watch where you’re going, then.” She saw, with reluctant excitement, his gaze lower, and linger on her mouth. In response, her lips parted on one quiet and catchy breath.
“You got that right, sister,” he muttered, and squeezed out of the door.
“Well.” She breathed out, rubbing her finger experimentally over lips that felt just a little too warm. “Well, well.”
She was angry, exhausted and energized—in a way she hadn’t been in a very long time. Alive, whole, healthy and, she realized, interested. It was something to think about.
* * *
Del discovered, very quickly, he didn’t care to be an errand boy. Shopping cut deeply into his day, and half the items on her list had him scratching his head in frustration.
What the hell was chervil, and why did it have to be fresh?
What the devil did she need with
two
dozen eggs?
And three gallons of bleach.
Maybe she was going to poison him with it, he mused as he drove back to the cabin. She’d looked mad enough to, behind that cool, queen-to-peasant stare she tended to aim at him.
That was some face she had, he reflected. The kind that kicked a man right in the gut. Then you added on the voice, those legs that seemed to go straight up to her ears, and you had one dangerous female.
He was starting to regret that he’d felt sorry for her.
Still, he knew how to be careful around dangerous packages. And she was, after all, no more than a handy tool for the next few days. So he’d give her a wide berth when they weren’t actively working, keep his hands to himself at all times and do his best to think of her as a nonsexual entity.
Then when he pulled up behind the cabin and she came running out, his heart all but stopped. Nonsexual? A tool? The woman was a weapon—and a lethal one at that, he decided.
She was laughing, her face flushed with it as she pulled open the door and began to haul out grocery bags. “The power came back on. I never thought I’d be so delighted with something as basic as a working light switch. Still no phone service, but I’m sure that’s next.”
He snagged a bag and followed her inside. She walked across the dirt and gravel, he thought, as if she were gliding across the polished marble floor of a ballroom. He decided it had something to do with all that leg. Which he wasn’t, of course, paying any attention to. Whatsoever.
“How many people are you planning to feed for the next few days?”
“Oh, don’t be cranky.” She waved him off and began to unload supplies. “I’ll make you a sandwich as soon as these are put away.”
* * *
She knew how to make a sandwich, he had to give her that. He ate, and ate well, in his now spotless kitchen, his mood improving as he scanned the next batch of notes. His ribs ached a bit, but the discomfort had eased to tolerable with just aspirin.
When he was done, he dictated for another three hours while she transcribed. She interrupted now and then, but her questions didn’t bother him as much.
The fact was, they were good questions, the kind that made him think. He did classroom duty from time to time, though it was never his first choice. He was forced to admit that the majority of students professing a desire to make a career in the field didn’t have as quick an understanding of the
point
as she did.
He caught himself studying the long line of her neck. The graceful curve and arch of it. Mortified, he turned away, pushed himself back into his notes and forgot her.
She knew he’d been staring, just as she knew he’d switched her off again as easily as a finger flicked a light from on to off.
She found she liked it—all the aspects. His interest, his annoyance with it and the focus that allowed him to dismiss it.
His interest had nothing to do with her family, her blood or her rank. It was the first time in her life she’d been utterly sure of that, and the response inside her was quick and pleased. As to the annoyance she could sense him feeling, that was
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