Page 59 of Hold Your Breath
“Wait.” His teasing expression disappeared as he toed off his own boots and dumped the wood into the box next to the stove. “Let me check the house first.”
She gave him a go-ahead wave of her arm and returned to the woodstove. When he returned shortly, he maneuvered his body between her and the stove.
“Let me,” he ordered, his attention on the smoldering remains of the fire. She took a couple of steps back out of his way, and continued watching him for a few moments. He added wood methodically, with a precision that bespoke a well-thought-out plan. She grinned, shaking her head.
“What?” he asked, carefully placing another log.
“Just admiring your fire-laying technique. I usually use the chuck-it-in-and-hope-it-burns method.”
“That’s just wrong,” he said, although she caught a hint of amusement in his voice. “Go ahead and get changed. I know you’re dying to put on pajamas.”
He wasn’t wrong. Her flannel pajamas were calling her name quite loudly, in fact. She headed to her bedroom, leaving him to focus much too intently on the layout of the firewood.
Closing her bedroom door behind her, she started to move to the dresser when she stopped. Something wasn’t right. Sweeping her gaze over the space, Lou eyed the bed, the nightstand, the closet door, the dresser, the desk. Everything seemed to be in order and in the same semi-neat state that she’d left it, but something was…wrong.
She scanned the room again before shaking her head. First she was hearing imaginary sleigh bells, and now there was this weirdness. Lou decided she needed to hop off the bus to crazy town, change into her pajamas, and then join the hot man waiting in her living room.
Striding to her dresser, shedding clothes as she went, she pulled out some lavender flannel pajama pants with hippos wearing tutus. Instead of grabbing the matching, rather boxy top, however, she gave in to vanity and yanked a silky tank top from the drawer.
Once she was dressed, she stood in front of her mirror, tugging down her tank. Her arms and the top part of her chest felt very…bare. Despite her bottom half being encased in flannel, Lou felt naked. Losing her nerve, she grabbed a hoodie, pulled it on, and zipped it to her throat.
She headed for the door but was unable to resist checking out the room a final time. There was nothing out of place, nothing to explain why her stomach was churning.
“That’s because there’s nothing wrong, crazy girl,” she said out loud and left the bedroom.
As she entered the kitchen, she inhaled and then closed her eyes with a blissful smile. “What is that heavenly smell? Are you planning on feeding me again?”
“Dinner. And yes.”
“Is it chicken soup? It smells like chicken soup.” When she spotted the large pot on the stove, she hurried over to lift the lid. “When did you have time to make this? It took me less than five minutes to get changed. Are you some kind of cooking magician?”
“I put it together at lunch and then left it in the fridge at the station.” He leaned back against the counter, watching her with a half smile.
Picking up a big spoon propped neatly next to the stove, she gave the soup a stir. Frowning suspiciously, she asked, “Did you make this from scratch? You’re making me feel a little inferior, Martha Stewart.”
“Not really,” he answered. “I roasted the chicken and cut up the vegetables, but I used prepared broth.”
“Prepared broth?” she repeated in a mock-appalled tone, replacing the lid. “Horrors!”
He rolled his eyes at her, and she grinned.
“You got that from me—the eye-rolling thing,” she said proudly. “I’m so glad I’m corrupting you.”
“Do you want some soup or not?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I heard it was made with”—she lowered her voice to a scandalized whisper—“prepared broth.”
Moving so quickly that she didn’t have time to dodge, he caged her against the edge of the counter, with an arm bracketing each side. Startled, she could only stare at him as he leaned close.
“You have a smart mouth,” he said quietly, his gaze firmly focused on her parted lips.
“Uh-huh,” she agreed, not caring if she sounded brainless. It was hard to care about anything when he was looking at her like that. She marveled at how his usually cool and closed expression was now so intense, hungry. “Sorry.”
He leaned in another inch, moving his gaze slightly higher so he met her eyes. “Don’t be. It’s grown on me.”
“Yeah?” Lou realized her breath was coming in quick puffs, and her heart was drumming as if she’d just run a couple of miles.
The corner of his mouth kicked up in that devastating half smile of his. “Yeah.”
