Song of the West by Nora Roberts Page B

to bed. I’m going to fix breakfast.” She nudged him out of her path and started down the hall.
    â€œCoffee’s already on,” he called after her.
    Samantha had breakfast under way by the time Jake joined her. Clad in the less disturbing attire of corded jeans and flannel shirt, he watched her prepare the meal as he silently sipped at his coffee at the kitchen table.
    â€œI’m getting used to having a pretty face across from me at breakfast,” he commented when she sat down to join him.
    â€œI’m sure I’m not the first,” she commented with studied indifference. Nor, she added to herself, will I be the last.
    â€œNope,” he agreed easily, “but there’s something to be said for big blue eyes first thing in the morning.”
    â€œBlue eyes are common enough,” she muttered, and lowered them to the contents of her plate. “Besides, this is hardly a long-term arrangement.” He did not speak for a moment, and her fork moved restlessly among her eggs.
    â€œWe should have the road clear enough sometime tomorrow.”
    â€œTomorrow?” she repeated. A hollow feeling spread through her stomach.
    â€œThere’s a lot of snow out there, some of the drifts are small mountains. It’s going to take a little time to move it.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œDo you think you could manage on your own for a while today?”
    â€œWhat? Oh, sure, I’ll be fine.”
    â€œThere’s a lot I should see to. My foreman was in charge yesterday, but the men need all the help they can get.” He was frowning. “Cattle need hay brought out to them. They haven’t the sense to dig through to the grass. They’ll just stand there and starve to death.”
    â€œI suppose the storm did a lot of damage.”
    â€œIt’s only minor from the reports I’ve gotten. We were hit worse a couple years ago.”
    â€œReports?”
    â€œOne of my men came by yesterday afternoon to fill me in.” Pouring more coffee in his cup, he reached for the cream. “You were asleep.”
    â€œOh.” Strange, she thought, there had been a ripple in their isolation and she had been totally unaware of it.
    Lifting his cup, he studied her over the rim. “I don’t like leaving you alone, especially with the phones out.”
    Her shoulders moved. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” Glancing up, she met his speculative gaze.
    â€œI don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
    â€œJake, stop fussing. I feel fine.”
    He tilted his head to the side, his eyes still narrowed. “Stand up. I want to see how you feel for myself.”
    Before she realized his intent, his arms were around her, and his mouth was on hers. Her legs buckled.
    His mouth was light, teasing, his teeth nibbling at the fullness of her bottom lip until she moaned from the exquisite agony. She gripped his shoulders as a dim light of control seeped into the darkness. Pulling away she shook her head in refusal.
    â€œNow, Sam . . .” His voice was soft and persuasive, but the hands that descended to her hips were firm. “You wouldn’t send a man out in the cold without something warm to remember, would you?”
    Insistently, he brought her closer, molding her hips, exploring the soft roundness until she was pressed against him with exciting intimacy. His mouth closed over her protest, his tongue moving with slow devastation to tease hers until she felt the room spinning as wildly as it had the day before. Slowly, his hands ascended, his thumbs circling the side of her breasts while his mouth and tongue destroyed all resistance. She was straining against him, moving against him, reason forgotten. Her body heated urgently at his touch. Her sigh was a moan as his mouth descended to her throat. His lips tasted, lingered, traveled to new territories, the tip of his tongue moist and warm against her skin, erotic and