Snow Bound Read online

  Her breath had changed, panting now, light and quiet like a dog at rest. “Just a little sore where I fell, that’s all.” She pulled at the damp material, attempting to cover her newly uncovered possibilities.

  Damon drew in a deep breath, gathering his professionalism instead of working off the lust sizzling beneath his skin. “We need to get you out of that wet robe. Where’s your bedroom?”

  Her head jerked up so quickly he was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. “My bedroom? Why?”

  “You need some clothes.”

  “I can do it,” she said, pushing up from her seat in an attempt to gain her feet. But he wasn’t letting her get that far.

  “No stairs until I’ve checked you out, okay?” He urged her back down with light pressure on her shoulders. One touch divulged just how bad her trembling was. “Just let me do it.”

  He followed her directions up the stairs and to the left through the open door of a large bedroom, his recovered flashlight leading the way. More candles dotted the surfaces in the room, and the king-size sleigh bed angled from the corner had several layers of covers whipped back, as if she’d raced from the bed after hearing the noise outside. Which she probably had, considering her attire.

  He bypassed the larger dresser closest to him for the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room where she’d said her sleep shirts were located. As he neared, he caught a glimpse of a dress hanging on the inside of the closet door. His booted feet stopped of their own accord, staring at the puffy pink dress with a generous dusting of silver sparkles. The fitted top exploded into layers of filmy material to make up the skirt that would fall right below her calves.

  He knew. He’d seen her in this particular concoction one day when he’d dropped by the bookstore for coffee. She’d been hostessing one of the tea parties she offered for the little girls in the area. With the pink dress and her hair swept up under the crown on her head, she’d been the princess in charge and Damon had immediately dubbed her Miss Priss. He’d thought of her that way ever since. He wasn’t into princesses; he’d rather screw the downstairs maid.

  With a quiet chuckle he continued to the chest of drawers and pulled open the top one, intent on finding something, anything, he could cover Tori up with. The less skin, the better. Holding the flashlight up with now gloveless fingers, Damon shone the bright light over the darkened interior of the drawer, only to choke on his own tongue. Spread out before him was an array of, well, flimsy panties. Not folded neatly in little piles, as he’d have expected from the woman who never had a hair out of place, but jumbled together in a smorgasbord of colors, mostly pastels. That part, at least, he’d guessed right. With a stiff finger he dug in and lifted, revealing a handful of thong panties. Apparently Miss Priss preferred butt floss. My God, is that what she was wearing now? His cock throbbed as he contemplated the options.

  He flicked the flashlight beam to the princess dress, then back to the naughty bits in his hand, then back again, his gaze cataloging the differences. Dear Lord in heaven, if he had only known she was wearing these under that, he’d have been sporting a very inappropriate crotch display in front of a bunch of six and seven-year-old girls.

  Dropping the panties like they were booby trapped, he slammed the drawer shut and moved quickly through the rest until he found a stack of cotton sleep shirts… right next to a teddy that had him biting back a roar of approval. How the hell was he going to face Tori again, keep his gaze trained on her face, and get her changed from that silky robe into something decent—without going to his knees and begging to see more?

  * * *

  Tori waited on the couch, tracking her visitor’s movement through the creaking of the oak floors upstairs. Those boards had been the bane of her existence as a teenager, broadcasting every move when she hadn’t wanted her parents to know she was sneaking down the stairs. Leaning on the arm of the couch, she panted through the pain throbbing outward from her thigh.

  Adrenaline from hearing the noise outside and bursting through the door to find her outrageously gorgeous neighbor fighting a tall figure in the dark, then shooting over their heads to scare the other guy off must have masked the burning ache from her fall. She hadn’t really noticed the pain until she’d shifted around, trying to cover herself as best she could. Then her thigh had pounded like she’d been punched on the bruised flesh once more.

