Lost Rhodes, page 5
“I’m not fucking wearing that,” he growled at her when she walked closer.
The house rattled with the force of the wind. She handed him the cup of soup and kept her expression as blank as possible, because…yeah, she wanted to see this. Not only that but he needed to be in dry clothing. Tonight was going to be even colder than the previous night, the outside air had given that away on the way back to the house.
“You need to be in something dry. Is your ego such that you are willing to risk sickness and possible death to keep from wearing that? The jeans you had earlier have holes in them and the shirt you had was torn. Jacket as well. You don’t have anything else that’s good for you to be wearing right now. The sweats are soaked because you didn’t stay inside.”
He took the cup and curled long, strong fingers around it. Iris bit the inside of her lower lip to keep her slight moan—maybe it wouldn’t have been slight—contained.
“Here’s an idea. You wear it. I’ll wear your outer layer.”
Something above them creaked and they both glanced up, Iris ready to jump away if the ceiling collapsed, which was an extremely likely scenario, unfortunately.
“Nope. You need to get over yourself. It’s something that will most likely fit you and would be warm. It’s polar fleece for God’s sake. Take off your wet clothes, put it on and let them dry. Then you can go back to wearing your much thinner, much better suited for warm weather clothing.”
Bradford stood there staring at her, his dove gray eyes weighing everything he looked at. Which meant, every inch of her. Iris fought to keep from shifting beneath his assessment.
He put the cup to his lips and drank. Even so, he continued to stare at her. Iris exhaled as she stood there, ignoring her own drink as she watched him swallow. Seriously, did everything he did have to be so sexy? He wiped his hand over his mouth after he’d apparently finished the drink, and moved.
After stomping to her, he shoved the empty cup at her with a huff. “Not pleased with this, Iris.”
She shrugged. “Your life. But trust me when I say you’re going to be fucking cold when that fire goes lower. And unless you plan on standing directly in front of the flames, it’s going to be a long night for you.”
“Already is,” he muttered, stalking to the black bag she’d carried back.
Iris placed his cup by her feet and took a breath. Then she pivoted so the fire was at her back and she no longer looked at the man who was taking up far too much of her thoughts.
The least she could do was give him a bit of privacy.
“I think I’ll go out to my truck and bring in some line. That way your clothes can be hung.” She flattened her lips and nodded. “Yep, I’ll do that now.”
She walked out without slowing any more than necessary to open the door. Even closing it, she never once glanced into the one warmish room in the house. Just the thought of him undressing made it hard for her to handle.
I’m a mess. I’m flushed, horny and want nothing more than to beg that man to touch me. To just for a moment pretend I’m someone he would want to fuck.
Iris made sure her coat was fully zipped, went to the front door and stepped outside. The freezing snow that slammed into her was merciless. Full darkness was upon them, and she flexed her gloved fingers. It was going to be brutal tonight, and she was debating her decision to not try to drive back to a town.
Logically she was safer here. Food. Shelter. Heat. Who knew what could have happened on the drive.
Well, I wouldn’t be holed up with the one man who seems to excel at fueling my fantasies, including ones I didn’t know I had.
She braved the wind and pushed through the deep snow to the covered area where her vehicle sat. Creaking open the passenger door, as it wasn’t in direct line of the freezing wind, she crawled in and bent over into rear space. The layout of her vehicle was so familiar to her she could maneuver in the dark and find whatever she needed. Even in her sleep. Things always had the same place.
After grabbing the rope, she debated on trying to start the engine just to make sure it would turn over. Another blast of wind rocked the SUV and she shook her head.
Tomorrow.
Right now, she was exhausted and cold. Not to mention hungry.
Horny. Don’t forget horny.
Snarling at her inner voice, she exited out of the cold vehicle and shoved the door shut. Then she made the long trek to the house, which despite everything, she had begun to want to keep.
She chuckled as she shut the front door behind her. “Don’t know why I bother. There’s a freaking hole above me, so it’s not like I’m keeping out the cold.” She moved over the gathering pile of snow and headed up the hall to the room that had soft, flickering light coming from the door.
Iris walked in and immediately put her gaze to the wall where she’d seen one of the heavier chairs that hadn’t succumbed to the mistreatment of the building. After she’d dragged it near the fire and snagged a second chair, she paused as she tied one of the knots to make the clothesline. Close enough to hang and dry his clothing but not enough to divert the heat from where they needed it. On them.
Where did he go?
“Bradford?” Iris turned around but didn’t see him. She frowned and swiftly tied the second knot. Then she made another three-sixty. Still no other human in the room with her.
Piros lay near the fire, without a care in the world. Hell, he looked like he slept. Iris picked up Bradford’s wet clothing, which was really hers, and hung them over the rope. After placing a log on the seat of each chair to add weight, she went back to the door.
Did he have a concussion I didn’t notice? What if he’s somewhere else in the house, unconscious and needing me to find him?
Shit.
With a final look at the fire, she’d not been outside that long she didn’t suppose and it wasn’t that low, she headed out to the rest of the house. Not happy about this. He had been injured, then trekked outside in the cold in nothing more than sweats and a sweatshirt with mittens and shoes that weren’t good for anything other than a boardroom or a bar.
