Page 14 of Undoing His Innocent Enemy (Hot Winter Escapes)

Her lips lifted, the forced smile becoming genuine. There was definitely something to be said for having this man at a disadvantage.

‘Because I’m famished and I figured you would be, too. I made what I suspect is probably the first ever Irish Reindeer Stew with the supplies in the pantry.’

He didn’t respond, so she felt compelled to fill the void. Conversation, after all, was another of her Celtic superpowers.

‘Reindeer’s a nice lean meat, it might even work better than the mutton my mammy uses from the farm for hers. But it’s basically the same recipe. I couldn’t figure out how to work your oven, so I had to slow cook it on the stove but it’s—’

‘Stop talking.’ He held up a hand, cutting her off in mid-flow, his expression pained.

Disappointment rippled through her at his rudeness. But she tried not to take it personally. From the location of his home and his taciturn behaviour so far, she suspected Logan Colton was not a man well versed in conversation. Or any social graces at all really.

After years spent in the company of Irish men—who tended to use greatcraiclike a weapon, to charm unsuspecting women—this man’s bluntness was almost refreshing.

‘I did not ask you to cook for me,’ he said, the brittle cynicism back, but it was more wary than accusatory now.

Progress, after a fashion.

‘Consider it payback, for saving my life yesterday,’ she said, because it was clear he was uncomfortable with being in her debt—and she wanted him to know how ridiculous that was, given what she owed him.

His brow furrowed, as if he was searching for the trap.

She sighed.

Okay, they were really going to have to work on his suspicious nature. But when her stomach growled, she decided that would have to wait.

Switching off the burner under the pot, she set about ladling generous helpings of the stew into two big wooden bowls. He was still standing silently, observing her as if she were a science experiment he couldn’t quite figure out. She walked out of the kitchen area with the food, then placed the bowls on the large table already set with cutlery and napkins and an array of pickles and condiments she’d found in the pantry. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen space had a huge picture window that looked out on the forest gorge that dropped below this side of the house. But in the darkness, the large space felt strangely intimate. Especially as she’d had to light a couple of candles on the table when she had been unable to figure out how to turn on the lights in the dining area.

Something she was now regretting, big-time. What on earth had made her think candles would be a good look?

Seriously, Cara? He probably thinks you’re trying to seduce him now.

She’d also found a wine cellar. And had uncorked a bottle of merlot, which sat on the table now like another great big red flag to her bad intentions.

Heat flushed into her cheeks as her gaze connected with his.

‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t find a switch to turn on the lights over here when it got dark.’ Luckily the lights in the kitchen had already been on.

‘The house’s systems are voice activated,’ he supplied. ‘In Finnish.’

‘Grand,’ she managed, feeling about as transparent as a new bride’s negligee.

Yeah, maybe don’t think about naked brides right now.

‘That would explain why there wasn’t a switch, then,’ she said with a false cheeriness in her voice that made her feel like even more of a fraud.

To her surprise though, he didn’t order the lights on. Instead, he came to the table and sat opposite her. If he thought she had been trying to seduce him with the candlelit supper, he didn’t let on.

She pushed one full bowl across the table towards him, but drew her hand back sharply when his fingertips brushed hers. The frisson of energy that darted into her abdomen was not helpful at all. His gaze locked on hers momentarily. Had he felt it too? But then he bent his head and began to shovel the stew into his mouth without preamble.

She stared at the way the candlelight flickered over his features and made his tawny hair glow, highlighting a few golden strands in the burnished brown. The candlelight only made him look more rugged and handsome than he had that morning. His heavy stubble had grown into the beginnings of a beard, casting a dark shadow over that hard jaw.

She forced herself to stop staring and start eating.

The stew was rich and tasty—reindeer meat made a great substitute for mutton, who knew?—but she hadn’t managed to swallow more than a few bites before she felt full. Eventually, the jumping beans having a rave in her belly made it impossible to eat another bite. Dawdling over her own meal, she took the opportunity to watch him eat unobserved—and the fascination with him, which had increased while she explored his luxurious but strangely impersonal home, grew.

He was methodical but also voracious as he chewed and swallowed, drawing her gaze to the tanned column of his throat. She noticed the paler skin below the neckline, the chest hair visible past the open collar of his thermal shirt. There was a small crescent-shaped scar high on his right cheekbone, just above his beard, another that slashed through his left eyebrow, and a slight bump on the bridge of his nose. Had he broken it at some point? There were nicks and cuts, some healed, some fresh, on his fingers as he handled the spoon with casual efficiency.

Despite his wealth, it seemed this man hadn’t lived a charmed life.

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