Chapter 19

The large room had undergone a transformation in her absence. Warm pools of golden light from two antique brass table lamps glowed, and a cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace. A ceramic mug with steam rising from it was set on an end table beside a brown leather recliner. Russ was nowhere in sight.

Settling on the recliner, she curled her legs under her and lifted the steaming cup. The drink smelled yummy—sweet with a hint of cinnamon and velvety rich chocolate. Tiny white marshmallows melted on the surface. She smiled, remembering the countless times her mother had made her hot chocolate sprinkled with a handful of marshmallows as an extra treat.

She blew on the hot liquid and sipped. The cocoa slid down her throat like silk. Tendrils of warmth trickled through her body. She drank again, and a bone-deep lethargy settled over her, and she slumped back on the butter-soft leather and closed her eyes.

“How’s the hot chocolate?”

Her eyelids popped open, and her heart skipped a beat.

Russ stood with his back to the fire. His hair was damp, and the dark curls gleamed like ebony under the room’s soft lighting. Unlike her, he hadn’t had any trouble finding clothes that fit him. His faded blue jeans outlined the powerful muscles of his thighs, and the white, short-sleeved T-shirt clung to his chest, revealing his firm pecs and flat stomach.

The moisture in her mouth evaporated. She fumbled for her cup and gulped the dregs. “The drink’s delicious. Thank you. What did you put in the cocoa?”

He grinned. “Something my grandmother used to add to my hot chocolate.” His smile widened, and his dimple made an appearance. “It’s a family secret.”

She sucked in a breath. “You didn’t put any alcohol in the drink, did you?”

“No, why? Is that a problem?”

Is that a problem? Yes. No question. “I…I don’t drink.” She cleared her throat. “I mean…er…I don’t drink alcohol.” She swallowed. “I…I have a drinking problem.” The second the words left her mouth she wanted to snatch them back. The confession hung in the air like a specter, her deepest, darkest secret out in the open. Only Aunt Clara, her boss at work, and the anonymous strangers at her AA meetings were aware of the depth of her struggles. And now she’d told him, a man she hardly knew. A man she wasn’t sure she could trust.

He nodded. “Okay.”

Okay? That was it? That was his response? She’d bared her soul, and all he had to say was okay? “It’s not like I—” She stopped. He didn’t want to hear all the sordid details of how her recreational drinking after work and binge drinking on weekends had slowly developed into a dependence on alcohol, one that ruled her life for the past three years. No one wanted to listen to her air her dirty laundry.

The silence between them lengthened. The fire crackled and popped, rain pelted the windows, sounding like tiny nails scratching the glass, the wind gusted, and the house creaked.

He cleared his throat. “I see you found something to wear.” His gaze raked her from head to toe, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting a smile.

She set the empty mug on the table and adjusted the cuffs of her sweatpants where she’d rolled up the legs so they wouldn’t drag on the floor. “They’re a little big.”

He chuckled, his hazel eyes twinkling. “A little?” He swaggered closer and tugged on the baggy gray pants where they dwarfed her slim legs. “Two of you could fit in those pants.”

To her surprise, she found herself returning his smile. Their gazes met. Her smile faded, and the air between them sizzled. Her breathing quickened.

His irises deepened to the color of warm molasses. His pupils dilated and reflected the flames of the fire.

The lights flickered, faded to dark, and then flared back on, breaking the spell.

He jerked his gaze away. “Let’s hope the generator lasts. It doesn’t look like the storm’s going to let up any time soon.” His voice was a rough husk. “We’re going to have to spend the night.”

“We’re staying here tonight?” She fiddled with the soft cotton of her shirt.

His dark eyebrows arched. “Is that a problem?”

She was spending another night alone with him? Just the two of them? She swallowed. Lord help her. He was too damn attractive, and she didn’t trust herself. When he smiled at her with those golden eyes, her brain shut down, and her usual restraint and common sense melted away. Look what happened on the beach. One kiss, and she’d made a fool of herself. “We…I…I can’t stay here.”

“Why not? The generator’s running, and we have lots of diesel, so we’ll have lights and warmth. I found some food in the pantry, so as long as you’ll eat canned stew or chicken noodle soup, we won’t starve. And there are plenty of bedrooms. We won’t have to share, unless…” His eyebrows arched, his meaning clear.

The heat searing her face ramped up to a four-alarm blaze. He was teasing, trying to ease her discomfort, but he was way off base. She wasn’t worried about her maidenly virtue, No. That wasn’t the reason for her nervousness. She wanted to spend the night with him. That was the problem.

“What’s wrong then?” He jerked his thumb at the dark, rain-spattered window. “The gale’s dangerous. You must remember what these spring storms on the coast are like.”

As if proving his point, a loud, ear-splitting crack resounded through the window, followed by a thudding boom that shook the house as a tree gave up its battle in the face of the fierce wind and crashed to the ground.

She shuddered. He was right. With the storm raging, they wouldn’t be safe outside. The house was warm and cozy. Only a fool would attempt to leave. She was stuck in Angus Crawford’s cottage with Angus’s all-too-attractive son. Lord help her. “Okay.” Her lips were stiff and wooden as she forced out the single word.

“How about I make us another cup of cocoa? And then we’ll see about scraping together some dinner.” Without waiting for her reply, he grabbed her empty cup and headed out of the room.

The room felt empty and devoid of energy after he left. She stared into the dancing flames. Staying the night was a mistake. She’d known him two days—a short forty-eight hours—but already she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every nerve in her body tingled with an almost visceral awareness when he was near, and all she could think of was kissing him.

But she couldn’t go there. Not again. She’d made one mistake; she wouldn’t repeat it. No more kissing Russ, no more falling into his arms, no more lusting after him. That foolishness was done. He seemed like a decent man, but she’d been left a fortune and the business he wanted, while he got a small rocky island in the middle of nowhere. That disparity had to rankle.

The lawyer had told her Russ was contesting the will. Was seducing her his way of convincing her to hand over Angus’s estate without the hassle and expense of going to court? If so, he didn’t have to bother. She’d followed him to the marina with the sole purpose of informing him she didn’t want Angus’s estate. The money, the business, everything was his. But instead of leaping at her generous offer, he’d taken her sailing. She threaded her fingers through her damp hair. His reaction didn’t make sense. Unless he had an ulterior motive.

His footsteps sounded in the hall, and she sat up, preparing to ask some hard questions. She was a lawyer. A damn good one. She knew how to grill a witness.