“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered, marching by the kitchen. “I’m going to put my hands around his neck and strangle him. Until he no longer breathes. Yep, going to kill him.”
“Who are you going to kill?”
She jumped, hand to her throat. “Holy fuck! You scared the shit out of me.” Iris rushed in the room and smacked his chest. “I was worried that you had wandered off and had fallen, that perhaps you had a concussion I didn’t know about.”
Stepping closer, she hit him again, her relief overwhelming her common sense. She shouldn’t be physically assaulting him. He gripped her wrist, holding her palm to his chest.
“And so you wanted to beat me in case I wasn’t hurt?”
She froze as the realization slammed into her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
He squeezed his hold. “I was kidding. I was in here hiding out because, well, this is fucking embarrassing.”
She blinked and stared at him through the near-complete darkness. Iris sucked in a sharp breath as she realized what he meant. He was wearing the outfit she’d found in the bag on the plane.
A man who looked like the actor who played Oliver Queen on Arrow, yet even more rugged and sexy, stood before her wearing a unicorn onesie, complete with horn and tail.
“Oh,” she mumbled.
He inched closer to her, reminding her she’d not pulled her hand off his chest yet.
The hood wasn’t up over his head but bunched around his shoulders. Those wide, powerful shoulders. God, they shouldn’t be so fucking sexy.
Especially ones that currently were covered by pastel polar fleece with slightly darker stars on it.
“That it? That all you have to say?”
She opened her mouth, nothing came out. Iris closed it and tried again.
“Oh my,” she said, sounding remarkably similar to George Takei.
Bradford Rhodes stared at the woman in front of him. A woman who still had her hand on his chest, even though he wore this fucking unicorn onesie. She had been right, he was much warmer than he’d been in the wet clothing.
His dignity had vacated him, however. Like out of the stratosphere. Were his brothers here, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Not ever. Thankfully they weren’t.
Didn’t change the fact he looked like someone had vomited up a rainbow, slapped a tail on his ass and given him a hoodie with a horn and, to complete the incredible look, decided, yes, it could only look better if there were more pastels on it in star form.
Warmth. Finally. He would focus on the fact he was warm, not his attire. Aside from when he’d been curled up beneath the bedding with the woman in front of him, since the fucking plane had gone down, he’d not felt warmth, just the cold. The endless, biting cold.
Bradford swiped his tongue along his lower lip, not caring it was going to crack from the cold later. Right now it was that or kiss this woman who confused the hell out of him even while she aroused him to heights no other had.
The press of her hand comforted him, and he inched closer, completely appreciative of how she didn’t retreat from him. Iris didn’t shy away from staring back at his gaze, even with the majority of the room being in darkness.
“I thought for sure there would be some mention of how it accentuates my eyes, or makes my ass look tight.”
Her lips twitched but she didn’t give him the full smile he sought. Instead, she dropped her hand and moved around him to the stove. In silence, Bradford watched her light it and heat some water. She focused on the pot in front of her, so he approached from behind and caged her in against the counter.
Lowering his face, he inhaled her soft scent as he brushed against her hair. Cold but soft. He struggled to keep from kissing her exposed skin. Not that there was much of it, but he didn’t care.
“We both know that I’m far more interesting than the pot of water you’re waiting on to boil.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair once more, this time allowing his lips to graze her cheek. Her tremble rocked him and he wanted more. “Why are you ignoring me in all my manliness?”
“You should go back to the other room where it’s warmer. I hung up your clothes so they can dry. You should know better than to leave wet clothing in a pile on the floor.”
He didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed her taking care of him. “I feel like you’re trying to ignore the elephant in the room.”
She had a point, this room wasn’t warm, not with the broken window. Even though it had been boarded up, it still didn’t stop that biting wind.
“Not ignoring any elephant.” She opened two packets of the soup and put them in cups before pouring the boiling water into them. “The unicorn? Definitely,” she deadpanned.
He laughed, unable to help it. Kissing her cheek, he stepped back, needing to add some space before he forgot this wasn’t a romantic getaway for lovers. “I’ll wait.” Bradford didn’t want to leave her alone.
Dressed like a bedazzled unicorn or not, he needed to keep her safe. She grunted but didn’t argue his statement.
Iris shut down her camping stove with swift efficiency, and they left the cold kitchen and walked the short distance to the room that had become their temporary home and shelter. The rich smell of soup had his stomach growling, but it couldn’t compare to the natural scent of Iris’ skin, which would no doubt haunt him for years to come.
He watched her as they walked into the inner room, noting every single lip twitch and the way she didn’t look at him directly.
While he understood, again, he looked like a fucking star-studded pastel unicorn—correction, fucking star-studded pastel fuzzy unicorn—still, he wanted her looking at him. Wanted those big brown eyes on him.
Greedy?
Yep.
And he didn’t give a damn. He wanted what he wanted.
“Iris.”
She faced the fire, but it didn’t stop him from noticing the small frown turning down her lips. “Drink your soup.”
