Always On My Mind (The Sullivans #8)(28)

It was the first time he’d seen her laugh like that, with her whole body, her entire heart and soul behind the happy sound. When she’d opened up her arms to the storm and tilted up her face to let the rain wash over her, she not only looked like she belonged on his land, she looked so beautiful that he’d felt as if something inside of him had been struck by lightning.

He yanked open the door to the old log cabin, harder than he should have considering the age of the hinges. Early settlers had come here and laid down stakes and dreams in the West. Harsh weather often tore through this part of the coast, but right in this spot, the mountains and trees gave enough shelter from the worst of the rain and the wind. From the porch, there was nothing but open land and ocean as far as the eye could see.

Grayson had never come here with anyone else, had kept it as his own private space all these years, had never even been tempted to bring anyone else here with him.

Lori Sullivan was the last person he wanted in his sacred space. She was too loud. Moved too fast. Needed too much.

Grayson gave endlessly to his animals. To his land. But never again did he intend to give any part of his soul to a woman.

Inside the cabin, he couldn’t find her at first, not until he realized she was kneeling in front of the fireplace, lighting matches that were blowing out immediately. There was a pile of wasted matches on the ground in front of her.

Damn it, he asked himself in a silent but furious voice, why the hell did his senses come alive every single time he looked at her?

The anger that came from having to acknowledge he’d never felt quite so alive in all his life than he did when he was with her, had him biting out, “I’ll get the fire going.”

He knew better by now than to think she’d listen to his orders, and she didn’t disappoint. She didn’t look up at him from the floor, either, as she muttered, “I know how to start a fire,” then lit another match.

He dropped the wood in a pile beside the fireplace and yanked the box of matches from her. “You’re going to waste them all.”

Only just as he said it, the fire she’d laid in the stone fireplace finally took. He waited for her look of victory, but she didn’t give him one, didn’t look at him at all as she stood up and moved away from him.

Guilt twisted in his gut at the way he’d ordered her to get inside earlier. But didn’t she see that she simply should have held on so that she didn’t fall off the horse, rather than moving in his arms like a woman did when she wanted a man, or, worse still, slicking her tongue over his skin? And making him want her with a fierce fury that stunned him.

She was pushing him all the way to the edge...the very last place he’d sworn ever to go again.

Of course, just because he’d hurt her feelings didn’t mean she could keep her mouth shut for more than five seconds. Even while they were out working on the fence, she’d been humming show tunes in an off-key voice the entire time.

“I’ve read so many books about this exact thing happening in England,” she muttered, “when the hero and heroine get caught in a storm and have to take shelter in an old cottage. You’d be a duke and I’d be a virgin who’s afraid to be alone with you in case you lose control and can’t stop yourself from taking my innocence.” She made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and irritated laughter as she shook out her wet hair and leaned in closer to the fire. “Of course, you’re no duke, and I’m definitely not a virgin. The books made it all seem so romantic, but clearly they forgot to mention that being wet and freezing cold isn’t romantic at all.”

He refused to acknowledge the clenching of his chest at the way she’d said she was “definitely not a virgin.” Picturing other men touching Lori, making love to Lori, shouldn’t matter to him, so he forced himself to ignore his senseless possessiveness where she was concerned.

But he couldn’t ignore the way she had her arms wrapped around herself and how hard she was shivering. “Take your clothes off.”

She turned to him with a bemused expression. “Excuse me?”

Finally realizing how it had sounded, he said, “You’re going to get chilled if you keep your wet clothes on.”

“Why, Grayson,” she drawled, “I didn’t know you cared.”

Hell, but she grated on him. And turned him on more and more with every one of her sassy responses.

“You’re going to be even more useless on the farm if you get sick.”

Before she turned away from him, he saw something move through her eyes, another flash of hurt that had him feeling even more like a guilty ass. Especially when she hadn’t done a half bad job on the fence this afternoon.

He walked to the window and looked out at the rain pelting his land. Just as he’d never intended to share this cabin with anyone, he hadn’t planned on sharing his land, either. But now he could see Lori everywhere he looked, could sense her footprints, her touch, in so many things that had been all his up until now.

For days the two of them had been acting like kids out on the playground, with him pulling her pigtails while she threw rocks at him. Someone had to be the bigger person. He knew it needed to be him.

“You did a go—”

The words died on his lips as he turned and saw Lori standing in only her underwear, her jeans and socks and boots in a wet heap at her bare feet as she pulled her wet T-shirt up over her head. The muscles of her taut abdomen rippled slightly under her creamy skin, and her br**sts threatened to spill out from over the top of her lacy bra.