Page 12 of Undoing His Innocent Enemy (Hot Winter Escapes)

Why did he have to look so gorgeous, when he was clearly a paranoid eejit?

The quiet stretched out between them, only disturbed by the snowstorm outside the glass—its roar partially muffled by the triple glazing. She refused to say more, forced to bite her lip until he gave her an answer she could understand.

Obviously, he had decided she had some ulterior motive for being here... For nearly freezing to death yesterday. But he needed to tell her what it was, before she could defend herself.

‘I know what your pictures are worth,’ he said, being so cryptic it was starting to strain what was left of her patience. ‘But you will never sell them.’

‘You found my pictures of the lynx?’ Was he some kind of wildlife photographer too? A rival? Although that made no sense either. Not only did he have a reputation for being extremely wealthy, but he also appeared to be an incredibly talented artist. Why would he be making a career for himself as a photographer when he could surely sell his artwork for a lot more?

It was his turn to frown. ‘Stop the act,’ he said.

The what-now...?

Frustration and fury blindsided her. She chewed on her lip, hard enough to taste blood, to hold the volatile reaction in check.

She would not let him goad her into losing her temper the rest of the way. Because she’d learnt at a young age, if someone insisted on judging you, on making you feel small and insignificant—the way her father had done so often, before he had disappeared from all their lives—the best thing to do was not let them see you cared about their opinion.

‘Why don’t you tell me what you think I’m guilty of?ThenI can drop my act.’ She ground out the words.

One dark brow rose up his forehead, the twist of his lips flattening into a thin, intractable line. But he remained maddeningly silent.

Her motto had always been never defend, never explain. Because in her experience, that only led to more judgement... But he was leaving her with no choice.

‘But just for the record, I’m a wildlife photographer.’ She pushed the words out, determined to believe them, even though up until two days ago her main source of income had been menial jobs. ‘The pictures on that camera were of a female Arctic lynx, which I have been tracking for weeks. You would also have found shots on the memory card of a wild reindeer herd from last week. I shouldn’t have come so far out—should not have waited until it was almost dark to restart the snowmobile. And I’m still beyond grateful you rescued me. But I don’t have an ulterior motive or a hidden agenda for being here...’ She glanced around the structure. ‘Whereverhereactually is. I didn’t even know you were a real person until this morning. But whatever your secret is, it is safe with me. All I want to do is rescue the equipment I’ve maxed out all my credit cards to buy. And, if possible, save the pictures I took of the lynx, which almost cost me my life. And then I want to return to Saariselkä so I can sell them to the stock photography company I’ve been trying to impress for months. If that’s okay with you.’

She finally ran out of breath, the effort it had taken not just to speak, but to overcome her golden rule and explain herself, leaving her exhausted again. Her whole body slumped, the starch of her justifiable anger seeping away to leave her drained.

Unfortunately, his expression remained carved in granite. It hadn’t softened one iota.

Well, isn’t that just grand?

‘Whatever your secret is, it is safe with me.’

Something leapt in Logan’s chest, something unprecedented and fierce. And dangerous.

She looked so earnest, so honest, so forthright—which was precisely why he would be a fool to believe her.

The moment of doubt, though, that she might actually be who she said she was, made him almost as angry as the flood of hunger.

Her pale skin had flushed a deep red, her eyes were bright with purpose, her stance both belligerent but also brave. Making her look even more stunning than she had this morning when he’d first encountered her in his kitchen.

The desire, thick and insistent, which he had not even been able to name last night, settled in his groin. The throb of reaction was almost painful. Making it impossible for him to ignore it any longer. Or what it implied.

He was physically attracted to his uninvited house guest.

This wasn’t just awareness, of her as a woman. It wasn’t even the sexual appetite he had always been able to satisfy by masturbating whenever he felt the primal, basic and entirely natural urge to have sex. It was more specific than that. It was the desire to captureherplump lips and discover her taste. To feelhermouth moulding to his. To drive his tongue into the recesses and capture the sobs ofherarousal. It was the intense longing to glide his palms beneath the hem of the shapeless sweatshirt of his she was wearing, to discover if her skin was as powder soft as it had seemed last night. The need to explore exactly what lay at the juncture of those long, toned thighs. The yearning to bare her body and caress every part of it.

He had never felt such desires before now—on the rare occasions he had encountered other women.

But somehow worse than his shocking reaction to this woman was the unprecedented urge to believe she was sincere. That if he asked her to, she really would keep his secrets safe.

He ground his teeth together, aware of the sweat sliding down his back. He unfolded his arms, the riot of sensations making him fidgety and tense. He shoved his fists into the pockets of his sweatpants.

The battle to draw himself back from the edge—not to let her see or even sense the yearning driving him—was harder than any battle he had fought in a while.

Surely this was precisely why he had kept himself away from other people for so long. So that he would never feel this driving need to touch, to hold? Because he knew he could not trust anyone to know his needs.

But he couldn’t detach his gaze from hers as he noticed the way her eyes darkened.

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