“Yeah, thought you might like it.”
Kane pulled a collapsible canvas lounge chair from the bag and positioned it so that it had a perfect view of the falls. Then he covered the canvas with an old fashioned, well-worn quilt, and gestured for her to take a seat.
“This,” he told her, “is the perfect spot to escape.” And it was. Secluded, surrounded by brilliantly colored leaves. The smell of damp rocks and dirt and sweet pine in the air. The sound of the falls, swooshing and splashing, forming a constant series of prisms in the mist.
Once he made sure she was comfortable, thoughtfully tucking the excess quilt around her legs for warmth, he began to walk away.
“Kane? Aren’t you staying?”
She cringed at the slight but obvious worry in her voice, but he just smiled. “I’m staying. I’m just going to grab my fishing pole and cast a few lines while you read your book.”
Relief flooded through her. “You’ll stay nearby?”
“I’ll stay nearby.”
Kane leapt with a silent, masculine grace from one rock to another until he was midstream. Really, she thought, no one that large should be able to move that beautifully. But then he was no ordinary man.
Kane was nothing like anyone she’d ever met before. He was the physical embodiment of her own personal guardian angel, sent to watch over her and protect her. She almost giggled at the thought, remembering her first impression of him as a real, honest to God archangel sent to smite those that would do her harm.
For the first half an hour or so, she watched him. The way his muscles bunched and flexed and rippled across his back and arms each time he cast his line. The perfect balance of his legs, so strong beneath the faded denim. The sculpted backside that would have made Michelangelo weep. The unnatural stillness with which he held himself. The classic, perfect lines of his face, so beautiful and yet unmistakably masculine, as if they had been carved by immortal hands. It literally took her breath away. Every now and then he’d glance back at her and smile, and she’d smile back, embarrassed at having been caught watching him. Again.
When Rebecca did finally start to read, however, she became almost instantly lost in the story. And that’s when Kane started watching her.
*
She was a fast reader. No sooner had she turned one page than she was fingering the corner to turn another. Her expressions changed as she read. She smiled, she frowned, she laughed, her mouth gaped in disbelief. Sometimes the most wonderful rose blush stole across her cheeks, and Kane guessed she was reading a particularly naughty passage. It was fascinating to watch; most of the time, she kept such careful control over herself. To see the emotions pass unguarded across her features was a treat indeed.
After an hour or so, she had already made significant progress through the book.
“Good read?” he asked, suddenly there beside her, unwilling to stay away a moment longer. He was immediately rewarded with one of her special smiles, the one that had his chest expanding and his pants shrinking.
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
Kane disappeared again, only to return with yet another surprise: two large plain brown grocery bags. From them, he extracted fresh apples from the farmers market, sandwiches from the local deli, two gallon jugs – one sweet tea and one lemonade, and two gargantuan, individually wrapped items that looked like the world’s largest Oreos.
“What are they?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a whoopie pie?”
She shook her head. “Then you, sweetheart, are in for a treat.” The endearment rolled off his tongue easily. By the way her eyes widened, he wasn’t the only one surprised by it.
Kane unwrapped one and held it out to her. She licked her lips; Kane followed the movement of her tongue intently.
“Shouldn’t we eat the sandwiches first?”
He grinned and winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Her resulting smile could have lit the town for a week. Nothing could have prepared him for the joy he felt watching her bite into the soft cake for the first time, seeing the look of pure rapture on her face.
“Oh my God. This is amazing. What did you say it’s called?”
“Whoopie pie,” he told her, fighting the nearly irresistible urge to lick the dab of cream from the tip of her nose. “They’re big among the nearby Pennsylvania Dutch communities.”
He compromised by removing the cream with his finger and licking that instead, refusing to meet her astonished eyes as he did so. It was a selfish pleasure on his part, one he would not openly acknowledge. And Rebecca, God bless her, would not call him on it.
“It is awesome, Kane,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Everything is.”
––––––––
“Are you enjoying your afternoon?” he asked when they had eaten their fill.
“More than you know.”