Joe nuzzled her neck. "That's not a good reason, Kincaid. If you ask me, we do it pretty well."
"That is not the point," she scolded, pushing him away.
"What is the point?"
"I don't know." The truth was, she did know, but she was too embarrassed to put her feelings into words. She liked Joe Brennan and she liked it when he kissed and touched her. And she thought about him a lot more than she wanted to. The problem was, she didn't want to be like all the other women who had lost their hearts to a quick smile and handsome face. "I-I don't know," she repeated softly.
"Well, until you do, I'm going to keep kissing you, whenever and wherever I want."
Perrie zipped her jacket then began to search for her mittens and her hat "I think we'd better go now."
Joe grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. A long, lingering kiss shook her resolve and she found herself slipping back into the languid pool of desire she had just left behind.
"Whenever and wherever," Joe murmured, nibbling at her lower lip. With a teasing grin, he kissed the end of her cold nose, then scrambled to his feet. He offered her a hand up and she took it, expecting him to draw her back into his arms.
But he didn't. Instead, he grabbed the sleeping bags from the ground and rucked them beneath his arm. "Come on, Kincaid. Let's get you back home where you'll be warm and safe."
Chapter Six
The story seemed to tumble out of her head, word after word, sentence after sentence, as if the entire text had been there all along. The wolves and the Gebhardts, two families living in the midst of the wilderness, bent on survival. Perrie had stayed up all night putting her thoughts onto paper, rewriting each phrase until it was as perfect as it could possibly be.
She wasn't sure what had made her pick up pencil and paper. She had barely stepped inside the door of her cabin after saying a quick and uneasy goodbye to Joe, before she sat down and began to write. And until she began, she hadn't realized that her day with Joe had affected her so deeply.
Joe had called her name as she ran back to the cabin, but she'd been intent on putting some distance between them. Whenever they were together, all her resolve went right down the drain. Either they fought like a pair of pit bulls or they jumped on each other like a couple of hormone-charged teenagers. Until she figured out exactly how she wanted to handle Joe Brennan, she was going to stay away from him. So she wrote.
The day had faded, and rather than switch on a light, she brought an old kerosene lamp to the table. The soft glow seemed to enfold her in a world of her own making, a world without modern conveniences… deadlines and sources… story meetings and proofreaders. For the first time in many years, she wrote from her heart, not from her head. And she rediscovered the true joy of crafting a beautiful sentence, of taking a reader to a place they'd never been.
She had worked all night, catching only snatches of sleep before another turn of phrase would invade her dreams and she'd need to get up and jot it down. Then she would sleep again, and sometimes, mingled with the images of the wolves, she'd see Joe and he would become part of her story, personifying the wolf who had roamed the frigid winters alone.
She had tried to put their encounter in the wilderness out of her head. But it returned again and again. At first, throwing herself back into her work had been an antidote, the perfect way to put his kisses out of her head. But later, she enjoyed the memories, lingering over them as she wrote, reliving the feel of his hands on her body, his mouth over hers.
The day had dawned bright and clear, and when Perrie awoke she saw the story scattered beside her over the quilt. Slowly, she reread what she'd written, making a few more edits. Then she got up and carefully recopied the text onto clean paper. Though she'd brought her laptop along with her, this story didn't want to be written on a computer. This story was more like a letter-a letter from the wilderness.
Although this wasn't the type of story she usually wrote, she was still proud of how it came out. And she was anxious to find out if Milt thought there was any merit in the writing. Not that he'd run the story, but perhaps he'd enjoy her insights on Alaska.
"A fax machine," she murmured, tugging a bulky knit sweater over her head. "They've got to have a fax machine up at the lodge." Perrie retrieved her mukluks from near the door and pulled them on, then grabbed her jacket and the sheaf of paper that was her story.
The air was crisp and biting and her breath clouded in front of her face as she trudged up to the lodge. The low log building had stirred her curiosity more than once since she'd arrived, but she'd tried to avoid it, knowing that Joe lived inside. She preferred the privacy of her own cabin.
As she stepped up onto the wide porch, she noticed an old carving above the door. No Wimin Kin Pass. Perrie smiled. Obviously the bachelors who lived inside felt it necessary to protect themselves from predatory females. Below the large block letters, she read another phrase. "Except for Julia," she murmured.
Perrie stepped back, wondering who Julia was and why she was admitted entrance to the lodge. "Well, if Julia can go inside, I certainly can," Perrie said.
She hesitated for a moment and tried to come up with an offhand greeting for Joe. After what had passed between them yesterday, she wanted to make it clear that she would not tolerate any more spontaneous kissing… or touching. She'd be polite and friendly. And when she felt that familiar surge of desire that raced through her whenever he came near… well then, she'd just turn around and walk away.
Her resolve firmly in place, Perrie rapped on the front door and waited for a reply. But when no one came to answer, she knocked again. After the third try, she decided to venture inside.
The interior of the lodge was a complete surprise. She expected something as rough as the exterior. But instead, she entered a huge room that combined a cozy country feel with rugged log walls and a stone fireplace. Brightly colored woven blankets draped the chairs and sofa, and scattered about the room were interesting little pieces of Alaskan art-a carving here, a handwoven basket there. Rag rugs covered the plank floors and a fire snapped and popped in the fireplace. Compared to her bare-bones cabin, the lodge was backwoods luxury.
"Hello?" she called. "Is anybody home?"
Her call was answered by a high-pitched voice and a flurry of footsteps. A small boy, pale-haired and wide-eyed, appeared from the rear of the other side of the great room. "I'm here!" he cried.
When he saw her, he stopped short then adjusted his glasses on his upturned nose. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm Perrie. Who are you?"
"I'm Sam. I live here. Are you looking for my dad?"
Perrie frowned. "That depends on who your dad is," she said. Joe hadn't said a word about having a son, and Hawk didn't seem like the fatherly type. One of the brides had mentioned that the third partner in the lodge had recently married, but he hadn't been married long enough to have a child so old. "I'm looking for Joe."
Sam sauntered up to her side and studied her unabashedly. "Joe isn't my dad, he's my uncle. Well, he's not really my uncle, he's more like a big brother. Or maybe my best friend. My dad's name is Tanner. He's really my stepdad. We flew in from Fairbanks this morning." His eyes twinkled. "Boy, are my arms tired." A giggle burst from his lips and Perrie couldn't help but smile. His laughter was infectious. "That's a joke," he said.
"I know," Perrie replied, joining in his delight.
"What is going on in here?" A slender blonde appeared next to Sam, a dish towel clutched in her hands. "I can hear you all the way in the kitchen!" She stopped when she saw Perrie, then regarded her with a curious. gaze.
"I'm sorry," Perrie said. "I knocked, but there was no, answer. I'm looking for Joe."