Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3), стр. 22
It had been surprisingly easy to get along with her.
But more than that, it had been far too easy to do other things with her.
Like share a bed.
Like become attracted to the smell of her fucking hair.
Like enjoy the feel of her when she laid on my chest, or wiggled back into me, seeking my nearness, demanding my attention.
She was smart and witty and interesting and sweet. But not so sweet that she was untouchable.
And, fuck, I wanted to touch.
I hadn't been prepared for the surge of attraction in my system to her, the way it got bigger and bigger until it was impossible to ignore, until I was moments from stripping her bare and having her right in that bed.
I tried to remind myself as I straightened and scrubbed the lower level that it was good we'd been interrupted, that it couldn't lead anywhere good to go to bed with someone I worked with, that a girl like her wanted nothing to do with a man like me, with a past like mine, with a job like mine.
It was better that things ended before they went too far, that we got back to our old lives, our old roles.
It would bring clarity to the whole situation.
I went back upstairs only after I was sure I worked off every bit of sexual frustration—hell, every bit of actual energy I had left—so that I could catch a little sleep before the sun came up, sure that I would be able to share the bed to get some warmth, but also keep my hands to myself.
But she wasn't there.
I immediately moved across the hall, wanting to tell her to come back to my room, to get warm again, even if it meant I would have to go sleep somewhere else.
But, in the end, I decided to just let it drop, let her have her privacy, even if it bothered me that I knew she was going to be in that bed cold, maybe even with her teeth chattering like it had been that first night without power.
It would only be one night.
Then she would be back in her apartment, comfortable, happy, away from men who had no business touching her.
I ended up not sleeping, just laying there, staring at the dark ceiling, watching the light come up through the window.
So I got up, powered the generator one last time, showered, made coffee, cleaned up after myself again.
There was no sign of Katie, not even after I heard the truck coming up the drive, the door slamming, bringing the owner of the cabin up the front path.
He was younger than I expected, somewhere around my age with black hair, blue eyes, and a tall, fit frame. Peeking out of his blue and gray flannel jacket were neck and hand tattoos that didn't exactly mesh with my idea of a rustic cabin owner.
He came up to the door, knocking, but moving in without waiting for an answer.
"You must be Rush," he said, giving me a head shake. "Your sister-in-law is a trip," he added.
"Tell me about it," I agreed, offering him my hand.
"Beau," he said, taking my hand, giving it a shake. "I should have known that woman was up to something when I'd asked if I should forward the welcome packet to the guests, and she replied that they would have everything they needed. Think that woman could talk herself out of a murder charge even if she was caught with the hot gun in her lap," Beau added, snorting. "Some friends and I handled the tree for you. The road is mostly clear. I will have the power company here later today."
"You're going to need more gas for the generator," I told him. "We cleaned everything up last night."
"Appreciate it. Oh, hey honey," he said, making my head turn to find that Katie had somehow managed to come soundlessly down the steps to stand just a few feet away without me noticing.
She looked tired, her eyelids puffy, purple smudges underneath. And even paler than usual, it seemed, as she stood there with slightly widened eyes, her mouth forming a little pouty O as she looked a Beau.
The surge of jealousy was sudden and unexpected, something I wasn't sure I'd ever really felt before, but there it was, a clawing in the stomach, a pressure on the chest.
Unwelcome, but undeniable.
"Katie, this is Beau. He owns the cabin. Beau, Katie. She hates the heads in the living room."
"You do too," she shot back, but didn't look my way.
"My uncle," Beau said, shrugging. "This was his place up until last year. I really didn't do much except clean it up and stick it up for rentals. I should probably make some changes. You want some coffee before you go?" he asked, looking at Katie. "You look like you need it. Bed not comfortable?" he asked, already moving over toward the coffee machine, making a fresh pot.
"The bed is fine. I was just cold," she admitted, making guilt stab me in the gut.
"Why didn't you sleep in the room with a fireplace?" he asked, and I was pretty sure the look he shot at me was accusatory.
Mountain men and their good manners, wanting to take care of the little ladies.
I wanted to be pissed, but it was how I was raised as well. Even if my sister—and most of my female in-laws—would want my balls to wear as earrings for suggesting such a thing.
"I, ah, I preferred my room," Katie said, head ducking, hiding whatever might have crossed her face from me, but it made Beau's brows furrow before he turned, reaching for a couple mugs. "The cabin is lovely," she went on. And since she wasn't, by nature, someone who was chatty with strangers, I figured her being so right then was