Wild Heat (Northern Fire) (12 page)

“Exactly.”

He might not want to use it for recreation, but Caitlin had no qualms about doing so. “I want to go on a ride.”

“If you’re still here when the snow’s thick enough, I’ll take you out.”

“That was too easy.” But then maybe he really didn’t think she’d stick it out through the winter.

He’d learn. Caitlin had lost her family twice. Once by accident and the second time by design, but now that she had her gran and great-aunts back in her life, she wasn’t letting them go again.

She gasped at her first sight of the cabin as they broke out of the forest. His driveway ended in a clearing big enough for a house, outbuildings (including a small greenhouse), and a garden that was at least a quarter of an acre in size.

Absolutely breathtaking, the house was made entirely of stone and exposed logs, and it was really too big for the moniker
cabin
.

“It’s huge.”

“Two stories with a cellar,” he said proudly.

She counted the chimneys poking up from the roof. “Two fireplaces?”

“Three, actually.”

“You’re using them for your main heating source?” she asked in surprise.

He’d always said he would only have more than one hearth in his home if he was using fireplaces as his primary heating source. Tack had also been adamant he didn’t plan to do so.

Kitty had argued that a fire in the hearth was cozy and helped make a house into a home. She’d always said she wanted one in her bedroom and the main living area.

Nevin had derisively laughed off her suggestion they have a fireplace installed in their home. His home.

“No.” Tack didn’t add anything to his stark denial.

Curiosity pushed aside Caitlin’s lingering anxiety. “What rooms are they in?”

“Come inside and see.” He pulled the truck to a stop in front of steps leading up to the porch.

She eagerly climbed out of the cab, closing her door as he came around the hood and offered his hand.

She stared at it for several long seconds, confusion warring with desire. She wanted to take it, for this moment to be like old times, but that hadn’t worked so well on the Skilak Lookout Trail.

“Come on,” he urged, his hand still out there, inviting her to take a chance. “It even has the dry sauna you told me any self-respecting house in Alaska should have.”

He’d never laughed at her, despite how impractical the suggestion might have seemed to some. Regardless, she wouldn’t have expected him to actually install one in his home.

Tack didn’t live by other people’s rules, though.

Making her decision, Caitlin slid her hand into his hand and let him draw her up the steps and onto the porch. “You put up a swing.”

“A family home should have a swing on its porch.”

She agreed, though she felt a pang at the idea of Tack sharing this house with a family. She liked the Adirondack chairs and fat log planed smooth for a table between them sitting on the other side of the porch.

There wasn’t much point in investing in more furniture for outdoor relaxation than that. Alaskans spent plenty of time outside, both summer and winter, but more often in active pursuits.

The tightly woven welcome mat she automatically wiped her feet on depicted two eagles facing each other in the traditional Inuit way. The big heavy door it stood in front of was carved with the Celtic symbol for happiness. Both sides of Taqukaq MacKinnon blessing the entrance to his home.

Tack pushed the door open without pulling out a key. “I only lock it during tourist season,” he said as if she’d asked a question.

“You know, war vets aren’t the only people who come to Alaska to avoid something.” There was a long history of criminals fleeing to the “wild north” to avoid the consequences of their actions.

“The Kenai Peninsula is both too developed and too entrenched with small-town familiarity to make a good hiding place for someone with a dark past.”

“Are you saying the interior is a safer bet?” she asked absently, taking in the beautiful great room that took up the entire width of the house.

It opened into the kitchen at the end with the dining table, making a big L-shaped living area.

“Safer? With a missing persons rate twice the national average, I don’t think Alaska could be considered a safe haven for just any flatfoot looking for a place to hide,” Tack scoffed.

Considering the state also had the highest percentage of missing persons in the country who
stayed
lost, she had to agree with him. “Some people don’t want to be found?”

“And that works a lot better in less organized boroughs.”

She nodded absently, her interest in the topic waning. She was far more intrigued by Tack’s home and what it revealed about the man he’d become.

The ecru walls were finished, but exposed logs accented the lines of the huge room and the open loft above. More large traditional woven rugs were scattered over gleaming hardwood floors.

She took off her coat and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall to the left of the door, the house comfortably warm.

