Page 5 of Glacial Mountain Man
She was close enough that I could smell her shampoo—something floral that didn't belong in my masculine space but somehow made it better. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, and I found myself leaning closer, drawn by some invisible force.
"Tank," she whispered, and the sound of my name on her lips nearly undid me.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For making me feel safe."
Safe. The word hit me like a punch to the gut. When was the last time anyone had felt safe with me? When was the last time I'd wanted to be someone's safe harbor?
"Good night, Candace."
"Good night, Tank."
I closed the door between us and stood there for a moment, listening to her move around the room. This was going to be a long night. And if the storm was as bad as the forecast predicted, an even longer few days.
But as I headed to my own bedroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.
I stripped off my shirt and lay down on my bed, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. All I could think about was the woman twenty feet away, probably undressing for bed right now. The thought sent heat coursing through me, and I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
This was going to be torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
3
CANDACE
"Iborrowed your T-shirt. Hope you don't mind."
Those were the first words I spoke to Tank when he came drifting out of his bedroom first thing the next morning. I sat at the small, round table, bear-shaped mug in front of me, sipping coffee that was far less sweet than I preferred.
My words stopped him short, and that was when I had no choice but to look at him. He was dressed identically to last night in those pajama pants and nothing else, but I'd forgotten just how freaking hot the guy was.
He was staring at my chest.
It wasn't the first time—far from it—but his gaze had heat rising to my cheeks. Heat was also pooling in another area of my body. An area that had never seen action.
"That ain't my shirt," he said.
I looked down. Across the chest were the wordsClothes Optional Zone. I'd barely registered it last night—I was so tired, and my mind was on texting back and forth with my parents to let them know I was okay and assuring them that Tank wasn't a serial killer.
"Whose shirt is it, then?" I asked, lifting my head to meet his stare.
His eyes were on my face again. I was surprised at the disappointment that flashed through me. I wanted this guy to ogle my chest. What did that say about me?
"One of my military buddies stays with me sometimes. He must've left it. He has a weird sense of humor."
“’Clothes optional zone.’ I'd definitely call that a weird sense of humor."
"I see you figured out the coffee," he said.
"Yeah, we have an old-school coffeepot at the bookstore. I make coffee every morning for my employees.”
His eyebrows arched, and I knew what he was thinking. Old-school coffeepot. No doubt he'd never even considered a one-cup coffeemaker. Something about him screamed efficiency. Maybe it was his military background or the way he'd pulled out food last night, lining everything up on the counter and making good use of his leftovers rather than cooking something new. I'd always admired people like that because I was the opposite. I couldn't even check the weather before leaving for an eight-hour trip.
"Breakfast?" he asked as he headed toward the kitchen.
I tried not to gawk at his backside, but it was more than a little difficult. The guy brought new meaning to the word “hot.”
"I'm fine for now. I usually don't eat until lunch."
