Can't Fight This Feeling (Cabin Fever) Read online

  “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she said.

  The surprising statement dragged his mind away from that dangerous direction. “Looking forward to painting?”

  She shrugged. “I get a discount at the hardware store. I love looking at the color samples and I often daydream about what they’d look like on walls.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Weird, huh?”

  “Can’t say it’s the kind of visualizing I play around with myself, but I get it.”

  Her head came up and her eyes widened. “Yeah?”

  “Sure. I design landscapes in my head all the time. When I’m working, I’ll mentally replant shrubs, move boulders, add a water feature.”

  “You should build that lodge that you imagined here. It’s fabulous.”

  He smiled a little, surprised she even recalled the drawings. “I’m not going to be merely mowing and blowing forever—I’ve got plans for the design part of my business. But some dreams don’t come true, honey.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “I’m painting walls.”

  Her enthusiasm bemused him. “So it’s really an ambition of yours?”

  “As long as I can remember.”

  His expression must have communicated his disbelief.

  “Truly. The homes I’ve lived in have been professionally—very expensively—decorated. I was never allowed to move a cushion, hang a poster, paper my own bedroom wall.”

  “Don’t. Wallpaper’s a bitch to remove, and you’ll get tired of it, believe me.”

  Her smile had a surprising sweetness. “I’d like a chance to find that out.”

  “Talk to Shay about the bathroom she had sophomore year in college. It was in an old house and there were something like five layers, each more god-awful than the one before. I suggested just painting over the mess, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “So you got in there with a scraper, I presume.”

  “You guessed it. A scraper and a rented steamer.” He shook his head. “What a sucker. I think I did all that work for a medium pepperoni pizza.”

  “You’re no sucker, Brett,” Angelica said.

  Uh-oh. They were suddenly swerving into dangerous territory. The new warmth in her brown eyes was like heat on his skin. It tugged on his dick and ignited the burner beneath his lust. He wasn’t here for this.

  “Stop,” he said harshly. “You know how I am.”

  “I think I’m finally beginning to.” She glanced at the chili, then looked back at him. “You’ve been honest with me, so I should offer my own apology...”

  “For what?”

  Pink washed her beautiful face. “This past summer... I don’t blame you for holding me off. I was sort of...well, there’s no sort-of about it.”

  He frowned. “About what?”

  She glanced away again. “I hate to admit it...”

  “Spit it out, princess.”

  “I wasn’t interested in ‘slumming’ like you said. It wasn’t because there was dirt on your hands or sweat on your back or because of your scars. But I was...”

  “Well?”

  “Objectifying you.”

  His brows rose.

  “Now that I think about it, I’m not very proud of myself. I crushed on you from afar.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I used to watch you from my bedroom window whenever you came to the house.”

  He remembered the tingle on the back of his neck every time he worked at her estate. “That’s no crime.”

  “Could be that what I was thinking about was illegal.”

  “Really?” Drawing out the word, he tried not to laugh. God, she tickled his funny bone as well as his libido. “Do tell.”

  She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. He didn’t think she knew how fucking appealing he found that.

  Which meant he should go, he thought, sobering. Immediately. But his feet didn’t obey his mental order.

  “Truth time,” she murmured, as if to herself. Then she cleared her throat. “You have a rock-hard body, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  Uh, yeah, he thought, thinking about the shaft rising beneath the placket of his jeans.

  “And without a shirt...” She rolled her eyes as if savoring a special treat. “But I feel bad about my...uh, appreciation. I didn’t know a thing about you.”

  “You thought I had a girlfriend. That I might be married.”

  “See?” she said. “And I still admired every one of your muscles at every opportunity.”

  “Shameless,” he chided, teasing her.

  “Shameless?” She blinked, and he thought she might be a little proud of the fact. “Huh. Me, shameless.”

  Her pleased tone made him grin. “Princess, I looked back at you, you know.”

  Her eyes rounded.

  “There was this one time I caught you in a bathing suit. I made a note of it on my calendar.”

  “Well, we know you have this thing for bikinis,” she said, a prim note to her voice.

  He grinned. “Believe me. You have a special way when you’re wearing one, princess.”

  Now her cheeks went rosy, and she lifted a hand to brush a tendril of hair away from one. Elastic bandages circled every finger.

  Frowning, he crossed to her in three long strides. “What’s this?” He took hold of both wrists to see more bandages on the other hand. “You’re hurt?”

  She’d gone still. “It’s nothing.” Her voice sounded croaky. “Blisters.”

  “You didn’t wear the gloves the entire time?” he demanded, inspecting her skin.

  “I did. But they slid around...” She didn’t finish because he’d lifted first one palm, and then the other, to his mouth.

  He kissed their centers.

  It was as if he saw the action from afar. The cynical, hard-souled Brett Walker stood outside his body while the Brett who wanted to protect Angelica from everything—hurt, cold, loneliness—soothed her with his mouth.

  This close, she smelled like a beautiful, expensive mistake, and he just couldn’t give a shit about what would break in his inevitable fall.

  Her arms lifted, and she cupped his face with her battered hands. Their eyes met. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me again.”