  She wanted to twist around to check out the source, but the thought of having Damon walk in while her backside was exposed incited a flush of heat that wasn’t entirely embarrassment. Not good. Really not good. With that characteristic Texas charm, Damon had made it clear on the few times she’d met him that he wasn’t interested in her. So she’d hidden behind a measure of her own southern graces, treating him just as she would any gentleman who would enter her business establishment instead of like a cowboy she wanted to hold down and ride. He’d probably run for the hills if he knew the thoughts that raced through her head with just one glimpse of his wide, smoothly muscled shoulders and dark blond military cut.

  Or maybe not. Enough cars parked overnight outside his house that he would definitely recognize the lust—and probably pity her for it. Though she thought she’d seen a moment of interest when his eyes traced the dripping mess that was now her robe, but she must have been mistaken. A few polite conversations and he’d kept his distance since moving here.

  Too bad, because that was a yummy hunk of man, and this town was severely deficient.

  As the footfalls overhead crossed out of her bedroom, Tori used her arms to lift herself from the couch and rearranged her robe around her, making sure it wasn’t tucked under her bottom. She clutched the front closed in a tight fist. Maybe this way she could transfer to a sleep shirt with as little flesh flashing as possible. The thought of him seeing her bare skin had her squirming, but she forced herself to still before she got another bolt of pain from her thigh. Crying in front of him would be almost as humiliating as exposing unwanted butt cheeks.

  When he reentered the room, her favorite gray Alabama football night shirt lay over his forearm. He switched off his flashlight before setting it on the table. “Okay,” he said, gathering the shirt into his hands. “Let’s get you out of that wet robe.”

  Her gaze, which had been tracing the lines of his body in the tight jeans and sweatshirt he wore, jerked up to his face. “What?” she asked, her throat tightening enough to make it difficult to force the word out. She was surprised that he wanted to help, though she probably shouldn’t have been. One thing the past half hour had taught her about her neighbor was that he knew how to take charge, which was more than she’d learned about him in the year he’d been living next door.

  He motioned toward her, displaying the shirt’s neck hole, which he held open as if she were two and in need of dressing assistance. “Slip off your robe so we can get this on you.”

  No matter how many times she’d fantasized about undressing in front of him, now that the moment was here, there was no way she could change clothes with him watching her. While she had a fairly healthy self-esteem at twenty-eight, the thought of seeing his disappointment over her unimpressive figure in those beautiful brown eyes had her chickening out. She shook her head and adopted her appropriate “I’m in charge” expression, honed over years of running her own business.

  “I don’t think so, Mister. Just hand over the goods and turn your back.”

  The laugh lines fanning out from his mouth became more pronounced as he stared, but she sensed he was not amused. “How about if I promise not to look?” he asked.

  Her head shook out a negative before he’d even finished speaking. “Stop messing around, playboy, and hand me the shirt.”

  He did as she demanded, though his lips twisted. Turning away, he paced to the fireplace and opened the grate, reaching for a couple of logs from the large stack nearby. She’d made sure to fill up inside and add to the pile on the back porch when they’d first predicted bad weather a few days ago.

  She shivere
d as the damp material slid down her spine. Her head was through the neck opening before the robe reached the couch. With efficient motions she had her arms in the right spots and pulled the gown down over her hips. Gathering her courage, she tightened her muscles and lifted up from the couch, whipping the gown down under her legs. The warmth of the thicker material engulfed her, chasing away the cold. But thoughts of why she’d been dressed in lingerie did not aid her composure with Damon just a few feet away.

  Needing to distract herself, she asked, “What was going on out there, anyway? Who was that?”

  “Don’t know, Sweet Cheeks,” he said, that rolling Texas drawl sliding over her like honey. “I was hoping you could tell me. I saw a light scanning the hill from my house and thought you were outside, so I came over to help.” He dusted his hands on his jeans as he turned back to face her. “Got a helluva surprise out there.”

  Her throat tightened, her heart speeding up as she took in the implications. “Someone was roaming around the backyard?”

