The aroma of bacon frying filtered into Claire’s brain before she was fully awake, causing a dreamy smile before she snuggled back into the soft, squishy bedding. She really needed to invest in some feather pillows. Must be the hotel restaurant making breakfast, she thought with a sleepy sigh. She inhaled deeply and was delighted to smell coffee brewing as well. Still, she opted for more sleep, but her stomach rumbled in protest. With a groan she slowly lifted her eyelids while stretching and wondering why her muscles protested in odd places.
“Ohmigod.” It suddenly all came flooding back to her befuddled brain. She was in Jesse Marshall’s cabin in Whisper, Colorado, with nothing but the clothes on her back. She peeked beneath the covers. “Okay, make that
his
clothes on my back.” Oh yeah, and she had made passionate love to him on a rug in front of his fireplace.
And now she had to go down there and face him.
Claire closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.
No biggie; we’re adults
, she reminded herself with a firm nod.
This sort of thing happens all the time....
Just not to her.
Claire’s stomach rumbled again and she rolled her eyes. She was going to have to face the music sometime, so it might as well be now. With a short determined nod she tossed back the covers and padded in Jesse’s big socks into the bathroom. “Oh, dear God, where are my panties?” she asked in a high-squeaked whisper. She reached up and felt her breasts.“And my bra?” And while washing her hands, she looked into the oval mirror and winced. What was usually carefully flatironed hair had become a bed-head-starting-to-curl mess, and with her makeup washed off, her freckles stood out prominently and her eyelashes were spiky ginger instead of jet-black.The impact of not having her luggage was really starting to settle in.
Claire shoved her fingers through her hair, but it didn’t really help at all and she suddenly felt a little bit like crying. She opened the medicine cabinet and prayed to find mascara, foundation, and eyeliner. “Damn!” She stared at her bare-naked freckled face and wild hair and shook her head. Handsome-as-sin Jesse Marshall was about to have a Coyote Ugly morning....
But over the years Claire had become adept at hiding her insecurities, and so she squared her shoulders and headed down the stairs. Although her heart was hammering, she entered the kitchen with a big smile. “I smell coffee.”
Jesse turned around from the refrigerator with a carton of eggs in his hand. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thanks,” she replied, and willed herself not to blush. Redheads were experts at blushing and she was no exception.
“Not scared, I hope.”
She waved a hand sideways and managed not to reach up and try to tame her hair. “Not at all. I found the complete and utter darkness and absolute quiet very peaceful.”
Jesse arched one dark eyebrow as if trying to decide whether she was serious. She got that a lot. “Really?” Unlike her, he looked devilishly handsome with messy hair and wore his low-slung gray sweatpants well. A long-sleeved red T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and hugged his biceps. She was further distracted when he bent over and retrieved a carton of orange juice from the fridge. She angled her head and gawked. Wow, he had the best butt ever. He straightened and gazed at her expectantly. “You weren’t?”
She jerked her head back up and blinked at him.Wait, what did he ask? “Weren’t . . . what?”
“Frightened.”
“Bffft . . . no,” she scoffed, and then added, “That werewolf scratching at my window turned out to be a mere tree branch.”
Jesse set the eggs down onto the island and chuckled. “So you heard the howling?”
“Um . . . yeah.” She nodded, and Jesse thought she looked completely cute standing there uncertainly in his big floppy socks and her bottom lip sucked between her teeth.Without her makeup she was a fresh-faced natural beauty, and her warm, bed-rumpled appearance made him want to walk over there and kiss her senseless. But although she managed to smile and joke, Jesse sensed a bit of uneasiness and he wanted to squash it.
“Have a seat. Just tell me whatever you want,” he offered, and when her eyes widened slightly, he realized his comment sounded suggestive and he could have bitten his tongue. “For breakfast,” he added lamely, and noticed her blush. “But first come on over and grab a mug of coffee. There’s cream and sugar.”
“Thanks. I could use some.”
