An Amish Match on Ice Mountain by Kelly Long

Author:Kelly Long
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Ella had considered the interior of Stephen’s mother’s cabin to be sparse in decoration, as she knew was fitting for the plain people. But the cabin Stephen led her to in the high timber was a place of almost artistic charm.

Snowshoes, long-handled tools, and preserved pelts hung about the exposed beam walls. A rustic rock fireplace took up one wall, while a cookstove and bent willow bed occupied nearly the whole of the other side of the tiny home. There was just enough room for a small table and chairs and an old-fashioned rocker.

“It’s charming,” she said, smiling up at Stephen. Then she followed his gaze to the big bed. A quilt of pretty flower designs lay atop the mattress and two fluffy pillows looked comfortable at the head of the bed.

“Jah,” he murmured. “Joel and Martha sent the bedding—but—I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Ella turned to face him. “Stephen . . . friends, remember? I think we can share the bed and there will be no—um—problems. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right to have you on the floor!”

But she saw by the set of his jaw that his mind was made up and she stopped trying to persuade him; instead she asked if he would like something to eat.

“Frau Loftus packed a bunch of different things for us in with the groceries you bought.” Ella moved to the wicker basket Stephen had carried to the high timber and lifted the flat lid. She pulled out bags of sugar, flour, and brown sugar, as well as other various baking supplies. Then she uncorked a small brown bottle and breathed in the heavenly scent of vanilla.

She saw Stephen smile at the expression on her face and he came forward and took the bottle from her fingers. “Did you ever taste vanilla?” he asked softly.

“Mmm-hmmm. Our housekeeper told me not to but I ran outside in the sunshine with the bottle and took a big swallow. Ugh!” She made a face.

“Ah, but maybe you don’t know the secret of tasting vanilla.” His voice was low and she gazed up at him with suspicion, feeling the nerves in her belly begin to tauten and dance.

“What’s the secret?” she asked, surprised when her voice came out as a high squeak.

“Well—” He rocked his hips closer to her so that his long legs pressed against her Amish dress. “You need to put something sweet behind the vanilla taste.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “Wh—what do you mean?”

He reached his hand to gently ease his fingers beneath her kapp. “Sweet . . . like back here.” He pulled his hand away and she watched rather breathlessly as he poured a drop of vanilla on his forefinger then moved to brush the wetness against her neck.

“Stephen . . . I . . .” She made a hoarse sound of pleasure when she felt his tongue follow the dampness on her skin. Then he was facing her again, and she bit her lip at the raw sensuality displayed in the depths of his now-green eyes .

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