  “Looked like it from my upstairs window,” he said with a nod. “The light was up near the tree line, so I thought it was you trying to get wood onto the back porch. I figured you hadn’t stocked up so I headed over—“

  She pushed away from the couch before he even finished speaking, clamping her teeth down against a moan of pain.

  “Whoa, where are you heading?” he asked, crossing the room with quick strides.

  But she was beyond answering. “The phone, I have to get to a phone,” she muttered as she hobbled toward the table near the front door.

  “Honey, the phones are probably out. Like the power, remember?”

  Still she fumbled through her purse for her cell, pushing a button for the display screen. No Service. “Damn, the tower must be down.”

  His presence loomed over her shoulder, sparking distracting urges to both hunch forward for protection and lean back into his strength. She’d recognized at their first meeting that he was her type: strong, take-charge, and sensual. She just hadn’t realized how potent the charge would be with prolonged exposure. That hot flame of attraction burning through her chilly limbs felt like a runaway train, which was the last thing Tori was prepared for. She’d been in control her entire adult life, learning her lesson well at eighteen. Now, no one got the chance to run her life, dictate her actions, or force her into anything she didn’t want. But she had a feeling Damon just might be able to, not by bending her to his will but by seducing her into surrender.

  Hell, this situation was getting more complicated by the minute, and she had a feeling the trouble had only just begun.

  Chapter Three

  “You want to tell me what’s going on, sweetheart?”

  Heated breath grazed her cheek as Damon spoke, sending a shiver down her spine. His tone was deceptively calm, with a hint of undeniable steel at the center. As much as she didn’t want to get into it, she had to explain. With the sheriff’s department unreachable, he was her only source of protection.

  “Didn’t I hear someone say you’d been in the military?” she asked.

  She sensed his nod. “Why?”

  A little step forward allowed her to turn around without having to slide against his hard body. She needed every ounce of strength and wit about her. Focus would be the last thing she was capable of if he got too close.

  “Because… I think I’m in danger.”

  A thick brow lifted, though she couldn’t tell if he was asking a question… or questioning her sanity. Hopefully the former, since he’d seen the evidence for himself of just how dangerous this guy could be. “The man, outside, I think he might be someone who is… after me.”

  This time those brows pulled together as he frowned, and his arms crossed his oh-so-impressive chest. With a sudden start he turned and began to pace the polished wooden floors. Across to the fireplace, then angling to the right until he came up against the wall, then back again. He spoke as he paced, “All right, Princess, give it to me straight.”

  She could lay it all out there, though he was probably the type of man to want all the facts up front. But some things were simply too personal to reveal to a casual acquaintance, even one who set the blood in your veins on fire. The facts were pretty well-known by the locals, so she’d stick to that.

  “The man I suspect, who, well, might be out there is one I helped put in prison. He was supposed to come up for parole a few weeks ago, and I know that it was granted, but when he never showed up to confront me, I just figured he’d moved on.” Hoped was more like it.

  Damon had halted not long after she started speaking, and now those brown eyes widened as they met her own. “You, little Miss Priss, helped put a man in prison?”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Nothing, sorry. I just can’t believe it.” He looked away, almost as if he were ashamed of what he’d said, though she couldn’t imagine this forceful, larger-than-life hero anywhere close to ashamed or humble. “Tell me what happened.”

  She’d rather not, but what did she have to lose? After tonight, she and Damon probably go back to simply nodding whenever they passed each other on the street. But she desperately didn’t want to be alone with Bobby Joe Resmondo lurking in the darkness somewhere outside her house. Just the thought tightened her muscles in a paralyzing grip. She’d gotten through her last encounter with him only with the help of her parents and local law enforcement. Facing him again, alone, didn’t rank on her list of life goals.

  Swallowing hard against the constriction in her throat, she struggled to relax despite her mounting tension. “I, um, I dated Bobby Joe in high school.”

  “Oh yeah, you were captain of the cheerleading squad, I heard.”