Oh, so could he, but he wasn’t thinking about breakfast. Seeing Claire in his clothes was somehow so damned hot, and knowing that her bra and panties were lying on the sofa was getting him going. He was just about to turn away when she stumbled in his too-big socks and fell forward. Jesse reached out to catch her and with his arms around her took two steps back, landing against the edge of the counter. He felt the full impact of her braless breasts and groaned.
“I’m sorry! Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, but his voice sounded strained.
“I am such a train wreck!”
“Yeah, but a cute train wreck.”
“Those two things don’t go together,” she said.
“With you, they do.”
She frowned. “I’m trying to decide whether that was a compliment . . . and hey, your hands are on my ass.”
“I know.This time I meant to do that,” he admitted with a grin, but then sobered. “Claire, I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“B-because of the howling?”
He reached up and tucked his hand beneath her chin.“No, because all I could think about was you.”
She laughed softly and pushed away from him. “Yeah, you had your eggnog goggles on.” She lifted both palms in the air. “Now look at me. Freckle-faced, wild-haired Amazon chick.” She lifted a lock of her hair from her shoulder. “When I wash this mane without product and a flatiron, it will be a crazy mass of curls.”
Jesse shook his head slowly, thinking that she just didn’t get it. “I want to sketch you.”
“Sketch me?”
“Yes, you need to see how truly beautiful you are.”
She angled her head. “I have a mirror. I know what I look like.”
“Not through my eyes.” Jesse wasn’t sure whether he truly meant to say that out loud, but now it was out there, so he persisted, “Will you pose for me, Claire?”
Her mouth opened and then shut, and Jesse could sense her fear but also curiosity. She looked down at his shirt and then said, “You mean in my business suit?”
Jesse shook his head from side to side. “Not that suit.”
“You mean . . .” Her eyes widened. “Oh!” Her cheeks turned a deep shade of rose.
“Please?” For some reason this suddenly became important to him. He took a step closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “No pressure, but just so you know, this isn’t a smarmy come-on. I’m an artist and I have an eye for beauty.”
“But I’m not—”
He put a fingertip to her mouth. “You are.
Beautiful.
”
She moved his finger from her mouth and put her hands to his cheeks. “You already make me feel beautiful, Jesse.”
Claire gazed at him with stark honesty and once again her quiet admission reached inside and grabbed Jesse in places that had remained dormant for a long time.When her smile trembled, he simply had to lean in and press his mouth to hers. He kissed her tenderly and then said in her ear, “Ah, but I want you to know it. Own it.” He nuzzled her neck and then asked, “Will you do it?”
When she looked at him for a long, silent moment, Jesse thought she was going to refuse, but then she put a gentle hand on his chest and nodded slowly. “Yes,” she answered softly, “I will.”
“Excellent.” Jesse let out the breath he had been holding and felt a surge of joy. He kissed her lightly on the lips and said, “Okay, now, how do you like your eggs?”
Chapter Eight
A
fter a big breakfast of fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and hot biscuits, Claire enjoyed a long soak in the luxurious bathtub. Jesse had refused to allow her to help clean up the kitchen and told her to take her time before coming down for the sitting. He needed to gather his equipment and said he would let her know when he was ready. After toweling dry, she located some lotion and smoothed it over her skin while trying not to think about walking downstairs in nothing but Jesse’s big robe. She squeezed all the excess water from her hair and wished she had some product. Blow-drying without a diffuser would make her hair a big frizzy ball, so she wiggled her fingers through the waves and let her hair air-dry.
She entered the bedroom and sat on the bed, then reached for her purse. She dumped out the contents, hoping to find some makeup. Her cell phone thumped onto the comforter and seemed to scream, “Call your mother!”
“Oh, okay!” Claire picked it up but couldn’t muster up the courage to listen to her parents’ disappointment when they found out she wasn’t going to make it home for the holidays. Maybe she could just send a text message.
