“What?” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Face it, Emma. There’s something there.”
“Yes, it’s called irritation.”
He looked doubtful. “Uh huh.”
“It’s true. We…” Turn each other on. “Irritate each other.”
“And…?” He sipped his wine and watched her over the glass.
“And nothing else is important.”
“Really.”
“Really.”
“Huh.” Spence set down his drink and pushed away from the counter. “It used to be, Emma, that I could do this…” Leaning in, he kissed her on the lips. “And we’d end up in bed.”
Her heart panged a little. Dammit. “Oh, Spence. I—”
“No.” He set his finger against her lips. “It’s okay. You’re thinking of someone else now. I’ve certainly done it to you plenty of times.”
“I’m not—”
“No?” His smile was just a little sad. “Then tell me if you feel anything when I do this—” He kissed her again, not softly and definitely not sweet, and she went still, utterly still, willing herself to feel the same shiver of excitement she’d felt the night before with Stone.
Nothing.
She opened her eyes and lifted her head, and met the sharp green gaze of the man she’d been thinking about, who just happened to be standing on the other side of the door, visible through the glass. “Stone?”
“See?” Spencer’s eyes were still closed when he sighed. “You’re thinking of him even as I kiss you.”
“No. I mean Stone. Here.” She pulled out of Spencer’s arms and opened the door, but Stone had already turned away and was halfway down the back stairs. “Hey.”
He wore a baseball cap, sweats, a torn t-shirt and a scowl. The material was damp and plastered against his torso. He stopped and faced her, the air between them heavy and awkward. “You’re busy,” he said.
“Not in the way you think, no.”
“Look, it’s no big deal. I was just coming back through town and thought I’d stop by for Band-Aids. I’ll get them when I get home. Carry on.”
“Stone.”
He jogged down the rest of the stairs and was gone.
“Well, that went over well,” Spence said from the open doorway when they’d heard his truck start and take off.
“Dammit.” She sighed. “He must be just off a hike or something. He wanted Band-Aids. Which means he’s hurt.” And hot and sweaty. And sexy. “Dammit.”
“You said that already.” Spence watched her grab her black medical bag. “So you’re really doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Falling for a big, tough, outdoorsy guy with more testosterone in his pinky finger than most guys have in their entire body.”
She shook her head. “I’m just going to take him Band-Aids, Spence. And see how badly he’s hurt.” With that, she walked out the door, Spencer’s knowing gaze following her.
She didn’t catch up with Stone until she pulled into the driveway at the Wilder Lodge. As she hopped out of her dad’s truck and moved toward his, she found him leaning back against his driver’s door, arms and legs casually crossed. Eyes inscrutable. Expression closed.
She looked him over carefully, her heart stopping at the napkin wadded in one of his hands.
There was blood on it.
She took another closer look, then eyes narrowed, stepped right up to him so that they were toe to toe and pulled off his baseball cap.
Bingo.
The wound on his head was bleeding, and she went up on tiptoe to study it closely. “Dammit, Stone.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Can we go inside?”
“It’s nothing,” he repeated.
“Inside.”
“Fine.” He straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets. Gesturing with a jerk of one shoulder in the direction of a trail next to the lodge, he started walking. She followed him past two small cabins and up to the front of a third. He opened the door, then gestured her in ahead of him.
His place, she realized. He flicked on the mudroom light. The entry opened to a living room which was dimly lit by the single light by the front door, but she could see exposed wood beam ceilings and gorgeous distressed oak wood floors. There was a large comfy looking couch and several chairs facing the biggest TV she’d ever seen, and beyond that, a huge sliding glass door leading out to the black night.
Using only the mudroom light, he moved to the couch and plopped down, kicking his booted feet up onto the coffee table next to an SLR camera and a tool belt.
A study in contradictions. “I can’t figure you out,” she said.
“Ditto.”
She took her bag off her shoulder, set it at her feet, then crouched down to open it up.
“Don’t bother, I’m not letting you re-stitch.”
Glancing up along the length of him—and up, because damn, the man was tall—she wished he’d turn on another light. Especially since his broad shoulders blocked out the glow from the mudroom, casting his face in shadows. “I’m just going to disinfect and put on one of your standard medical go-to’s—a Band-Aid. Okay?”
He said nothing, so she flipped on a lamp herself, then pulled out antiseptic and a gauze. Bending over him, she wiped away the now drying blood. “You know, you ought to think about buying stock in Band-Aids.”