Chinook, Wine and Sink Her. Morgan Q O'Reilly

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Did you make the screen door as well?” he asked when the final screw was secure.

      A finger of smoke curled out of the window. The back of a hand pressed to her nose suppressed the need to sneeze. She nodded.

      “Great idea.”

      “I still need to attach the push stick.” That would mean turning around, facing him. Trapped between him and the wall of the cabin. With her hands up over her head. Oh, God. Let him continue to be a gentleman.

      He moved back half a step and she escaped long enough to get the pieces. Sure enough, he left only two inches of air space between them again while she attached the part with two screws.

      “Okay, let’s double check the fit,” she was able to say at last.

      Without stepping away, he gently lowered the window and slid it into place. “Very clever idea, Linnet. Perfect fit.” Somehow he’d managed to step close enough to erase the slight distance without her personal space alarms going off.

      The way he said her name and stared down into her eyes lit a smoldering fire deep inside. His chest rumbled against hers so she could feel his voice as much as she heard it. The slight friction made her nipples tighten and ignited a tenuous heat deep in her core. Was he talking about the window or how their bodies fit together? Squeezing her legs together didn’t help much and a suspicious dampness grew while the tiny voice in her head screamed out, no no no!

      “Glad you approve,” she managed to say, though how she couldn’t imagine. “I need to get the screen in place.”

      He sure seemed to be in place, his hands resting on the wall beside her head, his body touching hers from chest to thigh. Dizziness assaulted her and once more fight or flight fought with the need to wrap her arms around his neck. Incredibly, the latter seemed to be winning.

      “Is it ready to go up?”

      He was certainly already up if the presence against her stomach meant anything. Or was he asking if her fireworks were ready to go up? The answer was yes… but to what question? Oh, the screen. Right.

      He smelled good. Wood smoke from the campfire, and mint. No salmon? Come to think of it, he’d eaten dinner rather fast. Gum? Or did he travel with breath freshener in the woods? What would he taste like to kiss? Certainly there was a scent of pure male about him. Soap and fresh air. No! She didn’t need to be thinking these thoughts. Remember…

      Answer. He’s waiting for one. Where in the hell had her brain gone?

      “Yes. I have it cut already.”

      “I suppose getting it means one of us moving.”

      Sounded like a horrible idea to her. “Right. I need to get the screen. It’s inside. I’ll get it.” Babbling! Stop babbling!

      “Would you like me to staple it on out here?”

      “Sure. While you do that I can check on the coils already lit inside.” That was her opening to escape, but did she take it? Oh no.

      His gaze left her face and traveled down her neck. “You also need a touch of calamine on those bites. You have some new ones.”

      The minute he said it she had the overwhelming urge to scratch. Releasing the wall, he grabbed the hand flying toward her face.

      “Don’t scratch. If you want, I can help apply the lotion. You do have calamine, right?”

      Yeah, she had antihistamine cream, but it wouldn’t do anything about the heat of his hand on her wrist. Gently gripping her arm, he applied just enough strength to hold her nails away from her face. Ragged nails on rough hands. She curled her fingers into her palm. Filing her nails was already on her list for the night.

      “Benadryl, but it works the same. Okay, let me go, I’ll go take care of the bites and hand the screening out the window. I’ll also prop it open from inside. The staple gun is already loaded and in the tool box.”

      Creed let out a sigh of regret when she moved away. She’d fit him. Perfectly. Her lips had only been a few inches away and as tempting as ripe strawberries, her breath as sweet. Why hadn’t he kissed her? The fact she alternated between tensing and softening might have something to do with it. That, and the salmon he’d just eaten.

      He’d tossed the onions and most of the meal into the river, eating just enough with a piece of bread to kill the growling of his stomach. Good thing fresh fish didn’t have the over-powering aroma of most seafood. Still, even chewing on wild mint while he cleaned up in record time hadn’t completely cut the taste in his mouth.

      Hyper aware of her, he listened to her movements inside the cabin. He was able to look through the window, and saw her press a hand to her flushed cheek before she reached for the section of screening.

      “Duct tape?” He laughed when she opened the window and slid the material through. She’d edged it with the all-purpose, fix-everything solution most favored by Alaskans living in the Bush. Pilots had been known to repair wings well enough to make it home using this stuff. Hundred-mile-an-hour tape they called it. The only thing missing was the blue tarp. Give an Alaskan a blue tarp and a roll of duct tape and they could fashion everything from a tent to an apron out of the materials.

      “It’ll keep the edges from fraying and make it last a little longer. Hopefully longer than one winter.”

      “Brilliant. One more use for the books.” He smiled wide to let her know he approved. Holding the screen in place he attached the first staple with a truly satisfying snap. “Is it straight?”

      She nodded and he set another staple.

      “I might get my name in the Book of Sourdoughs yet, eh?”

      Her sarcastic bite made him laugh. “How long have you lived up here?”

      “You tell me first.” The challenge came back at him without hesitation. “I want to know who I’m talking to.”

      “Oh, well, I guess you could just say I’m Alaskan through and through.”

      “Native?” An arched brow rose nearly to her hairline. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look…”

      “Eskimo? Indian? Ah well, must be the Russian, Swede and Irish getting in the way. And yet, there is that tiny bit of blood, one-sixteenth to be exact, which holds me to the land.”

      “There’s a family story there I’m dying to hear.”

      “Oh, now that would take hours, days, weeks, nay years to tell.” He tacked the last staple in place. “What do you think? Tight enough to protect your fair hide?”

      He watched her face as she tested the screen from inside. “Should catch all but the most determined ones. You know, the ones that can squeeze through a hole half that size.”

      Most people didn’t believe it, but Creed had sat once and watched a hungry mosquito do exactly that. Voracious buggers when sweet blood was around. Even now they began to swarm on the screen. By morning it would be black with the greedy little things. Just like her back had been at the river this afternoon.

      “So, СКАЧАТЬ