  There was no denying her. He bent his head, and placed his lips against hers. A sigh left her, her breath warm on his skin and then she opened her mouth and touched her tongue to his bottom lip.

  His belly clenched. His cock went as hard as a fist.

  He let her inside, let her sweet taste slide into him. His hands curled around her hips and her arms crossed behind his neck. It was a dance, of tongues, of desires, of want that had been building for weeks. Months.

  Oh, yeah, objectify me, baby, he thought, as her touch began to roam over him. He stood still for her, letting her acquaint herself with his back, his abs. When the heel of her palm brushed one nipple, he broke free to grab hold of his sweatshirt and yank it over his head.

  Her gaze ran over him now, as hot as a touch.

  He ran a finger around the neckline of the plain T-shirt covering her. “You?” he asked, his voice husky.

  She dropped her hands to the hem.

  “Let me,” he said, and drew the cotton away from her. Beneath it she wore a bra that was lacy and low cut. His breath caught in his chest as he took in the plump rise of flesh over the peach-colored cups. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered. “I’ll never be able to look at you in clothes again without thinking of what’s beneath them.”

  “I want...” she started, then licked her lips. “I want to feel you against me.” Her arms went back and she unclasped the dangerous piece of lingerie. Then she shimmied her shoulders and the lace responded to gravity’s pull and slid along her skin. One cup caught on her upstanding nipple and then it lost its hold, too.

  Finesse beyond him now, Brett bent his head to pull the gathered peak into his mouth. His eyes closing, he sucked, reveling in the scent of her, the weight of her breast in his other palm, the little sounds she mad
e while he played there. Her fingertips sank into his scalp, and he muttered praise as he moved to the other nipple. His thumb strummed the wet one, and her nails dug deeper.

  Delicious.

  Lifting his head, he went for her mouth again, and they traded burning kisses as they explored each other’s bare flesh. He slid his fingers down the back of her jeans, delving beneath her panties to clutch one glorious cheek of her generous ass. “You’re amazing,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her into him.

  She ground against his cock and pressed her nose to his pectoral muscle. Her tongue flickered against his nipple.

  He groaned and he felt her answering smile. “I want you,” she whispered, as if it was a secret he didn’t already know.

  “Good thing,” he said. “Because I’m about to objectify the hell out of you.”

  She giggled and the sound sent Cynical Brett even further away. There was no wariness in him now as he continued kissing her while propelling her toward the bedroom. Their mouths ate at each other, greedy and urgent, as he swung her into the darkened room. There, he kicked shut the door and spun so Angelica’s back was against the hard surface and he could lean into her, rubbing their naked torsos together as the kiss went on and on. Wet. Deep. Deeper.

  There was a creamier scent in the air, the sweet and spicy scent of female arousal. It quickened his blood and he felt himself go impossibly harder. He pulled his hand from her pants and went after the front clasp, needing to explore the center of her. Needing to open her up to him.

  The snap popped, the zipper gave way, he moved to cup her.

  And she screamed.

  The sound was muffled by their mating kiss, but there was no denying its distress. Or the sudden frozen stiffness in her body.

  Brett yanked his head away, and tried seeing her features in the blackness of the room. “Did I hurt you?” He pulled his hand from her underwear. “Angelica? Princess? What’s the matter?”

  She was shaking, and not with lust.

  Cursing silently, he fumbled for the light switch. When it blazed on overhead, she cried out again, throwing one arm over her eyes and the other over her bare breasts. “No! Turn it off!”

  “Okay, okay,” he soothed. “Just the lamp by the bed.” It was only four steps away. He flipped on the dimmer bulb and then doused the brighter one on the ceiling.

  She slid against the door to the floor and then crawled to where her robe was flung on the end of the mattress. She quickly shoved her hands in the sleeves, her gaze on the floor.

  “Angelica. Sweetheart—”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She dropped her head to her bandaged hands. “I’m sorry. You can hate me. Please do.”

  “Angelica...” He crouched down and tried to peel one palm away. She resisted as if her life depended on it.

  “There are ugly words for what I just did to you,” she said. “I know it. I just thought that...with you...” She swallowed a sob. “Please go away.”

  Brett shook his head, not feeling the least bit angry or frustrated, though he didn’t think she’d believe that. Instead, there was only his protective instincts rising up, ready to build a barrier between her and the world. Between her and himself, if necessary. “Do you really want me to leave? Maybe we should talk about it.”

  “Not tonight,” she whispered. “Please. I’m so embarrassed.”

  He weighed his options. Doing things her way seemed the best of them. “All right,” he said slowly. “Will you be okay alone?”

  She still wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll be better.”

  It killed him to hear those words. Oh, baby. Rising, he gave her one last assessing glance. She was still curled in on herself, knees up to her chest, hair and hands obscuring her face.

  Those elastic bandages were nothing. Physically, he knew she was fine.

  But emotionally...hell. He had no idea exactly what he was dealing with here, but one thing was certain. There were monsters he needed to slay and there was no sense denying his driving need to pick up the nearest weapon.

  No matter how vulnerable that might make him in return.

