Once a Rebel by Sheri Whitefeather Page B

poked at the fire. “Yep.”
    She sat on the edge of the bed and patted Chocolate’s head. He gave her a hyena grin. Clark and Kent were watching Ethan.
    The flames, she noticed, sent shades of red dancing across his skin. She could see a hint of his profile, the hard edges and sculpted lines.
    He finally turned around. Then froze.
    Confused, Susan merely blinked at him.
    He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You look like an old-fashioned bride.”
    Embarrassed, she made a face, scrunching up her nose, wishing she’d thrown on a pair of baggy sweats instead. “It’s not supposed to resemble a wedding dress.”
    He remained where he was, standing in front of the crackling fire, with fragrant timber scenting the air. “I was talking about the honeymoon part. The virgin stuff.”
    That was even worse, she thought. She was about as far from virgin as a woman could get. “I guess I over-did it.”
    â€œNo. I like it.” He swept his gaze over her. “I think you look pretty.”
    â€œThank you,” she managed, still feeling self-conscious.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” he responded, still checking her out.
    Silence drifted like a buoy at sea, and Susan struggled to start a new conversation. But nothing came to mind. Nothing but soundless waves washing over her.
    Ethan broke the tension. “I should get my bed ready.” He walked across the room, making noise.
    Unable to find her voice, she simply watched him from beneath her lashes, trying to keep her anxiety hidden.
    He removed a sheepskin throw from the top of the armoire, placed it on the floor and rolled a sleeping bag over it.
    That was it. His bed was ready. And it was next to hers, only lower. But he’d chosen the most logical spot. The cabin didn’t provide a lot of free-roaming space, so he’d done the best he could, leaving the path to the bathroom open. At least she wouldn’t step on him in the middle of the night if her anxious bladder beckoned.
    â€œI’m going to use the head,” he told her.
    Susan relaxed, realizing his bladder was more anxious than hers. She tried not to listen, but she heard everything: his practiced aim, the toilet flushing, the faucet running. She even heard him brushing his teeth, using the toothpaste she’d wanted to sample.
    If they were lovers, it wouldn’t matter. They would be used to the intimacy. But being this close to him, being part of his nighttime ritual, made her feel strangely sexual.
    When he came out of the bathroom, she saw that he’d removed his shirt and his boots, but he still wore his jeans. The top snap was undone, creating a slight gap in the material.
    If she kissed him, would he taste like citrus?
    â€œAre you ready?” he asked.
    She knew he meant for bed. “Yes.”
    Ethan darkened the cabin, and the fire blazed even brighter, painting him in reddish hues once again.
    Susan no longer wondered what he intended to wear. Apparently he’d decided to sleep in his jeans.
    While he settled onto the floor, Clark and Kent joined him. Chocolate leaned over the bed and stared at them. Then he jumped down, snuggled next to Ethan and whined at Susan, as if she’d just abandoned him instead of the other way around.
    Speaking softly, she tried to soothe the dog, but her calming words only made things worse. Within no time, he was leaping up and down, between her and Ethan, frantic about where to sleep.
    â€œI don’t think this is going to work,” she said.
    Ethan sat up and dragged his hand through his hair. “I’ll put him outside.”
    â€œDon’t do that. It’s windy out there.” She sat up, too, a sudden chill racking her bones. Lily’s kidnapping came back full force, and she gulped the air in her lungs, imagining her in a dark, dank place. “Please, Ethan, let him stay.”
    â€œAnd sleep where?”
    She rocked forward, hugging herself, but the dark and