  She nodded, remembering that all too brief time when life had been normal, before she’d gotten sucked into a darkness she’d never encountered in her innocence. One so impenetrable that even her best friends hadn’t believed her until it was too late.

  “I was. And Bobby Joe was on the football team—“

  “Captain?”

  Tori glared across the dim room, irritated both by his interruption and his glib tone. “This isn’t a joke.”

  His hands lifted as if in surrender. “Sorry.”

  If he thought she’d spill her guts now, he had another think coming. “Anyway, to make a long story short, he was later accused of attempted murder of a girl he was dating at UT. My testimony established a pattern of abusive behavior, and the judge ended up giving him the maximum sentence for his crimes. He was paroled a few weeks back for good behavior.”

  She thought the realization that a criminal might be lurking outside contributed to his sudden stillness, until he spoke. “Abusive, huh?”

  Her impulse was to curve into herself, protecting her vulnerabilities, but she forced herself to stand up straight instead and meet his gaze head-on. “More controlling, really. It took me a while, but I learned to handle it.”He studied her until she squirmed, solemn and still. A long, low whistle had her eyes widening in surprise, but the heat in those dark brown eyes melted every other emotion away. “I’m impressed, Princess. I really am.”

  Ducking her head, she retucked the hair behind her ear, the motion more habit than need since the hair remained right where she’d put it earlier. Needing a distraction, she asked, “Why do you call me that?”

  The grin that tugged at his shapely mouth should have been classified as illegal, both sensual and secretive at the same time. She glanced away from the temptation, but his voice just picked up where the visual left off. “Ever since I saw you in that princess dress at the bookstore, I’ve thought of you like that.”

  She nodded. “I know a lot of people probably think it’s silly, but the girls love it.” Relaxation tiptoed through her body as happy memories from the little tea parties she gave at the bookstore came to mind.

  “Oh, I think it fits you just right.”

  That statement could either be a compliment or not, she couldn’t tell from his tone, but she
was going to assume the best. “Thanks.”

  Her limping steps back to the couch immediately drew him next to her. “Princess, I’m going to need to take a look at that leg.”

  She eased down, tucking the nightshirt around her as her rear met the seat. “I’ll be fine. A little bruising is all.”

  “Look,” he said, moving into her line of vision.

  Unfortunately her height put her face right at the level of his crotch. How wrong was it to hunger for a glimpse of what was hidden behind the straining zipper ten inches from her avid gaze?

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere with no phone service, no way to contact the police or ambulance, and a guy with a vendetta on the loose with a snowstorm raging outside. We need to take extra precautions to make sure this doesn’t go from ‘oh shit’ to ‘bum fuck’ in the space of a few minutes. Got me?”

  The look she shot up from her inferior height was probably furious, but he didn’t even blink. “Do you even know what you’re looking for?”

  “Of course. I was in the military for eight years.”

  “As a medic?”

  “No, but even the rawest recruit is taught basic first aid and situational awareness.”

  She conceded his point with a nod, though part of her wanted to continue arguing. She’d been taking care of herself since her parents died, and her relationship with Bobby Joe had taught her not to give up that control as easily ever again. Besides, letting him check out her bruises would involve the baring of some sensitive skin, and she wasn’t sure just how impartial she could remain with his eyes on her butt.

  “All right,” he said, a thread of mischief stretching his lips and narrowing his eyes. “Bottoms up.”

  * * *

  Was it outrage that had her stiffening like that… or embarrassment? Evil as it was of him, Damon found he enjoyed ruffling Miss Priss’s feathers.

  But he’d been serious about checking her out medically. The last thing he needed was some serious situation sneaking up on them when help wasn’t available. Better to carry out every preventive protocol they could. His own aches wouldn’t turn into bruises until tomorrow, and his ribs weren’t broken despite a few well-placed punches and slams to the cold ground. No bleeding and no concussion. He’d been damn lucky.