Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(35)
Little hellcat. But he meant it affectionately. As Roan strolled up to her and opened the door, pushing it open for her, he asked, “Are you hiding any more fiery parts to yourself that I should know about so I don’t step into it with you?”
Laughing a little, Shiloh stepped up into the cabin. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
Roan followed her in. He’d gotten in all the windows and light poured into the wide-open area. Watching Shiloh, he saw her walk over to the wall, run her hand down the length of electric cable between two joists. She was testing to see how taut it was—or not. Smiling to himself, he enjoyed watching her as she saw the cabin through experienced construction eyes. Shiloh was clearly a toucher. She caressed the wood, the electric cord, the lip of the windowsill, ran knowing fingers down the caulking around the window and then knelt down, looking at the floor he’d recently installed.
“Wow, this is gorgeous cedar,” she murmured, running her palm across the highly polished gold and reddish floor. “Beautiful job.” Roan had not laid a common floor. It was a diagonal-herringbone parquet floor. There was a diamond pattern in darker wood and cedar around the edges of it. And the wood had to be cut to just the right length and then carefully fitted. As her gaze slid across the floor, she saw it had been perfectly laid, a testament to Roan’s patience, care, and eye for detail. A perfectionist. “This parquet design is awesome,” she murmured, her voice filled with pleasure.
Roan felt his skin tingle. He felt good being praised by Shiloh; she understood the hundreds of hours it had taken him to create the intricate diagonal herringbone design with the cedar. “Thanks.”
She looked up, her hand flat on the warm wood floor. “Why did you pick something so intricate and demanding? You could have just laid them straight across and been done with it.”
Roan pointed to one of the two large windows facing east. “I wanted the sunlight to come in here every morning and show the design and different grains and colors of the cedar. Artistry, I suppose,” he said, and shrugged, giving her an amused look.
Her respect for Roan rose a thousand percent. This cabin was a testament to him. Who he really was. The side of him unseen by others. The discovery thrilled her. Shiloh knew if a house was poorly made, it meant the person was lazy and taking shortcuts. But a cabin like this, a floor like this, told her about the depth of man who was a wrangler, but so much more. “Well, it certainly is artistry,” she murmured, sliding her hand slowly across the sunlit wood. “It’s gorgeous. I’d wake up every morning, come out here with coffee, and watch the sunlight steal silently across this floor, highlighting all the wonderful colors, the wood grain.”
Roan almost said, I want you to wake up at my side every morning, too. Where the hell had that thought, that driving need, suddenly come from? Chagrined, Roan had no idea what to say. The woman left him tongue-tied sometimes. He continued to marvel at the awe in her expression, down on her hands and knees now, moving her fingers gently across the pattern, almost reverently following it with her fingertips.
“You know,” Shiloh murmured, sliding her fingers to the dark diamond wood design around the edges of the herringbone pattern, “you love wood. Only a person who truly felt the wood, let it speak to them, could design a floor like this.” She shook her head and twisted a look up at him. Shiloh saw warmth and pride in his gray eyes and it made her feel good. “There’s so much more to you, Roan . . .” she whispered more to herself than to him.
He came over and crouched down in front of her, his hands hanging loosely over his knees. “Maybe we’ve both been guilty of putting each other in a labeled box?” he teased, catching her gaze, seeing her flush.
“Touché,” Shiloh murmured. She sat up, leaning back on her booted heels, hands resting on her long, curved thighs. “Would you mind a second pair of hands here helping you on your days off? I take direction well. If I don’t know something, I’ll ask.”
“You’re a team player,” Roan praised, feeling suddenly happy. His whole chest felt like it was expanding with an unfamiliar joy as he drowned in her dark green gaze. Her eyes reminded Roan of being deep in an evergreen forest with tiny bits of sunlight falling through the foliage like gold and diamonds.
“I’ve always been a team person,” Shiloh murmured. When she started to get up, Roan stood, offering his hand to her. He’d taken off his gloves and they stuck out in the rear pocket of his Levi’s. She wanted to touch this man and slipped her fingers into his large, worn hand. Warmth curled up through her as his sun-darkened fingers wound around hers, gently pulling her to her feet. She saw heat flash through his narrowing gray gaze, saw his eyes go stormy. His fingers tightened briefly around hers. He should let her go. But he wasn’t. And she wasn’t trying to pull her fingers from his. Drowning in the desire she saw in his eyes, Shiloh realized Roan wanted to kiss her. Going hot from head to toes, her body gnawed with need, Shiloh knew all she had to do was take one step forward. Roan had held her as she cried earlier. She wanted those long, strong arms around her again. The feeling of safety within his embrace tore all the darkness away from her.
Throat growing dry, her gaze settled on his mouth. A wide, strong mouth, well defined, and she felt beyond needy for Roan. Somehow, Shiloh knew he would be a skilled lover and he would put her first, not last. And all of this transpired in a heated second strung between them. Reluctantly, he opened his fingers, allowing her to reclaim her hand. She should have stepped forward, should have taken the unspoken invitation burning in his eyes. Inwardly, Shiloh called herself an emotional coward. Why couldn’t she kiss Roan? He wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him!