was still pounding in her chest, and her knees felt weak.
He’d touched her. Even thinking about his brief caress sent the blood racing through her veins. His hand on the back of her neck had been hot and hard. He’d stared at her as if he wanted to devour her for dinner, then dish up the remains for breakfast. She wasn’t sure she would have refused him.
Even though it was dark and there was no one to see her blush, she covered her cheeks with her palms. How could she think that about him? A crush was one thing, but casual sex with a man she barely knew was something quite different. Oh sure, she’d thought about making love with Austin hundreds of times. But thinking and doing were two different things…weren’t they?
Have you ever had sex with a stranger?
He would never know the images his question had evoked. She’d already seen Austin naked, so it wasn’t difficult to picture him aroused. His body had been all that she’d imagined. Before she’d slammed the bathroom door shut, she’d seen his long, powerful legs, the breadth and definition of his chest. Between his thighs she’d seen dark curls and his…his organ!
In all her twenty-nine years, she’d only ever seen one other man naked. Wayne had been blond and built like a bear, all thick limbs and barrel-chested. He’d been an all-American linebacker at college their senior year. Everything about him was so different from Austin’s lean grace, and dark, demonic, good looks.
Wayne had been someone she’d laughed with, someone who had grown up with the same rules and goals as she had. Wayne had understood about values, about the importance of other people’s feelings. Wayne had been warm and sensitive.
Austin was none of those things. He was a loner. She’d always wondered about his past, but she’d never thought he would have lived in the Glenwood children’s home. She’d heard that he’d been wild as a teenager, breaking rules and the law, getting into trouble. Even now he lived up to his reputation. Between his self-made fortune, his gold earring and his women, he flouted the conventions of their small town. He was nothing like Wayne, nothing like herself. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
The sun had set behind the clouds, taking away the last of the light. From another part of the loft, drawers were being opened and slammed shut. After several minutes she heard the scratch of a match, then a weak flicker of light danced off the far wall.
“You might as well come into the kitchen,” Austin called out. “I don’t have enough candles for the whole place. Can you see your way?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and wondered if she had the courage to take him up on his less than gracious invitation. She’d hoped he found her at least slightly attractive. But her answers to his questions had pointed out to both of them that she was far from his type. A man with a reputation of being the devil himself wouldn’t be interested in a woman like her.
She walked around the wing chair and toward the light. Austin stood by the phone, staring at the receiver. He banged it once against the wall and listened. Then he slammed it back in place.
“The line’s out.”
“I figured as much,” she said.
He planted his hands on his hips and stared at her. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for the night.”
I don’t mind.
She didn’t say the words, but she must have thought them pretty loudly because Austin stiffened, raising his head slightly and staring at her. He reminded her of a wildcat catching scent of its prey.
Squat candles sat in saucers around the kitchen and on the butcher-block table. The flames danced in time to a rhythm she could neither feel nor hear. The storm raged around them, but for once she wasn’t afraid of the lightning or the thunder. It was as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. She was alone with this man. Time had disappeared, along with common sense. She had this night. Ignoring the fact that she was naked under his robe and feeling extremely vulnerable, she balled her hands into fists and promised herself not to waste it.
“Are you hungry—”
“Would you like me to fix—”
They spoke at the same time. Austin recovered first. “Are you hungry?”
“A little. I could fix something, if you’d like. Is the stove gas or electric?”
He turned to glance at the range set into a granite counter. “The starters are electric, but the unit is gas.”
“No problem. If you have another match, I can start it manually.” She spoke briskly and walked over to the refrigerator. After pulling it open, she glanced at the contents. “What sounds good? There are a couple of steaks, some salad, a—”
Something warm brushed the back of her hand. She gasped and jumped back. The refrigerator door slowly swung shut.
Austin stood close enough for her to see the hairs on his chest and the slow thudding pulse at the base of his neck. She had the most incredible urge to plant her mouth there and taste his skin.
She bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from yelping her embarrassment. What on earth was wrong with her? She hadn’t had more than a sip of his doctored coffee, so it couldn’t be the alcohol. Maybe standing out in the rain had left her brain waterlogged.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” he said.
“I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do after all the trouble I’ve been.”
“Far be it from me to interfere with a woman on a mission of mercy.” He stepped back and motioned to the refrigerator. “Help yourself.”
She worked quickly and efficiently. He directed her when she needed to find a bowl or a pot, and within twenty minutes they were eating dinner.
While she’d been cooking the steak, Austin had set the table and opened a bottle of red wine. She sipped cautiously, not wanting the wine to loosen her tongue. She was already in too much danger of saying something stupid. Heaven knows what would happen if she got drunk!
They chatted about mutual acquaintances in town and the children. She forced herself to concentrate on his words, rather than on the way the candlelight made his skin glow like burnished gold. He’d pulled on a shirt, but hadn’t bothered to fasten it. She didn’t want to say anything and have him do up the buttons, but it was hard not to stare.
“What about you?” he asked, pouring her another glass of wine. “Why are you taking care of other people’s children, instead of having a half dozen of your own?”
“What makes you think I want children?”
He raised one eyebrow. Gosh, she really wanted to know how he managed to do that. The storm had decreased in fury, but the lights hadn’t come back on yet. The candlelight slipped shadows across his face, making his expression impossible to read.
“You’re the type,” he said. “Are you telling me you don’t?”
“I do.” She pushed her fork around her plate. “It just hasn’t worked out that way.”
“Still waiting for Mr. Right?”
For the first time that day, she could meet his gaze without thinking anything improper. She shook her head. “Not exactly. Mr. Right died.”
He’d raised the wineglass to his lips, but now he set it down untasted. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It’s been a while, so I’ve recovered. I’ll never forget him, of course. Wayne was—” she smiled “—nothing like you.”
“I’m not surprised.” His expression was unreadable.
“I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“I never thought you did.”
She wasn’t sure if he was angry or simply making conversation. It was easier to assume the latter.