“It feels good.” She looked but didn’t see heating vents or radiators. “Radiant heat?”

“It runs under the floors. There are no cold spots in my house,” he said with pride.

Well deserved, she thought. “Did you install a geothermal heat pump?” It seemed like something a man as dedicated to energy and wildlife conservation as him would do.

Tack nodded. “It was a bitch to dig, but worth it. There’s a biomass gasification boiler in the cellar for when the temperatures drop too low too fast.”

“I have no idea what that is,” she admitted. “But it sounds cool.”

He smiled. “It’s basically a boiler fueled with scrap wood, brush, and firewood in a pinch.”

She walked over to the solid wood dining set, sturdy enough for even Tack’s towering frame to sit in without worry of mishap. Six dark-stained ladder-back chairs sat around a large, family style table. Two matching chairs against the wall had a chess table between them, the board set up for play.

She picked up one of the heavy pewter pieces. “Your dad taught us to play on this set.”

“He gave it to me when I finished the cabin, along with the game table as a housewarming gift.”

“Not the dining set?”

“Nope. I commissioned that from Granddad. The hutch was his gift to me.”

Made of the same dark-stained wood, it was built into the other wall from the chess table. It was beautiful, the workmanship superior to anything that could be found in a factory-stocked furniture store.

“These are lovely,” she said of the antique Inuit baskets gracing the top open shelf.

“
Emaa
gave them to me. Her grandmother wove them as part of her wedding dowry.”

Caitlin didn’t have to ask where the ornate silver tea service on the shelf below came from. She remembered his Scottish grandmother serving them afternoon tea from it at least once a week.

“Your gran used this to teach us company manners and we felt so special she shared it with us, we didn’t even mind.”

“Gran was smart that way.”

“Yes.” The expatriate Scottish woman had taught her own son and two hearty Alaskan grandsons polite behavior that wouldn’t embarrass them meeting royalty.

And to Caitlin’s knowledge, not one of them ever complained.

Tack ran his hand along the back of one of the chairs. “It’s a house blessed by family love.”

And one day, he would fill it with his own. Tack would make an amazing husband and father, when he met a woman worthy of all that Taqukaq MacKinnon had to offer.

“Can I see the rest?” she asked, not wanting to dwell on those thoughts.

He waved toward the other side of the room. “Well, that’s the living room.”

A huge brown leather sectional dominated the space, but a matching recliner was set up to also take advantage of the view of the huge plasma screen mounted on the wall opposite the short end of the sectional.

The long side faced a huge stone fireplace, its raised slate hearth jutting a good foot into the room.

The loft was set up as a library/home office, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the walls. There was a desk off to one side, no doubt one of his father’s or grandfather’s creations. A sofa in the same brown leather as the sectional downstairs faced a smaller fireplace on the other side of the room. They must share a chimney.

Waist-high bookshelves made up the half-wall that overlooked the great room below.

“Down that hall are two smaller bedrooms that share a bath on the left, and the master suite is on the right.” Tack waved to a log-framed arch, centered in the back wall.

She didn’t ask to see the bedrooms and he didn’t offer, but led her back downstairs where he showed her the dry sauna he’d boasted about. The cedar-lined room housed a hot tub as well.

“Now, this is decadence, Tack,” she told him.

“It feels more like a necessity after a week of winter hunting.”

“I bet.” He’d never talked her into going on an overnight hunt in the winter, much less one that lasted a week.

Beyond the sauna was a utility and mudroom that opened into a heated garage that filled the space under the upstairs bedrooms.

“It’s an amazing house, Tack,” she said as they came back into the great room. “Everything you ever dreamed of.”

A strange expression came over his rugged, masculine features. “Almost, but neither my Scots nor my Inuit ancestors believe in perfection.”

She couldn’t imagine anything that could improve on the beautiful dwelling and told him so.

“That’s funny coming from a woman who lived in a Los Angeles mansion.”

“That house was as soulless as the man who bought it.” She much preferred Tack’s welcoming log and stone home but figured he knew that by her already voluble praise.

They drifted to the kitchen and she leaned against the big center island. “Aunt Elspeth would go into raptures in here.”

“She pestered your gran and Miz Alma to put an island in her kitchen for weeks after her first visit.”

