to give her a cowboy hat, a white one that matched her shirt. He could envision her riding Tantrum double with him, that hat on her head, her dark hair bouncing with the horse’s movements. They’d stop next to the lake and she’d turn to him. He’d sweep the hat off her head, bend, and claim her lips with his.

“What food options do I have?” she asked as they reached the main floor and walked toward the kitchen.

“Loads,” he admitted.

Mama was out winterizing her garden, so Walker showed Marci all the different food options. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the industrial fridge full of fresh fruits, vegetables, dairy, and loads of leftovers, then she looked to the counter full of fresh-baked breads and cookies.

“I’ve never seen so much delicious food in all my life,” she admitted. “Homemade and loads of it.”

“Mama raised six boys; she knows how to cook delicious food and a lot of it. The leftovers used to disappear before morning when we were all home. Now with Easton and me being the only ones here, and having our own cabins, she gets upset when nobody’s around to ‘partake of her hard work’.”

“Oh. I’ll try my best to eat. We don’t want Mama upset.”

He smiled at her. How had the good Lord created this perfect woman, put her in his path, and Walker had to give her to Easton? “What looks good?”

“I’ll have some homemade bread and chicken noodle soup. We don’t have a lot of reason to eat soup in Florida.”

“Perfect.” He moved to pull the soup out of the fridge and she moved at the same time. Their arms brushed and then their hands touched. He should’ve pulled away, but it felt so incredible that he just stood there. The warmth of her pulsed through him. He glanced down at her. Her mouth was slightly open, her gaze trained on him.

She ran her hand up his shoulder and around his neck, her fingertips raising pinpricks of warmth and awareness. Walker’s hand went to the small of her back of its own accord. Even the cold air from the fridge couldn’t counteract the heat rushing through him as their gazes held and Marci arched up to him, her body pressing fully against his.

The door coming in from the garage to the laundry room opened and closed.

Walker jolted and pulled back, grabbing the soup and yanking it out. He heard the water running in the guest bath. “Chicken noodle soup, right? Mama makes the best soup I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you,” Marci said, her voice breathless and her cheeks pink.

His heart would not stop racing.

“There you are,” Mama called as she entered from the laundry room. “Are you feeling all right, love? I got worried when you slept so long.”

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