Alaskan Nights by Anna Leigh Keaton Page B

kiss him? Brandon could have sworn he felt her lips against his skin. He smoothed his hand over her shoulder, wishing he wasn’t hurting so bad and could wrap both arms around her.
    “My dad took off before I was born,” Isabella said in a whisper. “My mother and stepfather died when I was twelve. I’ve lived with Cam ever since. Well, almost. There were a few years in there that...are better left unmentioned.”
    Brandon frowned. “How old are you, sweetheart?”
    “I’ll be thirty-two at the end of the month.”
    She sighed again, her hot breath ruffling his chest hair, tickling him, sending a quick shot of pure lust through him. Yeah, he could definitely get used to the feel of her against his body. His mom would adore her. The McCormicks would think she was wonderful. Sheila would go crazy when she found out Bella had saved his life. Sheila worried about him constantly, especially since the meth lab explosion.
    “I’m a little old to be—” She shot up when the potatoes boiled over. “Damn,” she said under her breath as she pulled them off the flame, burning her fingers on the hot pan.
    Brandon tried to get up to help her, but a wave of dizziness hit when he stood up too fast. He collapsed back to the couch.
    “Don’t you dare move, Brandon,” she said from the kitchen.
    “You’re hurt.” He struggled to gain his feet again.
    She gave a cute, totally unladylike snort. “Yeah, right. And you’re the picture of health. I singed my fingers. I’ll live.”
    And then she was pushing against his shoulders, which, unintentional as it was, hurt like hell. He had no choice but to lay back.
    “As I said before, Mr. Wilks, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I want you flat on your back until your head feels better or you need to use the outhouse.”
    Brandon gave her his most charming smile. “Then come back down here and join me. I’m sure I’d heal much quicker with you draped over me.”
    The number of emotions that shot over her face astounded him. An instant of indignation, a flare of anger, and then a pretty blush that started at her shoulders and worked up to her hairline.
    “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She stalked back to the kitchen, picked up a deadly looking knife, and poked at the potatoes in the pot.
    “I was hoping you’d take me up on the offer, not ignore me.”
    She looked more flustered than mad, so he didn’t feel too bad about teasing her. When she blushed, all those sexy little freckles on her shoulders nearly disappeared. He wanted her body back against his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d snuggled with a woman and just talked. Maybe never.
    She didn’t answer, just kept stabbing the potatoes with the humongous knife.
    “They’ll be harder to drain if you break them all up into little pieces.”
    “I know how to cook, thank you very much.” But she threw the knife down and slammed a lid onto the pot. Picking up the potholders this time, she drained the water from the potatoes into the sink, which was nothing more than an aluminum basin with a hole that drained out below the cabin. Steam rose up around her, making her skin flush even deeper.
    Pretty Bella was something else. Silently he watched her as she prepared the fish for the frying pan, put oil on to heat, opened a can of corn and dumped it into a smaller pot and put it on the other burner. Her motions were jerky, but she still didn’t seem angry. She acted as if a man had never before come on to her. But how could that be? Thirty-two was no spring chicken.
    Narrowing his eyes in contemplation, he ventured to ask, “How long were you married?”
    She ignored him.
    “He was a fool,” Brandon said, knowing darn well she could hear him, even over the popping of hot oil as she gently laid the floured fish into it. “If you were mine, I’d never let you go.”
    He’d known her for only a few hours...maybe a full day if the time he was unconscious counted. But damned if