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They glittered in the firelight. She could see the flames dancing in their depths and sensed a coiled violence over which he exercised tenuous control. It prompted her to step behind him again and out of harm’s way.
“Don’t cut me,” he warned as she lifted the razor to his jaw.
“I won’t if you’ll be still and shut up.”
“Have you ever done this before?”
“No.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
He stopped talking as she drew the first swipe up his cheek. “So far so good,” she said softly as she dipped the razor in the bowl. He mumbled something, trying to keep his mouth still, but Rusty didn’t catch what he said. She was concentrating too hard on giving him a clean shave without nicking his skin. When the lower part of his face was clean, she let out a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
A laugh rolled up from the depths of his chest. Rusty had never heard him actually laugh with pure humor before. His infrequent laughs were usually tinged with cynicism. “Don’t start bragging yet. You’re not finished. Don’t forget my neck. And for God sake, be careful with that blade.”
“It’s not that sharp.”
“That’s the worst kind.”
She swished the razor in the water to dampen it, then placed one hand beneath his chin. “Tilt your head back.”
He did. It rested heavily against her breasts. Rusty, unable to move for a moment, kept the razor poised above his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard, involuntary swallow. To take her mind off their position, she turned her attention to the task at hand, which only made matters worse. She had to come up on her toes and lean forward to see well. By the time she’d shaved his neck clean, his head was cushioned between her breasts and they were both keenly aware of it.
“There.” She stepped back and dropped the razor as though it were the single piece of incriminating evidence in a murder trial.
He yanked the towel out of his collar and buried his face in it. For what seemed like hours he didn’t move or lower the towel.
“How does it feel?” she asked.
“Great. It feels great.”
Then, he stood up abruptly and tossed the towel onto the chair. Tearing his coat from the peg near the door, he pulled it on, ruthlessly shoving his arms into the sleeves.
“Where are you going?” Rusty asked anxiously.
“Outside.”
“What for?”
He shot her a sizzling glance that wasn’t in keeping with the blizzard blowing beyond the open door. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
He continued to behave in that volatile manner until noon the next day. All morning the weather had been prohibitive to beast and man, so they’d been snowbound in the cabin. For the most part, Cooper ignored her. She responded in kind. After several unsuccessful attempts to make conversation with him, she gave up and lapsed into a moody silence that matched his.
It was a relief when the snowy wind stopped its incessant howling and he announced that he was going out to take a look around. She was concerned for his safety, but refrained from persuading him to stay indoors. They needed the breathing space away from each other.
Besides, she needed some privacy. Cooper wasn’t the only one who’d been itching lately. The incision on her leg was giving her fits. As the skin began to knit, it had become tight and dry. Her clothing only aggravated it further. She decided that the stitches had to come out. She also decided that she was going to pull them out herself rather than involve Cooper, especially since their relationship was so rocky and his mood shifts so unpredictable.
He’d been gone only a few minutes when she stripped off all her clothes, having decided to use this opportunity to give herself a thorough sponge bath. When she finished washing, she sat down in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket for warmth. She propped her injured leg over the knee of the other and examined it. How hard could it be to clip those stitches and pull them out?
Where before, the thought would have given her qualms the size of goose eggs, she approached the chore pragmatically. The first obstacle was to find something to clip the silk stitches with. The knife Cooper had given her was too cumbersome. The only thing in the cabin sharp enough and delicate enough was her razor.
It had seemed like a good idea, but when she held the razor lengthwise over the first stitch, poised and ready to saw into it, she realized that her hand was perspiring with apprehension. Drawing a deep breath, she touched the silk thread with the razor.
The door burst open and Cooper tramped through it, snowshoes and all. He’d covered his head with a fur pelt and was bundled up from his neck to his boots. His own breath had frozen on his mustache, making it appear ghostly white. Rusty emitted a squeak of alarm and momentary fright.
But her surprise couldn’t compare to his. She was just as supernatural a vision as he, in an entirely different way. Silhouetted as she was against the fireplace, the flames shone through her hair. One leg was propped up, exposing a tantalizing length of naked thigh. The blanket she’d wrapped herself in after her sponge bath had slipped off her shoulder, revealing most of one breast. As his eyes fastened on it, the nipple grew taut with the chilly air he was letting in.
He closed the door. “What the hell are you doing sitting there like that?”