She looked at the time, and since she shouldn’t be arriving in Atlanta for several hours, she decided to leave that emotional task until later. “Yes!” she said when she spotted a sample tube of mascara, a pressed-powder compact, and sheer coral lip gloss. Perfume! Sweet! She dearly missed her eyeliner and foundation, but this stash at least gave her a bit of polish, so she opened the compact and applied what little she had. With a happy smile she picked up her small spray bottle of perfume. After untying her robe, she slipped it from her shoulders and sprayed some on and in the process caught a glimpse of herself in the oval mirror standing in the far corner of the room.With a pounding heart she walked over and gazed at her naked reflection.
Like a prizefighter dancing in a ring, every little imperfection seemed to reach out and take quick jabs at her confidence. Her breasts were too full, her hips were too rounded, and her thighs too thick. She reached up and touched the riot of unruly curls tumbling over her shoulders and eyed her freckled face with a frown.
“What in the world was I thinking?” she whispered, and reached for the robe and secured the sash tightly. After sitting down on the edge of the bed, she inhaled a deep breath.“I can’t do this.”
Claire sat there for a few minutes with her hands folded. She was wondering what to say to Jesse when she heard a soft rap on her door. “Come in.”
“Hey there.” He filled the doorway looking so handsome that she wanted to throw a pillow at him. Or maybe kiss him. “I brought you a glass of wine.”
“Jesse, it’s not even noon.”
He shrugged his lumberjack shoulders. “No clocks, no schedule. This is my vacation,” he replied with a grin that was way too sexy. He took two steps into the room and extended the glass to her.
“It’s called a staycation.”
“It’s not what I had in mind, but it’s working for me. All I know is that I woke up this morning wanting to relax and not worry about a damned thing.” He reached over and put a fingertip between her eyebrows. “Get rid of that frown.”
“Are you always this cheerful when you’re snowed in?”
Something like surprise passed over his face. “Funny, but I’ve never been what you would call cheerful.” But when Claire started to comment, he said, “Listen, I’m all set up downstairs, but if you don’t want to do this, it’s perfectly okay.”
“I want to.”
“Good.”
“I just . . . can’t.”
“Then I’ll sketch you with the robe on.”
She raised her eyebrows.“Really?” She should have been relieved but instead felt an unexpected shot of disappointment.
He nodded and then extended his arm toward her.“If that’s what you prefer. Come with me.”
Claire slipped her hand into his and immediately felt a little feminine flutter. She had been single for so long and seeing couples holding hands always hit her hard with longing.There was just something so sweet, so romantic about it, and his hand was so big, so masculine, that he once again made her feel delicate . . . girly.
“Make yourself comfortable on the rug in front of the fire.”
Claire nodded but felt heat in her cheeks when visions of what they did there last night filtered into her brain.
“I wanted you someplace warm,” he explained as if guessing her thoughts.
An easel was set up a few feet away and Claire noticed a coffee can full of various-sized pencils and erasers. Despite a sudden wave of nerves she was curious about Jesse Marshall the artist.After taking a sip of her wine, she asked,“So you do more than just the Santa carvings?”
He nodded. “My father taught me wood carving at an early age. I developed a deep appreciation of art from my parents. It’s something that’s in my blood,” he added, and Claire hoped he would elaborate, but he frowned for a second and then seemed to shake off whatever was bothering him. “The statues are my bread and butter, but I enjoy many forms of art, from watercolor to pottery, but charcoal has always been a favorite medium.” He grinned. “I might not look like it, but I have a master’s degree.”
“Now, why would you say that?”
“Be honest, Claire.” He angled his head at her. “When I walked into the train station, did I look as if I should be painting landscapes or chopping down trees?”
“Chopping down trees,” she answered, and took another sip of the red wine. “What did I look like?”
“High maintenance. Haughty.”
“Haughty?” She snorted. “I’m anything but . . .”
“I know that now.”With a roll of masking tape in his hand, he walked over to where she sat on the rug.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Tape you down so you can’t run away.”
“Right . . .”
“After I position you, I’ll mark it off, so if you have to take a break, we know just where you were sitting.”
“Oh, makes sense,” Claire commented, and tried to ignore the tingle she felt when he took her ankle and put it where he wanted. His hands were warm . . . strong. She wanted to reach out and touch him . . . run her fingers through his hair.