  * * *

  ANGELICA HAD DECIDED she would never talk to Brett again. Never see him again either, if she could possibly help it. That seemed a tall order, given they lived next door in an isolated location, but she could sure as heck try. Instead of going home after her shift ended at the hardware store at 6:00 p.m., she decided to stop by the historical society’s headquarters. The president had texted her earlier in the day. Somewhere in the offices, he’d misplaced the hard copy list of some potential invitees for next year’s gala event that weren’t yet entered into the society’s computer files.

  Angelica was certain she could put her fingers on it and the time it took would postpone the possibility of running into Brett.

  She was mortified by the drama she’d enacted the night before.

  It had been more than ten years since she’d been pawed in a dark room, unable to cry out or get away. Since then, she’d thought she’d managed to overcome that first unpleasant exposure to sexual touch. In college she’d occasionally dated, concocting elaborate safety procedures with a friend involving texts and drive-by check-ins.

  When she was twenty-two, she’d taken the virginity of the twenty-year-old, mild-mannered librarian’s aide at her college. It was her first time, too. They’d both been grateful to each other.

  Subsequent interludes with the young man had been less than successful—the first had been no better for her, but she’d been happy enough to get the deed done—and they’d parted ways without hard feelings. A few weeks before graduation she’d been studying late one night and happened upon him and a dazzled-looking sophomore between the stacks. Over the girl’s naked shoulder they exchanged looks.

  He’d given her a thumbs-up.

  It had appeared that one of them had gotten over his shyness.

  While she, on the other hand, had never completely let go of her hang-ups. Or just never completely let go, period.

  In truth, nobody had made her want to, until Brett Walker. It had started with those weekly fantasy fests over the summer, when she’d watched him work in shorts and nothing else. Bronze skin over bulging muscles. Sweat beading on his shoulders and running in rivulets down his chest.

  She’d owned up to the ogling and it had seemed to amuse him. What if she’d confessed to more? Would he find it funny that she had lain in bed at night, imagining him, touching herself like she’d ached for him to do?

  Well, last night all she’d wanted was for him to do that touching she’d been dreaming about for so long.

  And then she’d gone and ruined it. Maybe she was ruined.

  Pulling into the historical society’s parking lot, she blinked away gathering tears. Stupid to cry. Even stupider when the parking lot was dimly lit and filled with furrows and lumps she’d like to avoid to spare her convertible’s undercarriage.

  Her car door snicked as she closed it, a loud sound in the quiet of evening. The society’s headquarters were a few blocks away from the center of the village of Blue Arrow Lake. For the first time, she noticed how isolated it could feel in the dark.

  In summer, the light had lasted longer, of course. She’d never visited when it felt so much like...night.

  At the front entry of the building, she paused, clutching the keys in her hand. Not all the volunteers had their own set, but she’d had to open up early a few times leading to their silent auction. And then—there was nothing overt she could point to—all of her went on high alert.

  The keys bit into her flesh as she gripped them more tightly. Her hairline prickled. Alarm churned in her belly.

  Tiptoeing, she moved away from the front door and retreated to the far side of her car. She exchanged the keys for her cell phone, making sure the former didn’t jangle when they landed at the bottom of her purse. Without thinking, she hit one of the first contacts in her list.

  “What’s up?” Brett’s voice. Brett. He’d programmed
his number into her phone the day before when she’d crewed for him. In case you need to get my attention when I’m wearing the hearing protectors. I’ll have it on vibrate.

  “Angelica?” He said it sharply. “Is something the matter?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered into the phone. “I have a funny feeling.”

  “Where are you?”

  Afraid his voice might carry into the night, she hunched her shoulders to huddle around the phone. “Outside the historical society.”

  “What? Why? Never mind.” He sounded annoyed...maybe with himself. Maybe with her.

  “Sorry to bother you,” she said quickly. “I can handle it.”

  “Don’t you dare. Get in your car, lock it. Call 9-1-1. I’m not far from you.”

  “The cabin is a long—”

  “I’m at my office. I’ll be there in no time.” He ended the call.

  Shivering, she opened the door and climbed into the passenger side, sliding low so that a casual eye might not notice the vehicle was occupied. Then she dialed the emergency number.

  Brett made it to the parking lot first. He glided into the spot beside her, his headlights off and his truck silent. As he turned into the lot he must have cut the ignition.

  She crept out of her car as he exited his in near-silence. “You stay here,” he said in a whisper as he passed.

  Um, no. She dogged his footsteps as he approached the building. He glanced around, rolled his eyes. His forefinger pointed toward her car in insistent demand. She shook her head back and forth.

  He touched her breastbone with the tip of his finger and then drew it along his throat. I’ll kill you. Another poke in the direction of her vehicle. Go back.

  She patted her chest, then drew up her arms in a running position, jerking them up and down to indicate speed. I’m fast. I’ll be okay.

  He gave another extravagant eye roll, then made a circle at his temple. She didn’t know which of them he was trying to say was crazy, but he turned toward the building without further communication.

  Shadowing him, she hooked his back belt loop with a finger. He didn’t appear to notice.

  Tethered like that, they mounted the steps. Pausing at the front door, she could tell he was listening hard, as was she. “Do you hear anything?” she breathed into his ear.