Page 24 of Double Take

“Yes.” She already felt like she had a fever. “I’ll get the blankets.”

“I’ll get the potatoes. Looks like they’re hot.” Using a fireplace poker, he removed the pot of bubbling potatoes from the hook and set it on the hearth. A bland meal, but it would be filling.

There were three blankets in the chest; she removed and shook out all three, noting a few holes eaten by moths or rodents. They were barely large enough to cover the mattress, but they would serve their purpose.

She handed one to John, spread another over the mattress, and kept a third for herself.

Okay, this is awkward.Modesty wasn’t the issue—not exactly. She could duck into the lavatory to undress, but somehow that seemed more awkward, like making much ado about nothing.

But this didn’t seem like nothing. To shed her clothes would be to let her guard down, to be vulnerable. That felt momentous.

Act natural.She didn’t know what natural was anymore. Normalcy had gotten entangled with a false sense of familiarityand unexpected attraction. John didn’t act or talk like Mark—except for that frightening transformation in the vehicle—but the comfort and connection in his presence had to be an illusion due to his resemblance to her late husband whom she’d once loved. Didn’t it?

He’s the one.

Could she trust her judgment? Did she dare allow herself to be vulnerable? Did she dare to care?

Overthinking, much?

Ducking her head, Faith unbuttoned her shirt.

Chapter Nine

Bragg sensed Faith’s discomfort, so he turned his back to give her privacy. Clothing rustled as she disrobed. Taking his blanket, he sat in a chair to remove his shoes.

Shoes off, he tugged his wet, clingy pants down his hips and hung them over the chair with his shirt, leaving the other chair for her. Listening to her progress, he wrapped the blanket around himself and secured it. He hesitated but then slipped his briefs off and set them out to dry. Covered by the blanket, his hard-on wasn’tthatnoticeable, and the candlelight and fire left the cottage more dark than illuminated.

Fabric rustled and whispered, and then she said, “Okay, I’m decent.”

Her blanket covered her from armpit to ankle but left her shoulders and neck exposed. Heat sizzled into his groin.

She hooked her slacks over the left side of the chair’s top rail, and her shirt and a camisole bralette over the right. He swallowed, trying not to think about naked breasts.

I’m acting like a horny high school student.Or what he’d imagined one would act like. He’d never been a teenager, nor attended school; his education, such as it was, had been accelerated tutoring. And he’d become somewhat of an autodidact.

There was nothing he could study to help with this situation. He flew by the seat of his pants, making it up as he went along, unwilling to squander a second of this serendipitous opportunity. Hammond had enjoyed years with her; Bragg had less than three weeks. He never would have wished for a vehicle accident, and he regretted she’d miss the craft fair she’d countedon, but a selfish part of him celebrated the turn of events. He had her all to himself for a night.

“Let’s eat,” he said.

They sat on the edge of the bed and faced the fireplace, Bragg positioning himself to conceal his hard-on. They ate directly from the pot, using jar lids to cut the potatoes into bite-sized chunks and then scooping them out. He couldn’t remember a more enjoyable meal than this candlelight dinner getaway in a romantic cabin with the woman he loved. The potatoes were starchy and bland, the cabin musty, dusty, and cold, and his attire itched and scratched, but none of that mattered. He was with Faith.

He ached to touch her. At times, he sensed a reciprocal awareness, spied a glint of arousal in her eyes, but wariness and distance remained in evidence, too. While he had loved her for years, she hadn’t known he existed. And when she met him—she’d mistaken him for her late husband. She wasn’t pining away, nor had she been fooled by Hammond’s glib patois, but she had loved him once. She might still harbor vestiges of tender feelings—or, perhaps worse, residual animosity. He didn’t want her to hate or lovehimbecause he reminded her of Hammond.

Bragg tried to be his natural, authentic self around her. But that was the problem withtrying—it automatically turned natural into artificial. Wishing to convince her of his unique personhood, he preferred to distance himself as much as he could from his rival. Then she asked to see his impersonation—the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

She’d insisted. He’d caved, unable to refuse her anything, even if it was to his detriment.

In shock, she’d crashed the vehicle.

But now, here they were.

He snuck a glance at her.Firelight becomes you.She was so damn beautiful—large, expressive eyes, smooth skin, soft andfull pink lips. A stubborn little chin and a pert nose. But dark smudges marred her shoulders and upper arms—the formation of bruises. Her safety harness had broken mid-tumble. She’d gotten knocked around; he’d heard thesmackof her head hitting the doorframe.

I’m such an ass!He’d been so preoccupied by her nearness, reveling in his good fortune to be alone with her, he’d completely forgotten she could be concussed! She could have been seriously hurt or even killed.

“How do you feel—” he said.

“This is rather rom—” she said at the same time.

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