Page 5 of Awakening the Wild
Inside, the house was warm and dry. I'd left lights on in the main room. It was a large, open space with vaulted ceilings, exposed beams, and the stone fireplace that took up most of one wall. I had comfortable leather furniture, handmade rugs, andshelves full of books. It was the kind of space designed for long winter evenings and quiet contemplation.
Tonya stood in the doorway, dripping on my hardwood floors, looking completely out of place in her muddy outfit and my oversized shirt.
"Bathroom's upstairs," I said. "Second door on the right. There are towels in the linen closet."
"My clothes are in the trunk in my suitcase." Her voice was small, uncertain.
"I'll go out and get it.” It would give me a chance to unhook the Mercedes from my truck. I’d also see about getting it towed to town to see if Jerry could perform miracles and get it working again. “Go get cleaned up."
She hesitated, then nodded and headed for the stairs. I watched her go, trying not to notice how cute she looked.
Don't think about it. Don't think about her naked under the shower spray in an area big enough for both of them.
Too late.
TONYA
Kevin's bathroom was bigger than my Manhattan apartment. I peeled off my ruined clothes and stepped under the hot spray, finally allowing myself to break down.
What the hell was I doing here?
I was showering in a remote mountain house with a man who looked like he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat. A man whose dark eyes seemed to see straight through all my defenses. A man who made me feel things I'd never felt before—things that scared me more than being stranded in a storm.
Michael had never looked at me the way Kevin did. Like I was something he wanted to devour. The thought sent heat spiraling through me that had nothing to do with the hot water.
I stayed in the shower until my skin was pink and wrinkled, using his soap that smelled like cedar and sandalwood. The masculine scent that reminded me of how it felt when his hands were on my waist, lifting me like I weighed nothing.
When I finally left the bathroom with thick, fluffy towels around my body and hair, I saw that Kevin had brought up my suitcase and left it outside the door. He had left an enormous pair of wool socks and a fleece hoodie.
I got changed in the bathroom, happy to put on my comfy jeans and a T-shirt. I hadn’t wanted to tip off Michael by dressing like it was a weekend when I had left this morning. I was even happier for the thick socks and the hoodie, even though the hoodie came down past my knees.
Downstairs, I found Kevin in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove that made my stomach growl. He'd showered and changed too. He wore faded blue jeans that were snug on his remarkable ass and a dark blue sweater that stretched across his massive shoulders. His dark hair was still damp, I stared at the way it curled slightly at the nape of his neck.
"Feel better?" he asked without turning around.
"Much. Thank you." I hovered in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. "What can I do to help?"
"Nothing. Sit."
"I could—"
"Sit. Down." He turned to look at me, and his expression softened slightly when he saw me drowning in his hoodie. "You look like you're about to fall over."
He wasn't wrong. The adrenaline crash was hitting hard, leaving me shaky and exhausted. I sank into one of the chairs at his kitchen table, watching him move around his domain. KevinPike was not what I'd expected a hermit mountain man to be. His kitchen was spotless and well-equipped, with copper pots hanging from hooks and a spice rack that would make a chef jealous. He shuffled around the space like someone who actually enjoyed cooking.
"Beef stew," he said, ladling a rich and fragrant broth with chunks of meat and potatoes into two bowls. "It’s nothing fancy, but it'll warm you up."
The first spoonful was like heaven—tender beef, perfectly seasoned vegetables, herbs I couldn't identify but that made my taste buds sing. It was comfort food, the kind of meal that made you believe everything would be okay.
"This is incredible," I said around another spoonful. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"
"Necessity." He sat across from me with his own bowl. "Either learn to cook or live on frozen dinners."
"Michael never..." I stopped, realizing what I'd been about to say.
"Michael?"
Heat flooded my cheeks. "My ex-fiancé. He didn't like me cooking. Said I was too clumsy in the kitchen."
