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The bedroom door opened as Braden came sliding back in. Immediately he went to the fire and peeled off his wet socks once again. Zara sighed, tapping the brush against her thigh.
“Why don’t you go hop in the shower and warm up your feet? And when you’re done, I’ll give you a pair of my socks. They’re small, but they’re warm and dry.” When he didn’t say anything, he merely turned and stared at her, she went on. “Maybe stop going outside. Whatever you need, I can go. I at least have taller boots.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Braden strode back out the door. Apparently he was taking her up on the shower. But what had happened in the time he’d walked out until now? He seemed quiet, wouldn’t quite look her in the eyes. Something was wrong.
The O’Sheas were mysterious and closed off, so she’d never know. But she didn’t want him upset or angry. It was freezing, they were stuck. Oh, yeah, and sexually frustrated. That made for a nice combo.
While he was gone, Zara got an idea and snuck out to the kitchen. Finding exactly what she needed, she raced back up to the bedroom. The shower was still running, so she had time to set up. Apparently he’d found towels and was making himself at home. Granted, all she had were floral specialty soaps, but she’d not exactly prepared for male guests.
Zara moved the chaise back closer to the wall to open up the middle of the floor. She settled down, crossing her legs and had the necessary items in front of her just as Braden came back in...wearing only a towel.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
Without a word, he crossed the room and laid his clothes out in front of the fire. “Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of throwing on different clothes. I’ve been wearing these since yesterday morning.”
She glanced over and seriously wished she hadn’t. Were those...yeah. He was a black boxer brief man. No tighty-whities for this alpha male...and seeing his underwear made it crystal clear he was commando beneath that terry cloth.
Braden cleared his throat, and she realized he’d turned and was staring at her. Great. Way to really hold her ground about not getting intimate when she’s caught staring at the man’s underwear.
“What’s this?” he asked, motioning down to her stash.
She ignored the items she’d brought up from the kitchen and continued to stare up at him as if having a conversation wearing only a towel were perfectly normal.
“So you’re going to be like this until your clothes dry?” She motioned with her finger up and down his body.
Clutching one side of the towel over one very muscular, very exposed thigh, Braden shrugged. “I can lose the towel, but I thought you’d be more comfortable like this.”
Zara rolled her eyes. The man was proving to be impossible to resist, and she truly didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.
“I’m comfortable with your clothes on,” she muttered. “Anyway, I thought we could play cards, and since I’m not one to gamble, I brought up pretzel sticks we can use instead.”
He quirked a brow. “You play poker?”
Zara laughed. “You didn’t know my grandmother. That woman could outwit the best of the best when it came to seven-card stud. She taught me how to play when I was still learning how to write my name.”
Braden quirked his brow, then headed over to the chaise and pulled off the blanket she used to sleep with. He wrapped it around his waist and sank to the floor in front of her.
That bare chest with dark hair and just a bit of ink showing over his shoulder held her captive, and she would have to concentrate on this game if she wanted to control her urge to rip that blanket and towel from his deliciously sculpted body.
“Can you play?” she asked, pulling the cards from the box.
Piercing eyes held hers. “I can play whatever game you want.”
Of course he could, and he could make everything sound sexual with that low, intense tone that had her stomach doing flips.
When she offered the cards to him to shuffle, he waved a hand. “Ladies first.”
Shuffling them with quick, precise movements, Zara finally felt comfortable. Cards was something she could handle, something she could somewhat control. A hobby of hers from long ago, she hadn’t played for a while, but she needed the distraction, and there was only so much they could do stuck in this room.
“What’s the ante?” he asked, tearing open the bag of pretzels.
“Your choice.”
“Ten.”
