He had a plate in one hand and was turning her steak with the other. She hesitated. If he'd been a friend, she would have offered to dry his hair. But he wasn't. Still, the house was cold, except for the part of their bodies directly exposed to the fire, and...
He tilted his head back and looked up at her, his mouth curving slightly upward. "Maybe you can towel-dry it. Icy drops of water keep rolling down my neck."
Rife with indecision, she stood next to him. The fire flickered light off his eyes, like a wolfish predator, tempting her to draw closer into his web of seduction. What was there about him that turned her insides into mush? No man had ever made her feel that way with just a look.
The thought of drying his hair seemed so... intimate.
Taking a deep breath, she moved closer, leaning over him, sliding the fluffy towel over larger clumps of his dark hair, trying to dry it quickly. To not get caught up in the feel of him, the way his body's heat reached out to her, the way he smelled so masculine, so intriguing. But then she separated his hair into smaller sections and wrung the shiny strands as dry as she could to prevent his getting chilled. He leaned his back against her legs, relaxing his posture, and she couldn't help wanting to melt against him, too.
He looked up at her, his expression half gratitude, the other half pure tantalization, his eyes clouded with desire. She cleared her throat, switched her attention to his damp hair again, and massaged his scalp.
"Hmm, your hair is a little wet, too," he said under his breath, his rigid body relaxing as he set the plate down and reached up and touched a wet curl dangling over her shoulder.
She swore the heat from his touch could dry her hair in a flash.
"Thanks, Tessa. That feels much better. Got another towel?"
"Uh, you're welcome." She touched her sagging bun, damp trails of curls trickling down her turtleneck. "I'm okay."
"Bring me a dry towel."
How could he sound so sexy when he commanded her to do his bidding? If it had been anyone else, she would have stood her ground. Her hair wasn't that wet; she was fine. But she headed for the bathroom and hung up the wet towel in the shower and grabbed a dry one.
On the way back to the living room, she dropped the towel on the leather footstool. "I'll get the rolls, first."
"I can warm them." He poked at her steak again.
"So... how do you think you ended up taking a swim in the Pacific in the middle of winter?" she asked from the kitchen.
With the package of rolls in hand, she returned to the fire and handed them to him.
"Haven't a clue."
"Without any clothes?" Her cheeks heated, just thinking about how he'd looked in the raw--male perfection, buff muscles, dark curling hair trailing down his chest, tantalizingly seductive, his stomach flat and his butt--which she would die to have--toned and provocative.
His mouth curved up slightly.
Even though he said he didn't remember anything, she had the distinct impression he knew more than he was letting on. But then again, what did she know about amnesia cases? Nothing, except about some isolated cases she'd read in the news.
"Who was seeing your brother's girlfriend?" He turned the rolls.
"Michael didn't know. And the police couldn't locate him."
Hunter gave her a skeptical look and served up her steak and the rolls.
"My brother couldn't catch her with him, but he knew she was seeing someone else." She took a deep breath. "I'll get the asparagus."
After she returned and served up the asparagus, but before he began to eat his meal, he scooted behind her while she sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace, as if they had known each other forever. His legs stretched out beyond hers way too intimately, caging her in, and yet to be able to keep her arms from being pinned, she rested her elbows on his knees. She had never known anyone she could get this close to so quickly and feel just right.
He removed the pins from her hair, gently, careful not to pull it.
"Your dinner will get cold," she admonished, feeling out of her element. No man had ever let her hair down and the experience was just as beguiling as the rest of his moves. "And if nothing else, you need a good hot meal after the ordeal you've been through."
"I'm feeling pretty hot." His deep baritone voice penetrated her defenses, offering protection and silky seduction. Warmed by the fire, his chest pressed against her back. "How about you?"
Sizzling, as in having one of those hot flashes her mother always talked about. But it had nothing to do with the fire, and all to do with the Greek god warming her backside.
He stroked Tessa's hair with tender caresses, and she suddenly wasn't hungry. Instead, she wanted to turn around and kiss him. She was pretty sure his kisses could melt the polar ice caps the way he looked at her and touched her, heating her from the top of her damp head to her boot-covered toes. The way his first kiss had done.
Despite the circumstances that brought them together, she felt a sense of relief that he was here. Well, more than a sense of relief. Here, she could have been sitting in the chilly house alone, without any electricity, still trying to get a fire going, worried that whoever broke into the house was lurking outside. She would never have imagined cooking a meal over the fire either, even though Michael had done so outside a number of times while she'd watched. If she'd been on her own, she probably would have fixed a tuna fish sandwich and sat in the cold, eating it while a flashlight illuminated the place, poking into the dark with a faint light, the rest in shadows. Worrying that the intruder would return.
Hunter stroked her hair some more with the towel, then leaned over and kissed the back of her head, his groin pressed hard against her backside. He was totally aroused and she was getting herself into hot water. What if the guy was married? He didn't remember anything about his past. He wasn't wearing a ring, but maybe in his occupation, he couldn't. Or maybe he was the kind of man who refused to wear a ring, because it stifled his sex life. Like her father.
"Thanks so much for drying my hair." Her tone was formal, an attempt at keeping her distance.
"A natural redhead." He combed his fingers through the strands, inspecting it as if he had never seen anything quite like it, caressing, awed.
And for a minute in time, she felt adored, when no one had ever treated her that way. But then she shuttered her heart, reminding herself it could all be a show. He might be a womanizer extraordinaire and it was his nature to beguile women with his irresistible magnetism.
He moved his long legs and rose.
Instantly, the heat his body had generated faded from hers and the loss of their touching affected her profoundly, when her mind told her she shouldn't feel a thing. But with her brother gone, the house so empty-- hell, what was she telling herself? Hunter was the first man who'd made her feel like a real woman ever. It had nothing to do with her brother or an empty house and all to do with an empty life. The only thing that kept her busy was taking care of her brother, and photographing anything and everything for a living.
One look at Hunter and the lustful expression in his gaze, and she knew he wanted her. Or at least he was fully aroused and needed release. She figured any woman who was readily available would do.
He lifted a brow and she wondered what he was reading in her expression. Skepticism? Interest? He would be right on both accounts.
He gave her a small smile, then grabbed his plate and sat next to her in front of the fire, his knee touching hers. Did he practice seduction? Or did it just come naturally?
"You could hire a detective to look into your brother's situation."
"I have. He charged me lots and didn't find anything."
Hunter nodded.
"Michael's innocent," she said, her voice harsher than she intended.