Damn the voluptuous female for interfering with my solitude!
When I emerge, I toss the pants in her direction, trying not to look at the way her braless breasts stretch the fabric of my flannel. The way the taut points of her nipples protrude. I'm suddenly rocked by a vision of me making those full breasts bounce in a variety of ways that all involve me pounding into her from different angles. My bear rumbles against the cage of humanity.
Stop!
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I pad to the kitchenette to find us some food. I'm hangry as hell, and I'll bet she is too. Food will calm the bear down.
"What's your name?" Her voice starts off wobbly but finishes on a strong note, like she's forcing herself to be assertive.
"Caleb." I don't dare look at her. Not when all I can think about is making those breasts dance. I open the refrigerator and pull out two packages of bacon, the eggs, milk and butter.
"I'm Miranda." Her voice is musical to my ears. Her name is a goddamn song. I can't stop myself from taking a look.
Fuck, she's beautiful. Her auburn hair tumbles in tangled waves across her shoulders. Her eyes are green, with lashes I can barely see because they're the same color as her hair. The uneasy expression on her face makes me turn quickly away.
I fire up the two front gas burners and put frying pans on them to heat, then pull out a bowl and the box of pancake mix. "Just Miranda? Not Doctor Somebody?" Fates, am I making chit chat?
That's not like me at all. I don't talk much. To anyone. I especially don't make useless conversation to make people feel more comfortable.
Apparently now I do.
She lets out a surprised laugh-a sound that instantly relaxes my bear. "Well, I do have a doctorate. But no one calls me that." Her voice turns suspicious. "What made you think I'm a Ph. D.?"
"Research lab," I grunt. "I saw you driving up there yesterday."
Not a lie.
I leave out the part where I rubbed my nose on her window looking in at her prancing around in her little tank top.
I arrange one package of bacon in the frying pan and then crack six eggs into a bowl to make a large batch of pancakes.
"Why don't you use the title? I imagine you worked hard for those letters." I risk another glance over my shoulder at her.
Damn. She's no less enticing in my sweatpants. She fills them out with her ample hips and curvy ass. They're too long for her, of course, but she's pulled them up and rolled the waistband down until it rests on her hip bones. Fuck, she's beautiful.
Surprise flits over her face at my words. I don't even know what made me say them, just that I have a feeling she doesn't demand enough respect from the people around her.
"I don't like to be pretentious," she says, but her brows drop down. "Although I guess all the men in my department insist they be called Doctor."
"What department is that?"
Mark it down. This must be a record for the most conversation I've made in three years.
The bacon starts to sizzle as I combine the ingredients for the pancakes and pull a package of frozen wild blueberries out of the freezer.
"Ecology. That's a lot of packages of blueberries in your freezer." Her voice is close, like she walked into the kitchen. Well, it's technically all one room-kitchen, dining, living room. One main area, two bedrooms and a bath. I built it myself for my mate.
She opens my freezer. I bristle at having her in my kitchen, in the space Jen used to occupy, but then I have another problem.
"Wow. So trout and blueberries. Do you eat anything else?"
I cringe inwardly. My freezer is packed with bear food. It probably looks strange to a human.
"I eat bacon," I grunt, flipping the pancakes. "And pancakes." Then, to distract her, I say, "How are you feeling today? Any numbness or pain in your fingers or toes? Ears? Tip of your nose?" I didn't see anything that looked like frostbite last night, but I also was in a hurry to get her in the sleeping bag and warmed up, so it's not like I gave her a thorough examination.
And that thought shouldn't give me a throbbing hard on, but it does.
My nostrils flare and I swivel my hips more firmly away from her so she won't see her effect on me.
"Um, no. I think I'm okay. Thanks to you."
Her hesitant gratitude creates a surprising warmth in my chest. Which is dumb. I certainly didn't expect or desire her thanks.
"I'm not even going to ask what the hell you were doing out there, because I'm pretty sure it's gonna make me want to turn you over my knee."
She draws in a sharp breath.
Oh fuck. I shouldn't have said that.
I give her my back, turning the bacon, piling pancakes onto a plate and tossing one down to her dog. Over the scent of the bacon and pancakes, I catch her scent.
That sweet arousal.
Fuck me now.
Seriously? She's turned on by my comment? I didn't need to know that.
I really didn't.
Because now I can't stop thinking about just how much I'd love to bend her over and smack that ass red for nearly freezing to death.
"That was entirely inappropriate." Her voice sounds strangled.
I'm not asshole enough not to turn around now. I find her cheeks flushed pink, eyes snapping. The way her chest rises and falls too quickly makes me think of how I'd like to make her lose her breath in other ways.
"You're right," I admit. "I'm a dick. And I don't get company too often. I'm rusty on what to say to a woman I stripped naked but didn't fuck."
Oh for fates' sake! Now I'm really digging a hole.