Alaskan Hero by Teri Wilson

Author:Teri Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Published: 2013-10-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Somewhere between the time the Karate Kid sanded his first floor and painted Mr. Miyagi’s house, Brock began to relax. Even with the snow coming down like it was, he eventually forgot to keep a constant eye on the window and the weather outside. The warmth of Anya’s cottage, coupled with the sight of Anya’s feet propped up on the coffee table in her fuzzy polar bear slippers, loosened something inside him.

And then there was the company.

Even with the giant bowl of popcorn tucked between them on the sofa, Brock was hyperaware of Anya’s presence. Every time she laughed at something onscreen, he felt a pang right in the middle of his chest. When it looked as though the Daniel might throw in the towel, she stared wide-eyed at the television with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Brock looked away, determined not to take notice of that lip, no matter how pink and shapely it might be. And then, even though she’d admitted to having seen the movie at least a dozen times already, Anya started sniffling toward the end. Brock would have to be blind not to notice how her violet eyes grew even more luminous than usual when filled with unshed tears.

How did she do it? he wondered. How did she let herself go and experience things so wholeheartedly? He’d spent so much of his life guarding his emotions, controlling his surroundings in an effort to prevent himself from being blindsided with crippling hurt as he was when Drew vanished, that he’d ceased to feel altogether.

And here Anya sat, getting all misty-eyed over a movie. Part of him admired her for it. A large part. And somehow Brock knew the dangers of the storm outside were nothing compared to the swirling blizzard of attraction in Anya’s cozy cottage.

He wondered if she felt it too and suspected she might when his kneecap first brushed against hers and she jumped.

“Everything okay over there?” he asked, noting the pink flush that settled in the vicinity of her exquisite cheekbones.

“Sure.” She slid her gaze toward him, and his stomach tightened as it always did at the sight of those eyes. “Shall I make more popcorn?”

“No, thanks. I’m stuffed.”

She picked up the bowl and moved it to the coffee table, and the space between them grew instantly smaller. Brock rested his arm against the back of the sofa. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but within moments Anya’s head found its way onto his shoulder.

And it was nice—this closeness. Far nicer than Brock had imagined. And despite what he wanted to admit, he’d imagined a scenario like this one. On more than one occasion even.

Anya’s hair carried the subtle fragrance of coffee and caramel, and Brock allowed himself a deep, intoxicating inhale. He had the sudden urge to memorize everything about her—the precise shade of her violet eyes, the incredible softness of her dark hair and the way he felt strong enough to take on the world when she was tucked beside him like this—so he could carry those memories with him when he left.

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