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After tossing another log onto the fire, he flopped down on the easy chair and crossed his ankle over his thigh. The movement stretched his jeans over his long legs. He looked like a giant sitting on baby bear’s chair.
He shifted and pulled a candy bar from his breast pocket. He unwrapped it and took a large bite. The firelight flickered over him, casting his features into planes of shadows and light. A dusting of stubble coated his jaw.
Of course it did. She’d never seen him clean-shaven.
He glanced up and met her gaze. A hot current shimmered through the air.
Probably the heat of the fire.
He held out the candy. “Want some?”
She couldn’t tell if he meant it as a peace offering or a tempting lure of the forbidden.
Somewhat to her confusion, she also couldn’t decide which one she’d prefer.
“No, but thank you for the offer,” she replied politely.
He pushed up from the chair and strode to the window. He peered out at the whitewash of snowflakes, his expression darkening. “Damned weather report. They never get it right.”
“I’m sure the weather researchers do their best. Besides, the storm will probably be over quickly.” She indicated the back porch. “There’s a couple of snow shovels back there, so we can dig ourselves out tomorrow, if need be.”
Sam mumbled something under his breath and slouched back to the kitchen. He turned on the sink faucet and began rattling around, taking out pots and opening the fridge.
His noise was not conducive to her productivity. She’d get a good night’s sleep and start fresh in the morning, after he was gone.
She set her notebook down and stood. “I think I’ll turn in early. It’s been an eventful evening.”
He made another unintelligible noise. She picked up the bowl of cold ramen and went to the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, not wanting a repeat of their too-close-for-comfort situation.
Reaching over, she set the bowl by the sink. “Turns out I wasn’t hungry, so you’re welcome to have this, if you want, or put it in the fridge. I can reheat it tomorrow. Good night.”
He stuck a frozen mac-and-cheese dinner in the microwave and hit the start button.
Brooke climbed the ladder to the loft, wondering if she really could feel him watching her or if her imagination was going into overdrive.
As she fluffed up her pillows, she reminded herself of the reason she was here. She was going to write new story ideas, read her novels, and do all the things she’d intended—yoga, meditation, goal-setting. The grump downstairs wouldn’t stop her.
Shoot, she forgot to floss and brush her teeth. She should probably pee before going to sleep, too. She peered over the railing at Sam, who was carrying his dinner to the table in the corner. She’d just hurry past him and take care of her business.
Tucking her toiletries bag under her arm, she gripped the ladder and began the careful descent. The wood creaked. She set her left foot on the next rung. Another creak, and the wooden rung gave way under her weight.
Brooke yelped. The ladder tipped, and she lost her footing. She fumbled to grab hold of the railing and missed. The world reeled around her. In a split-second, she braced herself for a hard impact with the floor.
Instead, she fell right into a pair of strong, male arms.
