“You’re early,” she murmured, going to the kitchen table where he set the saddlebags.
“No, I’m right on time,” he teased. “It’s noon. Were you off somewhere in your imagination? Did time fly by?”
She grinned and watched him pull his gloves off and stuff them in his back pocket. Those large hands, those long, callused fingers, had made her body sing like a harp last night. Already, her breasts were tightening and she could feel the nipples brushing against the silk camisole she wore beneath her blouse. “I guess it did,” she answered, and glanced down at her watch. Sure enough, it was noon. “It’s your fault, you know,” she said, coming over to Roan, sliding her arms around his shoulders, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Your cabin is like an art gallery of the finest kind,” she whispered against his smiling mouth. The predatory look in his gray eyes made her entire lower body clench with need. She felt his arms come around her, hauling her up against him.
Closing her eyes, Shiloh felt his mouth hungrily take hers. She wasn’t sure who was more starved for the other, languishing in the heat and strength of his mouth as he cherished her lips. He crushed her to him, allowing her to feel his erection. Suddenly, she was far more hungry for him than her growling stomach was for food. And as he eased his mouth from her, she felt like the most beloved woman in the world. She saw his love for her reflected in the stormy gray of his eyes. It was so tough not to say anything. Shiloh couldn’t. Not yet. There were so many unknowns between them with the stalker on the loose.
“I’ve missed you,” he growled.
“No more than I have,” she whispered, her voice breathy.
Roan reluctantly released her. “Come on. You must be hungry.” He pulled out the chair from the cedar dining room table.
Shiloh gave him a wicked look as she sat down. “I’m starving for you. Again.”
Roan gave her a heated glance and opened up the saddlebags, drawing out several containers and sandwiches. “Makes two of us, Darlin’. Open the containers? I’ll get us some silverware and some plates.”
She hadn’t even thought to open drawers in the kitchen and as Roan walked into it with that casual stride of his, Shiloh smiled. Pulling over the first container she said, “You’ve been awful busy. Last time I was here, this was a shell.”
“I’ve had two weekends to finish the drywalling and painting,” he said, bringing the silverware to the table. He set a bright red ceramic plate in front of her and himself. Sitting down at her elbow, he added, “And getting the furniture installed didn’t take hardly any time at all.”
“It’s beautiful, Roan,” she whispered, meeting and holding his gray gaze.
“Like it?” He opened another container and slid it between them.
“Like it?” Shiloh shook her head. “It’s gorgeous. Did you make the coffee and end tables?”
“Yes. I had them out in the garage. Didn’t you see them?”
Shaking her head, she whispered, “You’re a woodworker, too?”
“I like working with my hands.” And then he gave her a significant look.
Grinning, Shiloh said, “And I’m the lucky recipient of your hands, too.”
“You’re a beautiful carving, Shiloh. Someone I want to run my hands over, explore, and know.”
Her whole body went hot over his low, gruff words, her hands frozen midair with the container. The man could turn her on like a light switch. “With you, my body feels like that chandelier you made,” she said. “Molded, decorated—you made me feel so beautiful.” She saw Roan’s expression grow warm, a tenderness come to his eyes as he regarded her.
“That’s nice to know.” He opened the last plastic container. “You’re a work of art to me, Shiloh. You always will be.”
Every cell in her body quivered over his low timbre. Right now, she was starved but it sure as hell wasn’t for food. Shiloh felt like jumping him here and now, but the idea of a hard floor to make love on wasn’t exactly a turn-on for her. “Thank you. It’s lovely to be thought of as a work of art.” She spooned the potato salad, the three-bean salad onto her plate. Roan had brought thinly sliced beef sandwiches with horseradish mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato on them for their main course.
“Do you like the chandelier?”
“Oh, I love it! I was so taken with your kitchen that I didn’t notice it right away.”
“You like to cook. Why wouldn’t you go to the kitchen first?” he said, grinning.
Shiloh absorbed Roan into herself. He wore a blue-and-white plaid cowboy shirt with pearl snap buttons. The collar area was open, a dark blue kerchief around his thick neck. The man definitely had some sense of art and color combinations. “Guilty,” she admitted. “That Wolf stove is to die for, Roan. And I loved the glass tile backsplash. You’ve been so thoughtful about the color scheme. It’s not too masculine and its counterpart is the feminine.”