The Reveal by Julie Leto Page B

head up to the main house. And we’ll ditch the truck. If we go on foot, we’ll be less of a threat.”
    Brynn listened to his efficient mission review, her glossy eyes wide and her mouth open with surprise. She’d made a move. He’d turned her down. As much as it killed him, he had to start the separation process.
    No time like the present.
    Sean moved to the door. “I’ll get more wood. Looks like that pump might work,” he said, pointing at an iron contraption attached to a sink by the boarded-up window. “Maybe if you find a pot in a cupboard, we can eek a couple of cups of coffee.”
    He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge him. He pushed himself out of the warmth in the cabin and into the frigid night air. He focused on the task of collecting wood and piling it up by the door, no matter how much he wanted to go back inside, out of the cold, into the heat of Brynn’s embrace.
    Hard as it was, he resisted. He had nothing to give her. In another time or place, he might have managed to gift her with a piece of his heart, but as a whole, it was still too bruised and battered to be of any use to anyone, particularly an amazing woman like Brynn.
    By the time he’d reentered the cottage, she was standing at the sink, pumping water into a pot she must have found in the door-less cupboards. He ramped up the fire in the hearth, scooting out of her way when she carried the filled pot to the hook. Without words, he took the cast iron vessel from her and swung inward.
    “I guess we should go make a space for sleeping,” he suggested.
    She didn’t reply, instead taking her tartan blanket to a corner of the room, beside where they’d stashed their bags. She retrieved a pocketknife and took a little too much pleasure cutting away a large swatch of fabric. He almost asked what she was doing then decided he didn’t want to know.
    Okay, so she was giving him the silent treatment. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe the break between them would be easier if she was pissed off. Or hated him. Shouldn’t be hard to get her all the way there. He was a master at turning women against him.
    He grabbed the sheets that had been tossed over the furniture and went outside to shake them out. He had no fancy duvet to offer her, so these would have to suffice. He doubted Brynn had ever slept anywhere so filthy, but she wouldn’t complain—not if complaining meant she had to talk to him.
    But by the time he returned, Brynn had finished her surgery with the blanket and had used one thick swatch to swing the hot pot of water out of the fire. She dipped the other cut-away corner into the scalding water, wincing as she wrung out the excess, then gingerly wiped her cheeks, neck and décolletage.
    He tried to concentrate on turning the lump that had once been a mattress into a decent bed. His eyes, however, had other ideas. They could not resist watching Brynn wash, particularly when she allowed the water to drip enticingly down her skin until her braless nipples were visible through the saturated fabric of her shirt.
    “Do you mind?” she asked, shamelessly whipping the shirt up over her head.
    His mouth dried. “Do you want me to leave?”
    Her narrowed gaze nearly knocked him on his ass.
    “Actually, I was hoping you’d watch.”
    His knees weakened as if she’d kicked him from behind. He dropped to a crouch against the far wall, his back braced against the bed frame. She turned to the side and slowly, purposefully, peeled off the rest of her clothes. Swirls of orange light caressed her naked skin as she piled her hair on top of her head with a clip, allowing tendrils to snake down and curve around her shoulders and nape.
    Her eyes downcast, Brynn dunked the swatch of tartan into the heated water, dipping and wringing until she achieved the desired saturation. Sean was transported back through the centuries, to a time when luxuries like running water hadn’t been conceived. When women had bathed in the open. When men had to have