Katherine Garbera - Miranda's Outlaw

Luke reached around her and grabbed a worn, dry poncho from somewhere inside the cabin. “Drape this over yourself while you take off those wet clothes.”

She hesitated before reaching for the garment. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand and a shiver coursed through her body. He stepped back.

“Turn around,” he said, the drawl in his voice lower and deeper than before.

She hesitated.

“I mean now, darlin’. Get changed.” The sharp command bore little resemblance to that soft teasing tone of just moments earlier.

She pivoted away from him and stood rooted to the spot like a hundred-year-old sequoia. There was no mistaking the sound of his zipper opening. She pictured him as he’d been earlier in his bath, chest and back naked. Still she couldn’t force her fingers to move. Oh, God, help me.

“I’m not watching you, darlin’. You can get changed.” Again the words were smooth as honey dripping over her skin. She sighed, wishing for a tenth of his confidence and ease in this situation.

His soft, drawling voice tiptoed down her spine like a cat burglar in an art museum. She heard him walk inside the house and stood there for a moment longer. The night was cold and damp.

Come on, coward, get changed.

She dropped her wet clothing on the floor by her feet and pulled on the clean underwear and khakis. She bent, digging through her bag before she unearthed the long-sleeved thermal top.

Dropping the poncho to the floor, she pulled her shirt over her head and finger combed her wet hair. She peeked into the cabin and found Luke by the fireplace, adding wood to the fire. He’d changed into a flannel shirt and wheat-colored jeans. The cigar he’d put out earlier was lit and clenched between his teeth. Its fragrance now familiar to her.

Stepping over the threshold, she quietly closed the door behind her. Heat seeped through her clothes and into her skin, warming her completely.

The exposed-beam cabin welcomed her like a pair of worn shoes, knowing the fit and feel of her feet. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall of the cabin. Plate glass windows lined another and a bank of glass doors the final. The effect was one of openness. Miranda imagined that on a clear night the stars would seem to be within arms’ reach, almost touchable.

A winding staircase led to an open loft, and though the cabin had a definite masculine feel to it, she’d never felt more at home. Not even in the sophisticated home of her childhood or the trendy little condo she’d spent a large chunk of her savings on. She sighed, moving closer to the fire and the man who knelt by the hearth, patiently feeding kindling to the growing blaze. Her inner voice warned her to stay back from Luke Romero, but something drew her closer to him.

“Can I help?”

Luke felt Miranda’s presence behind him before she spoke. Her voice was soft and light, playing over his senses like summer rain over the dry ground. He questioned the wisdom of his decision to bring her back here, but didn’t like the answer he received from his raging hormones and lonely soul. He bit down on the end of his cigar.

The woman had more thorns than a briar patch and more contradictions than a television preacher. That didn’t stop some foolish part of his soul from wanting to know more about her. To unravel the secrets that she kept hidden behind those big gray eyes.

“Have a seat and warm up.” He stood and stared down at her, abruptly realizing that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She was so tiny. Any doubts he had about letting her find her own way to her cabin died. “I’ll be right back with the stew.”

He served up venison stew made from meat that he’d cured himself. Living on the mountain reaffirmed his belief in the man he’d become. He’d come a long way from his wild, roaming youth in the rodeo. A long way from the young man who’d watched his best friend die beneath the stomping hooves of a beast. Part of him still longed to prove to his father that he’d made a success of his life without his father’s land, approval or the hand-picked wife.

Now he had to deal with a city woman again. A lady with crystal eyes that gleamed with intelligence and fatigue. A lady who was used to control—she bristled at every order he issued—yet here on his mountain was oddly vulnerable. A lady whose body promised pleasure that would lead to trouble.

Why then did exhilaration make the back of his neck tingle? The same outlaw feeling as when he pushed his Harley to the limit. Wearing no helmet, using no common sense and obeying no rules. Just pure thrill and a fear he’d never admit out loud.

“Enough,” he said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud until his voice broke the silence that had fallen.

“What?” Miranda asked. The fire’s light played over her brown hair, picking out the red highlights and making her seem more untouchable than ever. An ethereal fairy sent to cast a spell over him and make mischief in his life.

“Nothing,” he replied gruffly. He forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand—finishing dinner and getting her safely out of his cabin. He tossed the remains of the cigar into the fire, unable to enjoy it any longer.

“How long will you be vacationing up here?” he asked, needing to know exactly when she’d be leaving so that he’d be able to hunt in her neighborhood again. He wanted to avoid her while she vacationed on his mountain.

“I’m not on vacation.”

Luke felt as if he’d been sucker punched by fate. Damn it all. When was life going to stop throwing these tricky little kinks at him? He should have learned that lesson long ago. “So when are you leaving?”

Her mouth curved down and she looked away from him. He heard her take a shaky breath before she glanced back at him. “I haven’t decided. A few months, maybe more.”

Luke stood and gathered the dishes, dumping them in the sink. The sooner he got her to her cabin the better. He wasn’t going to ask her any more questions, though he was tempted to get to know her better. He grabbed his slicker off the peg near the door. “I’ll be right back.”

The late April rain had let up a little and a sliver of moon lit the sky, the illumination not enough to brighten even a small distance in front of him. Luke cursed as he walked back into the cabin for a flashlight. He didn’t want her staying on his mountain tonight or any other night. He didn’t want to have to think of her sleeping in that old, decrepit cabin, a soft city woman in his domain. He didn’t want to think of those peachy pink lips, crushed beneath his, because if she stayed, he’d kiss her. The temptation was slowly eroding his defenses much the way Mother Nature had worn away the valley that he gazed at each morning. Slowly, but inevitably.

He scanned the room and found Miranda stretching in front of the fireplace. Her arms held high above her head, her breasts pushing against the cotton of her shirt, her eyes closed, and a smile of sensual delight on her face as the fire’s warmth played against her skin. Lust hit him—hard. He clenched his fists.

He had to get her out of here before his control snapped. Before he forgot that he didn’t want a woman in his life. Before he forgot that short-term affairs weren’t that fulfilling anymore. Before he forgot that he was a loner because life was safer that way.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice sounding gritty and deep to his own ears. It was a wonder he didn’t frighten her with it.

Her eyes snapped open. All semblance of relaxation vanished. She tensed under his watchful gaze.

“Is it getting worse outside?”

Her husky voice toyed with his mind, creating images he had no business thinking. Images of him and her on the quilt his grandmother had made for him. Clothed only in the fire’s light and a sheen of sweat. Luke closed his eyes and counted to ten. Control, he reminded himself. Ride the beast, don’t let the beast ride you. His father’s advice echoed in his head like the unwanted ringing from a hangover.