be perfectly comfortable there. It’s the room I slept in before my grandmother died. Besides, I don’t think you’re ready to navigate stairs in a strange house in the dark. I’ll feel better with you in here.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She was still standing beside him, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist. It took little effort for Dane to turn until they were facing one another. When he bent, he intended only to brush a kiss over her cheek, but she turned her head slightly or maybe he turned his. Either way, his mouth settled over hers and the chaste peck graduated to a kiss full of curiosity.
Still, he might have pulled back and managed to bank the need, but she made a soft moaning sound in the back of her throat that had the same effect as pouring kerosene on a campfire. Heat flared and good intentions were forgotten. He framed her face with his hands. He had to do something with them, because if they were allowed to roam any lower he knew he would be doomed.
And that was before the afghan wrapped around his waist tumbled to the floor right along with the flashlight she’d been holding.
The kiss ended on his strangled laugh and Ree was chuckling as well when Dane rested his forehead against hers.
“I seem to have lost something,” he said at last. “And you, too.”
Oh, Regina knew she’d lost something. Forget the flashlight, she’d lost her mind. This was crazy, foolish and she wasn’t the sort of woman who did crazy, foolish things. She’d toed the line her entire life, eager to spare her grandparents the worry and grief her mother’s impulsiveness had caused.
Thinking of them, she said, “I’d better go.”
“Yes. You should.”
But he didn’t release her and she found herself almost glad. It felt so good to be held, to be wanted. It took all of her willpower to finally step away—and to keep her gaze level with his before she turned toward the door.
“I’ll leave the flashlight with you. Good night, Dane Conlan,” she called over her shoulder when she reached the threshold. “Sleep well.”
He laughed, sounding bemused, and she thought she heard him mutter, “Yeah, like that’s going to happen now.”
Alone in the room upstairs, Ree lit a candle, tugged the dustcovers off the furniture and dropped heavily onto the side of her old bed. She’d never been this wound up or felt this…this physically aware. She scrubbed her hands over her face, amazed by and a little ashamed of her body’s reaction.
As she made up the bed with fresh linens, it dawned on Ree that she’d forgotten to grab a nightgown from the dresser before leaving Dane in her room. She wasn’t fool enough to tempt fate now by going back for it, so she stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed wearing only her underwear.
With a tortured sigh she realized that was one garment more than what the handsome man tucked between the sheets downstairs had on.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Ree descended the stairs early the next morning after dressing hastily in the cropped pants and pullover she’d worn the evening before, the scent of frying bacon greeted her. She found Dane in the kitchen standing in front of the stove, his hair wet from an apparent shower and a bath towel hooked low around his waist. A bouquet of bruises bloomed on the middle of his back, but that wasn’t the reason she sucked in a breath. The same outrageous tug of desire she’d felt the night before was still there. It hadn’t moved off with the last of the rain. And she still had no idea how to deal with it.
She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
Dane turned and offered a smile, revealing that solitary dimple that had haunted her dreams.
“It’s better than a good morning. It’s a great morning. The sun’s shining. Birds are singing. I’m alive.”
Despite the offhanded way in which he said it, she got the feeling he truly meant it. Glancing out the window at Lake Michigan, she remembered the way the waves had heaved and bucked against the shore the evening before. The great lake was calm right now, but it could be brutal and unforgiving under the temper of a storm. He was indeed a lucky man.
“I take it you’re feeling better.”
“Much.” He nodded toward the frying bacon. “I hope you don’t mind, but I rummaged through your fridge and decided to start breakfast.”
She swallowed hard. A gorgeous, half-naked man was standing in her kitchen preparing a meal for her. He’d even made coffee.
“I could get used to this,” she murmured and then was pretty sure she blushed. She couldn’t believe the direction her thoughts were taking. To hide her consternation, she asked, “Finding everything okay?”
He nodded. “You have an amazingly organized kitchen. Everything is right where it should be. Well, except for the coffee.”
“You didn’t find it in the canister marked Coffee?” she asked dryly.
“I found it, but the grounds hold their freshness longer if you keep them in the freezer.”
Regina got down a mug from one of the cupboards and poured herself a cupful of the beverage in question. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she said on a chuckle as she stirred in some nondairy creamer.
She leaned against the counter and watched him flip the sizzling strips of bacon with a fork. He looked completely at ease in the kitchen, obviously no stranger to the workings of a stove. Taking a sip of coffee, she nearly sighed. He made a mean cup of joe on top of his other culinary skills. It was scary how the marks in the man’s plus column just kept mounting.
Although she didn’t mean to compare him to Paul Ritter, she found herself doing just that. Her husband didn’t know a coffee pot from a roasting pan. He had always been too distracted by his work and too disinterested in the mechanics of meal preparation to offer to cook her breakfast. He’d never so much as poured her a bowl of cereal. Ree’s gaze strayed to the towel around Dane’s hips. Moistening her lips, she admitted that Paul had never looked quite like that while wearing terry cloth, either.
The toaster popped up and she jumped right along with the delivery of two pieces of evenly browned bread. She wasn’t a woman to let passion overrule dignity and decorum. Nor was she a woman ruled by impulse. That had been her mother, with disastrous results. Ree wasn’t like Angela. She’d made a point of proving that her entire life. As for last night and that kiss, it was but a momentary lapse brought on by stress and the storm.
“Everything okay?” Dane asked.
She smiled to hide her embarrassment. “Barely a sip of coffee and I’m already jumpy.” As he buttered the toast, she added, “I see the electricity came back on.”
“Yep. About six this morning.”
“I wonder if that means phone service has been restored as well.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I already checked for a dial tone. Nothing.”
As she watched, he cracked an egg one-handed into a skillet of melted butter. The man was a regular Wolfgang Puck. Her grandmother would approve. To Nonna, cooking had been on par with praying.
Although he appeared as at ease as she wielding a spatula, good manners compelled her to ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Nah. I’ve got everything under control. And cooking breakfast is the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”
“I really didn’t do that much,” she demurred.
But Dane grinned. That solitary dimple flashed briefly in the stubble on his jaw, and her pulse shot off like a damned emergency flare.
“You did. More than you know.” Before she could ponder