Of course her aunt had already been here. Life in Cailkirn had gone on without Caitlin’s presence.

“How did they talk her out of it?”

“Miz Alma tried to appeal to her practical side, telling her it would be ridiculously expensive to do the remodel.”

“You make it sound like that didn’t sway Aunt Elspeth.” And honestly? Caitlin wasn’t surprised.

Practicality wasn’t her youngest aunt’s strong suit.

“Not even close, but when Miz Moya said they would have to get rid of the kitchen table the Grants had been eating at since their first homestead cabin, Miss Elspeth decided she didn’t want the disruption of the remodel anyway.”

“Clever gran.”

He nodded, his body suddenly closer than it was before, though Caitlin hadn’t been aware of him moving. Which was odd, considering how in tune she was to his presence since sitting so closely to him in the diner.

She tilted her head back to look at him, confusion at his nearness in no way masking her desire to pull him even closer. “Tack?”

“Kitty.”

“You’re very close.”

“Observant of you to notice.” His big hand tucked under her hair to cup her nape in a move she’d quickly learned to crave.

I
don’t understand.” Her heart sped up from his nearness.

“You didn’t eat lunch.”

“I wasn’t hungry.” With him so close, taking up all her senses and concentration, she didn’t have anything left over to feel shame or worry about that.

“You haven’t been hungry since our hike.”

She couldn’t deny it. She’d done her best to eat, but she’d skipped more meals than she could afford to.

He nodded, as if she’d confirmed something he was thinking. Only he didn’t bother to share it with her.

“I’m trying,” she told him, not wanting Tack to think she was more broken than he already believed. “I’ve done pretty well.”

“I lifted you into the truck.”

“Yes.” Her breathing turned shallow and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

His proximity was wreaking havoc with her equilibrium.

“You’ve lost weight.”

Not much and it could only be a guess on his part, one she wasn’t about to confirm. So she said nothing. Because she wasn’t going to lie either.

“You enjoyed what we did at the overlook.”

“You know I did.” He was the one who didn’t want to repeat the experience again.

Tack shifted so his body pressed hers against the island. “Enough, I wonder?”

“Enough for what?” she asked, unable to bring her voice above a whisper.

He just shook his head, his masculine lips tipped in a barely-there smile.

And then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her. Again. Right there in his kitchen.

Completely unprepared for this turn of events, Caitlin had no hope of withholding her response. Her arms wound around his neck of their own volition, her body maintaining a rigid posture for all of about three seconds before she melted into him.

He teased at the seam of her mouth with the tip of his tongue and she brazenly parted her lips to give him entrance. He swept inside, taking possession and teasing her with the need for more at the same time.

He kept the caress of his tongue light, barely there.

She pressed up against him, wanting more contact, but he dropped one hand to her hip and held her in place.

Frustration overrode pleasure and she pulled away from the kiss. “Why are you teasing me?”

“You want more, wildcat?”

“Yes.”

He dropped both hands away from her and stepped back, his expression firm. “Eat the lunch I make you.”

“You want me to eat?” She didn’t understand.

“That’s the deal, Kitty. You eat and I’ll rock your world.”

He was aroused; she could see the impressive evidence pushing against the front of his jeans. So why was he talking about eating?

Noticing where she was looking, he gave her a feral smile. “Like what you see?”

“Yes.” There was no point trying to deny it. Not to him and not to herself.

“I do too.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure why those words were so shocking.

She knew he was turned on, but the idea
she
had done that was a new concept for her. At least lately. She’d been told countless times how pretty she was as a teenager and young adult, but it had been a long time since those days.

His claim that he liked how she looked impacted her deeply, warmth suffusing her physically and emotionally. Sometimes she wanted to be thin again, but she knew that was the anorexia talking. She tried to enjoy breasts that actually filled her bra and a bottom that curved.

It was a lot easier to like her new body when she knew it excited the man in front of her.

Tack tucked his thumbs in the front pocket of his jeans, outlining his obvious erection with his hands. “You want some of this?”

She nodded, her mouth too dry for speech.

“Eat lunch.”

Sparks of desire traveled down her body, right to her core, and made her legs squeeze together to try to control the overwhelming sensation. He wasn’t just offering her a few kisses;
he was offering sex
.

