Summer Temptation. Natalie Anderson

a wooden floor and a mountain of cushions. But that was what made it so damn glamorous. The wooden floor was polished, the rug hand woven, the cushions covered with the most expensive fabrics.

      ‘You bring people here often?’ Oh, she suspected him.

      He shook his head. ‘No. Honestly no.’ His smile twisted. ‘Let me get the fire going.’

      It already was—a roaring inferno in her belly. ‘You’re not going to rub two sticks together?’

      ‘Well, you only need one when it’s a match.’

      She kicked off her boots, as he did, and followed him inside.

      ‘I’m guessing trampers and members of the public don’t use this.’ Every single item in the place was carefully selected, chosen for both use and quality, neat and tidy and perfect.

      ‘No, it’s not on any maps. It’s my little getaway.’

      ‘It’s pretty amazing.’ She turned around, taking it all in.

      He waved a hand, encompassing that tiny space. ‘You really like it?’

      ‘Absolutely.’ How could anyone not?

      He looked boyishly, endearingly pleased. ‘I designed it.’ He coughed. ‘And built it.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Is that so hard to believe?’ He actually looked self-conscious.

      Of course it wasn’t. She suspected he was capable of many things, given all he’d achieved in the last ten or so years. ‘You’ve designed other things?’

      ‘Just this. It was all I wanted just for me.’

      He owned several luxury lodges—massive ones—and he’d built himself a tiny annexe up in the wild heights.

      ‘Have you brought any other women here?’ She shouldn’t want to know this. Knowing this was irrelevant. But somehow it mattered.

      He shook his head and too much satisfaction burned through Ellie’s veins.

      ‘Truth is I’ve never brought anyone here. I like being alone, appreciating the view. It’s peaceful.’

      Yes, this place offered serene simplicity. ‘I’m not breaking that peace for you?’

      ‘You’re part of the fantasy.’ He smiled. ‘I think everybody needs an escape.’ He bent to get the fire going.

      ‘Especially those rich people who have it so hard,’ she teased.

      ‘Well, them no less than any other people. And they may want privacy and luxury furnishings. This is my escape.’

      It was two square metres of heaven. An earthbound spot for angels to come down and enjoy the majesty of the Alps.

      ‘But it really isn’t glamping,’ he muttered apologetically. ‘The facilities are...uh...there.’ He jerked his head to a spot out of the window where she could see a shovel. Beyond that, the privacy of tussock land.

      ‘Great.’ She grinned.

      ‘There’s a tap, the tank collects the rain water from the roof. There’s some soap and stuff in the cupboard.’ He stood. ‘Come up and see the view before the light goes altogether.’

      The flue of the log burner ran up the wall—radiating heat already—and further along from that was the ladder.

      On that second floor there was a bed—not a giant bed, only slightly larger than a single and currently stripped of coverings. The walls were wooden, warm and cosy. There was only one window up here—a large rectangle cut out, facing the best view right up the spine of the Alps. While some might have wanted glass all round, like the lower level, the one window was like a painting. A frame for nature’s greatest effort. It gave the eye a focal point, but the rest of the room offered a sense of safety, of security against that awesome, but ultimately uncaring environment. It really was a nest.

      ‘It must be amazing here in the rain.’ She’d love to lie in that bed and listen to a storm lash the tin.

      ‘Yeah.’ He pulled out an underbed storage box, opening it swiftly.

      ‘There are sheets?’ She laughed. She didn’t know whether to be insulted that he hadn’t jumped on her already, or touched that he was concerned for their comfort.

      He looked a little sheepish. ‘I get too hot in sleeping bags.’

      She watched him flare the sheet out over the mattress.

      ‘Told you it wasn’t the world’s biggest bed.’ He grimaced.

      She ran her hands down her thighs to stop the sudden damp nerves. ‘Can I help?’ She couldn’t believe he was being so matter of fact and restrained about this, especially after the cave-man toss-her-over-his-shoulder approach of earlier.

      ‘Pillows.’ He nodded to the box in the corner.

      She opened it and smiled. ‘How many pillows do you need?’

      He pulled a handful of pillowslips from the linen box and threw them at her. ‘I like pillows.’

      ‘So it’s not just for the luxury look at the lodge?’ She quickly covered a few and tossed them onto the now sheet-covered bed. ‘How many do you have on your bed?’

      He shrugged. ‘Enough.’

      ‘You cuddle a pillow,’ she teased.

      ‘At least it’s not a soft toy,’ he said, defensively snappy.

      She giggled.

      ‘I’m going to show you just how useful a couple of extra pillows can be,’ he threatened.

      Ellie swallowed, her toes curling in her socks.

      ‘Except we should probably eat something first.’

      Oh, he just had to be kidding. Was he deliberately torturing her? She shook her head and pushed her hands into her jeans pockets. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

      She wanted action. She wanted to be done with the ache that had haunted her so long. She wanted to burn the memory of that night. So she undid the first button of her blouse, then the second.

      For a moment, he watched her. Then—to her relief—he moved. She smiled, hoping he was going to take over; she wasn’t entirely comfortable with her attempted striptease. But to her surprise he moved only to switch on the battery-powered lantern that hung in one corner.

      She paused. Completely self-conscious now.

      ‘Oh, no,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t stop. I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing you last time.’

      She couldn’t.

      He smiled. And that was when she saw the sheen of sweat on him—the film of heat that hadn’t been there even after he’d lugged her up the mountain for five minutes. No, this sign of tension in him was new. And empowering. ‘Only if you do the same for me.’

      His wickedness flashed. ‘You want me to strip for you?’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ She undid the last buttons and let her shirt fall. ‘I go no further until you’ve matched me.’

      She hadn’t even blinked before that ‘Lucky’ tee shirt was whisked over his head and on the floor already. He unfastened his jeans. To her delight, he didn’t take his briefs down with the denim. They were the close-fitting knit boxer type. They fitted him well.

      ‘This is all for you, Ellie.’ He knew exactly where she was looking.

      ‘You and your size thing,’ she mumbled.

      ‘I’m not the one with body-conscious issues,’ he taunted softly. ‘But trust me,’ he said. ‘Look at me. Look at what you do to me. I want you so much it hurts.’

      And she wanted it all.