The Billionaire's Heir(5)

She glanced at the wooden chair by the window and saw that her dress had been slung over it to dry, then she gazed down at the damp satin slip still covering her body. Whoever had rescued her had taken the liberty of removing her wet clothes – but not her underwear. It must’ve been that man who’d been following her – he’d obviously saved her and brought her back to where he lived. She steeled herself. At least now she might be able to get some information from him – and a good look at his face. She clambered off the bed and padded to the open bedroom door.

The bedroom led directly out to the stuffy living room, which contained sparse furniture, and Samira could see there was a little stone kitchen off to the side. The cabin was rustic, cramped, and dusty, and the logs seemed casually fastened together, which probably made it freezing in the winter. But today this cramped space retained the heat like the furnaces of hell. There was a clock on the wall opposite, informing her it was only eleven-thirty. Good. She still had plenty of time before she needed to be at the rendezvous point.

The man who’d rescued her was sitting in a wooden chair with his back to her, composing a message on his phone. She saw him tense up as she stepped on a creaky floorboard behind him, then he grabbed his cowboy hat and pulled it down over his face. Whoever he was, he really didn’t want her to see him. Suspicion mingled with fear, but she pushed it away. She glanced around for a weapon, just in case she might need to defend herself. An iron candlestick caught her eye – it would be perfect for rendering this guy unconscious if needs be.

“What am I doing here?” she asked. “Who are you?”

He turned and stood up, being careful not to show his face – half of which was covered by his beard anyway. He was shirtless and the sight of his toned torso – combined with this heat – sent desperate arousal between her thighs. He was so muscular, with strong shoulders and bulging biceps – a lifetime of working with his hands had clearly helped to sculpt him into the epitome of masculine perfection.

Samira looked up from his gorgeous body and realized that he was blatantly staring at her curvy waist and ample cleavage, covered by her satin slip. She felt self-conscious – knowing she didn’t look her best after being dragged out of the creek – but he’d already undressed her, so why be modest in this stifling heat?

He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. “You want some coffee? Or maybe a cold drink?”

She stared at him. “Why won’t you let me see your face?”

He paused for a beat. “You should sit by the window. There’s a breeze.”

Samira glanced at the open window in its rickety frame. She had an overpowering need to know who this guy was and why he’d been tailing her, but she was feeling hot and dazed. She forced herself to relax and stepped over to the chair, appreciating the cooler air on her skin. She could feel his silent eyes all over her as the ceiling fan clicked above them. She tried to focus on the golden fields outside, but the sparks of sexual arousal that vibrated between them made her look back at him.

“Just some cold water, please.”

“Sure,” he said in his husky voice. He chuckled under his breath. “You haven’t had enough water for one day, huh?”

She laughed shyly. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

They shared a smile, then he strode off toward the kitchen. Samira glanced at his toned butt and long legs as he left, then she turned and gazed out the window at the beautiful scenery. She listened as the squeaky kitchen faucet chugged water into a glass.

“The clouds are gathering overhead,” she called out. “Perhaps the rain they forecast will come early.”

He strolled back into the room. “Let’s hope so. We sure could do with some rain to clear this heat. Here.”

“Thank you.”

He sat down at the table and drummed his fingers on the wood. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” She held the cool glass against her warm neck. “I guess I should thank you for saving my life.”

“Oh… anyone would’ve. Especially after you helped me with my horse.”

His lips curled into a cute smile. Samira wished she could see his eyes. He seemed attentive; familiar. But she couldn’t place that voice – it was husky and deeper than seemed natural. His hat and his thick dark beard obscured his features. The mystery of him excited her.

“So why have you been following me around for three weeks? Did Mr. Langdon put you up to it? Spying on me, is he?”

“Three weeks? Not me, ma’am. I only arrived yesterday.”

She frowned. “Really? Well, someone who looks like you has been following me.”