He didn’t say anything as she grabbed her toiletry bag and went into the main-floor bathroom to brush her teeth. By the time she got back, he was brushing over the kitchen sink and watching the snow continue to fall outside the big bay window in the breakfast nook. He’d swapped out of his jeans and Henley for a pair of track pants.

She didn’t mean to look so long at his back but damn, it was hard not to take it in. Broad shoulders topped off a muscular back that tapered down to narrow hips and a hockey butt to beat all hockey butts. The man had to get special pants made just for him. Catching herself just as he started to turn around, she dove under the covers on her side of the couch and closed her eyes so he might maybe think she was done talking and ready for sleep.

The floorboards creaked and the covers rustled at the opposite end of the sectional, where she did not picture Ian stretched out with the blanket down at his waist. Shirtless. It really needed to stop snowing outside so she could shovel out her car and get gone.

“Hey, Shelby,” Ian called out, a raspy edge to his voice.

She swallowed. “Yeah?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said.

Every thought in her head skittered to a stop. She would have formed words if she could have, but an apology from Mr. Sexy Grunts was pretty much the last thing she’d been expecting. Ever. Like she would go work for the hated Cajun Rage before laying even a dollar on the chance he’d say he’d been wrong about being pissed at the messenger—even an accidental one.

“Wake me up if the fire goes out.” Then he rolled over, and all of fifteen seconds later, his breath had steadied and he was asleep.

Meanwhile, Shelby was left staring at the shadows from the fire flickering on the ceiling and wondering if she would ever sleep again. Verdict? Probably not until she left this cabin, because if she was that attracted to Ian when she’d figured he was mad at her, finding out that he wasn’t was going to give her sexual-frustration insomnia to the twelfth degree.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Ian couldn’t sleep. He’d faked it long enough for Shelby to crash out, but not even the soothing crackle of the fire could help lull him under. He was too aware of her. He couldn’t see a lot of her in the light of the fire, but he could see enough that his imagination could fill in all the details, which had left him with a head full of Shelby and half a hard-on.