Real sex. The stuff he said she was too damaged for.

She didn’t know what had changed his mind, but she wasn’t about to ask. Not beforehand anyway.

She still didn’t understand why he was linking sex with her having lunch, but Caitlin wasn’t an idiot. If eating would get her access to Tack’s body and his big hands on her again, she would eat.

The nerves and nausea that had plagued her earlier were gone, too, making the inner declaration an easy one to make.

“Okay,” she agreed.

His smile was both pleased and just a little smug. “Sit over there.” He pointed to one of the two bar chairs on the side of the island.

She did as instructed, her stomach clenching with unusual but welcome hunger. “What are you feeding me?”

“Leftovers. I’ve got chicken and vegetable rice from last night.” He pulled a couple of containers out of the refrigerator and then poured a glass of the chocolate drink he’d given her on the hike.

He handed it to her. “Drink up.”

While he plated and microwaved the food, she sipped at the chocolaty goodness. “You sure you won’t give me this recipe?”

He just gave her a look she’d known well a long time ago. The one that said,
Yeah, not in this lifetime
.

“Do you cook like that for yourself all the time?”

He shrugged. “I eat at the Homestead several nights a week with the family.”

Just like the Grants, the MacKinnons had built their current large dwelling on their original homestead. It always passed down to the eldest son in the family and was the traditional gathering place for the entire MacKinnon clan living in or near Cailkirn.

“But yeah, I like to cook. It’s relaxing. I usually make enough for two meals anyway, so it’s not so much effort for one person.”

“Was that supposed to be your dinner tonight?” she asked, nodding toward the microwave that had just beeped.

“Nope. We’re eating with the family tonight, remember?”

When he put the plate in front of her, there was a chicken breast and at least a cup of the rice-vegetable mixture.

Her heart sank. Even hungry, there was no way she could finish that amount of food. “This is too much.”

“So, do your thing. Divide it in half.”

It didn’t surprise her that he’d noticed her ritual. Tack always saw what others didn’t.

His easy acceptance of it was a little startling, though. “You don’t mind?”

“No.” He winked at her. “I’m not going to withhold sex if you eat half of what I served you.”

She nodded, as if she understood, but really? She didn’t. This whole sex-for-food thing was still proving problematic to her sense of logic.

However, the food ritual was something she was very familiar with. So, it should just be a matter of doing what she’d done hundreds of times before, but she couldn’t seem to act on what her brain was telling her to do.

She was reeling from his acceptance. She was used to odd looks, even from her aunts, but Tack acted like it was perfectly normal for a woman to meticulously separate her food and only eat half.

“Need some help there?” he asked, a devilish light in his dark eyes.

She wanted to say yes, just to see what he’d do. Only that would be silly. It was one thing for him to play her quirks off like they didn’t matter and another for her to pull him into them.

With a shake of his head, but no condemnation that she could see, he picked up the fork and table knife he’d placed beside her plate. Then Tack proceeded to cut the chicken breast in half lengthwise, careful to make the portions equal. He diced one side into small, bite-size pieces.

This man was going to make the most wonderful father someday. She found the fact that he was doing this for her, a grown woman, touching instead of embarrassing. Go figure.

He separated the rice, again making sure the two portions were equal. “There you go, wildcat. Have at.”

Emotion choked her, but she discovered it didn’t impact her ability to take the first bite. Or the second, or even the third.

“You’re a good cook,” she complimented him eventually.

He snagged the extra half of the chicken with his fingers and started to eat it. “Thanks.”

“You’re still hungry?” she asked with surprise.

He grinned. “I wasn’t finished with my lunch when we left.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t noticed. “I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be.
Aana
didn’t mean to upset you with her fussing, but you weren’t going to eat that salad with dressing all over it.”

“I could have refused it.”

“You’ll get there.” There wasn’t an ounce of censure in his voice. “Just remember,
Aana
and your family don’t want to tear you down like Barston did. They want to help you get well, but they don’t know how.”

“Why are you so good at it?” she asked without meaning to.

His easy acceptance meant too much, but no way would she turn away from it.

“You’ll find your feet with your family and the town again.” Which wasn’t an answer, but she understood it was the only one she was getting. “You’re slowing down. Do you need a little more incentive?”

