Page 22 of The Healer

She squeaked. There was nothing she could do. The man was huge, so forcing him to get in the car was impossible. Shoving her foot inside the boot, she tugged her cap on, and scrambled out of the car, sliding her jacket on too.

“Sir!” Running after him, she puffed air like a smoker.

He paused again, a slow sensual smile forming.

She trembled for another reason she was ashamed to analyze. “I can’t abandon you. I swore an oath,” she cried out, stumbling to a halt beside him.

“Are you always this stubborn?” He cupped her shoulders with his massive hands and spun her. “My car is just over the rise. I’m snow bathing.” His eye twitched.

She snorted at that blatant lie. “Right.”

He ran a gaze over her, lingering on the rapid rise and fall of her breasts in her T-shirt. “Undress and join me.” His voice deepened, hoarse and sexy.

Amazed at the heat shooting along her nerve endings, she gasped. Aware he waited for her response, she shook her head.

He shrugged. “Until later, ma’am.”

This time, she let him walk away. Watched him do it with the avid eye of an artist. Hell. He was gorgeous, beautiful, something Michelangelo would drool over. Hiking to her car, she slid in and palmed the steering wheel. Warm air blasted her from the still-running engine.

Drawing in a deep breath, she released it on a moan. A giggle escaped. She banged the door shut. Now that was an encounter of note. Pity she didn’t have it in her to sneak a photo. Evie would just have to believe her without evidence.

Driving off took all Ilona’s concentration. She wanted to look back, to search for her mysterious man. She crested a hill, and sprawling before her in the dip of the valley was Coedwig. It had one winding main road, with many capillaries reaching out to tiny cabins, their lights flickering gold in the darkness.

The nearer she traveled, the larger things became, with the pines trees towering above the road, the capillaries wide enough for trucks. Civilization came to life in a ramshackle bar, well-lit diner, a doctor’s practice, and a mercantile store. The farther she drove, she passed homes alongside the road and one double-story with ‘Cozy Cromwell’s’ in neon lights on the siding.

She chose an available parking bay, her snow tires crunching. The installation of those delayed her departure from Inner City, but she was there now. Smiling, she texted Gran and Evie, letting them know she had arrived safe but not sound. Marching along the salted path, she lugged her bag up to the large wooden door. It opened as she raised her hand to knock.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” A tall man blocked the light and warmth pouring through the door.

He was wrestling-huge, with bulging muscles and a barrel chest. His mocha skin contrasted with the shock of white hair flopping over a face God took a hand in creating.

She gaped, wishing she had loosened her hair to hide her scar. People stared at it, as fresh as it was, throwing pitying expressions at her. She hadn’t minded, uncaring what they thought, only aware of what it meant to her. Her survival. Her parents’ death. Now, with his ice-blue gaze trailing her like Mr. Nude had done, her scar itched under his perusal.

“We have here a freezing woman. Mind moving?” She arched a brow.

He jerked back, surprise widening his eyes, but he leaped aside. “Harriet, your guest has arrived.”

His boom rattled Ilona’s bones, and she glared at him, huffing past him with her heavy luggage. He hadn’t asked to carry it, and she wasn’t about to demand he help. What an ass.

A wide staircase curled upward to the left of the foyer with a room leading off on either side. Wooden flooring and colorful rugs trapped the warmth. The ceilings were high, with cream-painted wainscotting and brass wall lights adding an inviting glow. A glance to the right showed a formal dining room, with an antique dark wood dining table and chairs with burgundy brocade. To the left was a living room with deep floral couches and a roaring fire in the fireplace. Down the hallway, just past the stairs was a white and cream kitchen, bright light pouring through the arched doorway.

“Dane, leave the poor girl.” A woman adorable as her gran appeared. Her gray hair was unraveling from her chignon, and her eyeglasses kept sliding down her nose.

Ilona beamed. “Hi, my gran made a reservation.”

The woman hurried past Ilona. The essence of rose trailed her with the ties of her apron whipping around her. She tugged a book along a side table and ran a gnarled finger down a page. “Ms. Strickland?”

Ilona winced. “Call me Ilona.”

The elder woman frowned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Ilona pinched her lips and glared at the man, despite the heat of the ass’s stare burning her. “Quit staring,” she whispered.

His eyes widened again, then he chuckled and continued to stare.

“Oh, all right. Dane, take Ms. Strick—”

“Ilona, please.” She unzipped her jacket, wondering if the spike in her temperature was due to Dane’s curiosity or Mr. Balls-to-the-wind. She hoped it was the latter’s fault. Smirking, she handed her jacket to Dane.

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