Mr. Predictable. Molly O'KeefeЧитать онлайн книгу.
some…uh…privacy.” Like a shot, she zipped across the cabin. In her haste to leave the wine and skedaddle, she clanked the bottom of the stemmed goblet against the edge of the table. The goblet cart-wheeled over the back of her hand. Wine splattered on the tiled floor and glass shattered in a gazillion pieces.
“Oh, damn, I’m sorry!” Moriah yelped in dismay.
Amused, Jake watched Moriah hunker down to pick up shards of glass. He noticed her hands shook as she cleaned up her mess. Male pride swelled to gigantic proportions, as he realized that he was having a tremendously unsettling effect on her. Her face was beet-red from the roots of her blond hair to the base of her neck and she was making a big production of not looking in his direction.
When the pup trotted over to slurp up the spilled wine, Moriah shifted sideways to block the dog and accidentally smacked her head on the sharp corner of the table. The blow caused her to teeter off balance. She reached down to brace herself—and embedded slivers of glass in her hand.
“Ouch! Damn it!” She recoiled and blood immediately spread across the heel of her hand.
“Leave the mess. I’ll clean it up,” Jake insisted, as he shooed the mutt out the door. “Come into the bathroom and let me have a look at the damage.”
“I’ll be fine,” she mumbled as she reached up with her good hand to inspect the knot on her hairline. “I’m usually not this clumsy.”
“Oh? What do you suppose caused it tonight?” he couldn’t resist teasing her.
“If you had any decency you’d put your pants on,” she muttered at him.
His brows furrowed in feigned confusion. “Not twenty minutes ago you ordered me to drop my drawers. Now you want me to put them on. Which is it, Mo?” he razzed her unmercifully.
She flashed him a fulminating glance. “I better leave before—”
Watching where he stepped, Jake grabbed the back of her shirt and hoisted her to her feet. Despite her objection, he shepherded her into the bathroom.
“Let’s see how deep the cuts are,” he said as he turned on the faucet and then shoved her right hand beneath the stream.
“I-It’s f-fine. I—I’m okay,” she stuttered.
“Now who’s in a state of denial?” he asked as he glanced sideways to see her gaze focused on the light furring of hair on his chest and belly. He really had her discombobulated and he was loving every minute of it.
Moriah inhaled a deep, cathartic breath, then exhaled. Jake noted she practiced what she preached when she found herself tensed up. And she was definitely tense. Why do you suppose that was? he thought wickedly.
“I…uh…don’t think I’ll bleed to death before I reach my apartment,” she chirped, staring down at her injured hand—anywhere but at him.
“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” he said, grinning. “After the fuss I put up about being abducted and held hostage here, I’ll be the prime suspect if you’re found in a pool of blood.”
When he bent forward to examine her hand closely, his bare shoulder grazed her arm. He felt her flinch. “Hurt?” he asked, smothering a snicker.
“Er…no.” Her voice wobbled noticeably.
Jake grinned, enjoying the effect he had on Moriah. He brushed her shoulder again—accidentally on purpose—and felt a tremor run down to her arm to her hand. When he saw her gaze drop, he glanced down to see what had diverted her attention. His bare hip was peeking from the split in the towel. Her face splashed with color as she snapped up her head and met his knowing grin in the mirror. He didn’t think her face could turn redder. Amazingly, amusingly it did. Considering all the blood rushing to her face and ears, he wondered if her head was about to explode.
“Hold still a minute and I’ll dig out the shards with tweezers.” He opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve the tweezers, antiseptic and bandages he’d noticed earlier.
Moriah, who had yet to be at a loss for words, and was usually in complete control of her composure in his presence, just stood there as if she’d been shot with a stun gun. Jake concentrated on removing the slivers of glass, but he recalled what Moriah had said about finding enjoyment. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit that verbally sparring with her during their road trip, having her lecture him on breaking old habits while she held him as a captive audience in the river, and watching her get flustered at the sight of him wearing nothing but a towel was the most fun he’d had since he couldn’t remember when. He felt alive, different somehow. He felt more attuned to himself than when he was living his robotlike existence in the city.
“I think I removed all the glass,” he murmured as he rinsed her hand. “Now for the antiseptic and bandages. You’ll be almost as good as new.”
Within a few minutes he had completed his first-aid ministrations. Moriah still hadn’t spoken and her face was still blotchy with color. He noticed she’d taken a couple more of those cathartic breaths she was so fond of, in order to restore her composure.
The moment he released her hand she shot from the bathroom like a cannonball. “Thanks, Jake. I need to check on my dad before I turn in. See you tomorrow morning.”
Chuckling, he watched her beat a hasty retreat. Humming softly to the tune playing on the canned music system, Jake squatted down to clean up the broken glass. All the while he kept replaying the scene with Moriah. She certainly had turned skittish around him this evening.
Self-assured and confident as she usually was, he hadn’t expected that. It made him wonder about her sex life—or lack thereof.
What kind of romantic relationship could she possibly have when she lived at the resort and cared for her father and catered to her guests? Not much of one, he figured. He wondered why. She was certainly personable, intelligent and attractive. So what was the deal with Moriah?
Jake went to bed that night with Moriah on his mind—and not a single thought of the graphic shop that had consumed the past ten years of his life.
MORIAH, feeling a little frazzled, hiked toward the stables to retrieve two horses. She hadn’t slept worth a damn the previous night, thanks to her encounter with Jake—the ornery rascal! Every time she closed her eyes she kept seeing his appealing image in that skimpy towel that parted to expose his bare hip, not to mention the unhindered view of his broad chest, washboarded belly and muscular legs. Damn! Wasn’t it enough that she’d had her hands on his racy bikini underwear? Then she’d seen him fresh from the shower, wearing a towel. Sheesh! She did not need to become more aware of him than she already was.
Well, she’d just have to forget last night happened, she told herself sensibly. Jake was her guest and he had a ways to go before he learned to adjust to a less stressful lifestyle. Plus, she had no interest in men who were so forcefully driven toward success that they couldn’t devote time and attention to their significant others.
She’d noticed at the buffet breakfast earlier that morning that Jake kept checking his watch. She should’ve taken that away from him, too, she supposed, because he was too clued in to time schedules.
He hadn’t mixed and mingled with her other guests at breakfast, just sat at the far end of the table with his gaze glued to his plate. She noticed he stuck a couple of slices of bacon in a napkin and tucked them in his pocket before he left the lodge. Snacks for the pup, no doubt. For all his grousing and complaining about the imposition of having the pooch underfoot, Jake was taking good care of the animal. Better care, in fact, than her other guests took of their temporary pets. It proved that Jake wasn’t self-absorbed and focused solely on himself. She liked that about him.
“Hey, Mori, how’s it goin’?”
She glanced up and waved at Kent Foster, the former rodeo star who had signed on to care for the livestock and guide her guests along the riding trails. Although Kent had broken several bones during his career as a bull rider, and walked with a noticeable limp,