“What?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

Until he moved in, swiveling her chair around so he could kiss her, a soft caress of his lips against hers. Nothing more than that, but it blew her away. This easy intimacy.

She’d never experienced it before, couldn’t imagine it with anyone but him.

Then he fed her a bite of chicken with his fingers. She got a little taste of him with the meat. When she finished chewing, he kissed her again, another simple bussing of lips, and Caitlin thought she would never hesitate to eat if doing so was always so pleasurable.

She was finished with her lunch before she even realized she was close. That hadn’t happened in a very long time. There was still way too much
have to
with eating, but like Tack said, she’d get better.

Dr. Hart had believed it and on her good days, Caitlin did too.

She stood up to put her plate in the dishwasher, but before she got the chance, Tack swept her up in his arms and headed out of the kitchen.

One of her shoes clattered as it landed on the hardwood floor.

“What are you doing?” She was breathless and not even a little embarrassed about it.

“I thought you knew what came next,” he answered in a voice richer than gourmet chocolate.

“But the dishes…”

“I’ve waited long enough, wildcat.” His low, masculine voice went through her like a caress. “You aren’t the only one who wants this.”

Which she’d known, but it hadn’t sunk in completely. Even with the evidence before her eyes. That he would admit it was outside her experience too.

But that he was impatient to make love? That was better than a hot fudge sundae on a summer day and a lot less stressful.

He took the stairs two at a time, the burden of carrying her not slowing him down at all. Her second shoe made a noisy descent down the stairs as they went up. The loft library went by in a blur, the hallway barely registering.

She didn’t know if it was because he was moving so fast or simply because nothing but his big body registered with her.

Nuzzling into the spot where his neck and shoulder met, she inhaled his scent. It had always meant safety to her, but right now? The manly fragrance filling her senses caused a visceral reaction in her, beading her nipples, sending a blush of desire to wash her body with heat, causing prickles of excitement to spark down her nape and spine, right to her inner thighs, making her vaginal walls contract almost painfully with the need to be filled.

She’d never responded this way to Nevin, not even in the early days.

And that was the last comparison she was going to make. There was no place for even the tinge of those memories in the present.

She’d never craved making love as she did right now, had never responded to another man’s touch, much less his presence, like she did to Tack’s. Everything felt new and different. And that was all that mattered.

He laid her in the center of the huge bed and then stepped back, yanking his Henley off as he went. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his boots and socks, the sound of them thumping to the floor in quick succession making her smile.

She knew there was probably something she should be doing. However, she was too entranced watching the play of afternoon light over his dusky skin as his muscles rippled with every movement.

He stood up to yank off his jeans, revealing thighs heavy with muscle, long masculine legs sprinkled with black hair. His dark blue knit boxers stretched obscenely in front, making his erection look bigger than it was.

Right? Of course he wasn’t
that
big. Just because he was six and a half feet tall and as broad as a door didn’t mean he was proportional everywhere. Did it?

Filled with fascinated trepidation, she watched him shuck the boxers and turn to face the bed.

She let out a sound between a gasp and a squeak at her first sighting of the club between his legs. Rigid and dark with blood, the thick hardness rose toward his flat stomach, its tip crowned with pearls of viscous fluid.

“You look like you’re staring at the Eighth Wonder of the World there, wildcat.” Aroused humor infused his tone.

“I think maybe I am.”

He gave a strangled laugh. “Nope. Just a man.”

Or rather a very particular part of a man, because she couldn’t pretend to be looking at anything but his extremely impressive erection.

With effort, she shifted her gaze up to his face, meeting dark eyes filled with pure sexual desire. “There’s nothing
just
about you, Taqukaq MacKinnon.”

“Glad you think so.”

He joined her on the bed, his movements predatory as he crawled over her. “This would go a lot easier if you were naked, wildcat.”

“Yes.” She nodded, only vaguely aware of the decided
lack
of stress she felt at getting naked with this man.

That was something of a miracle, and a welcome one.

He grinned, the expression feral. “You going to take your clothes off, then?”

“Can’t.”

“Am I in your way?”

“Yes. No. Don’t move.” She liked him right where he was.