He followed the directive but didn’t take his eyes off her. She barely sat still. Even as she drank, she paced the circumference of the room. He carried his cup to the makeshift bed they were sharing and sank down.
God, she was so right. I am far warmer in this.
“Come sit down,” he commanded. Bradford wanted her beside him. She ignored him, continuing to pace. He snarled and shook his head.
“Iris, the room is fine, the fire is burning well, come sit down and just take a second off your feet.”
Tracking her until she gave in, he bit his lower lip as she settled beside him. For a few moments there was silence other than the wind buffeting the building, slamming it with the icy snow, and the crackle of the fire.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “What are you thinking?”
Her hesitation was a little too long. “Nothing really.”
Bradford finished the warm soup, put the cup beside the bed and leaned closer. “Think of me as your priest. Confess.”
Iris tipped her face to him, and his belly tightened at the eye contact. This woman was incredibly stunning. He was enraptured by her. And it wasn’t just gratefulness for her saving his life. She had something about her he couldn’t name, but it drew him to her. Made him long to be in her presence, want her smile for him—alone. He longed to roll around in her scent until it was embedded in his skin and wouldn’t ever wash away.
“I was thinking how hot you make that unicorn suit.”
He preened and stroked a hand down his chest. “I do fill it out. I am however a bit worried about what the pilot had it for.”
She shook her head and he witnessed her fighting the urge to smile. “No judgment.” Even with her deadpan statement, her full lips twitched.
Bradford grinned, inching closer. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing appropriate, I’m sure.”
He leaned in closer. “I won’t tell.”
She shook her head but held her ground. “Nope.”
“Can I bribe you?”
“Probably.” The word slipped out and her eyes widened.
He reached up, ignoring the fuzzy material covering his arms with its soft colors and darker stars, to cup her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”
The humor faded from her eyes before she paused and shook her head. When she looked at him again the amusement was back, but Bradford felt he had missed something important.
“I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow I want to try and cover the roof holes.”
He shook his head. “No fucking way.”
Her expression pinched. “What do you mean?”
“It’s fucking insane to even consider going up on the roof of a house you don’t know in the middle of winter to fix holes. You don’t even know if any section of the roof is stable. What happens if you fall through?”
She clenched her jaw but held her tongue.
He faced her, gripping her wrist. Beneath his fingertips, her pulse kicked up and his response was a jolt to his groin. But his focus remained on her and this damn insane idea of hers.
“I have to do something. The roads aren’t passable, and I don’t relish the idea of living in my vehicle. I don’t have an endless amount of gasoline to keep it running.”
“What do you know about sound house structures?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, but I do know that I found tarps in the garage and any additional help in keeping out the snow and wind is going to be good. I’ve not been here in the Rockies at this time of year before.”
“I’m not letting you go up there. I’ll do it.” He set his jaw in a firm line and furrowed his brow.
“You just survived a plane crash. The last place you need to be is up on a roof in the middle of a snowstorm. Your slick expensive shoes aren’t going to do you a damn bit of good up there except send you sliding off the roof.”
He clenched his jaw and tugged on her wrist, spilling her forward over his lap. When her lips parted in a gasp, he took possession of her mouth.
Chapter Six
Holy hell.
Surely she’d fallen and hit her head, giving herself a concussion. For that was the only thing that made sense to her as why this man was kissing her. Not only that, but why in the world was she leaning into him and opening further to take more of his tongue in her mouth. Swirling her own around it and moaning as he increased the pressure of the kiss.
Bradford slid his left hand along her neck to briefly cup her nape before he moved up, fingers twisting into the curls of her afro. His short nails dug along her scalp and all she could do was purr and curve her own fingers into his chest, needing to be closer.
He encouraged her to do so, his right hand settling upon her ass and bringing her up on his lap so she straddled him in front of the fire on their makeshift bed. Not once did Iris think of refusing. Every cell in her body migrated toward him, needing more…well, him.
Chest to chest she sat on his lap, her own fingers happy as she had them woven into his hair, the silken strands gliding along her skin. The low rumble from him vibrated through her and settled deep within. Her nipples were pebbled and achy as she rocked on the hard evidence of his arousal. The emptiness in her core grew as she continued to move back and forth on him. More, her blood chimed.
“Fucking Christ, I need you naked.”
Deep and guttural, his voice moved over her like his caress, tender but with a hint of hardness that she craved. Also shocking, as Iris realized exactly what she was doing and flew off him, nearly kneeing him in the junk as she vacated his lap like the hounds of hell were upon her.
“What the fuck?” Bradford looked up at her after she’d jumped to her feet, heart thundering.
Iris ran. From the room and from him. She barely had time to grab her coat but she did, whistling for Piros as she moved. Thankfully her dog never let her down and was right on her heels as she made her all too noticeable escape.
Iris shook as she leaned over the counter in the freezing kitchen. The plywood was rattling due to the wind. His scent, his touches, fuck, just everything about him. Her core clenched with need—something that until she’d met him Iris had only believed existed in romance novels.
