Cassandra leaned against the window sill and watched the storm chase the sunset across the sky. They were going to be spending the night together.

Just the two of them.

She rubbed her hand up and down her arm and tried not to stare at Matt’s reflection in the glass as he changed shirts in a room that seemed to shrink by the moment.

Impossible.

That’s what this entire situation was turning out to be. How was she going to explain Matt to Jeff? Maybe he didn’t have to know. Okay, that wasn’t going to work. His family was aware she’d flown to Texas. She’d needed to tell them something, so she’d made up a sick aunt, one crying out to see her favorite niece before it was too late. Now that she’d met Matt’s grandmother, the story she’d concocted left a bad taste in her mouth.

Only three more days.

Three more days and she could go back to her life.

And Matt… His reflection stalked hers in the mirrored glass, panther-like, with his tawny hair and lean muscles. He’d changed to a western shirt like the one she’d borrowed, this one in shades of blue with thin tan stripes, and was busy with the fasteners as he strode toward her. Something about those dexterous fingers manipulating the snaps dried her mouth.

“Has it quit yet?” he asked, joining her at the window.

She jumped and blushed, not about to admit the rain wasn’t nearly as interesting as spying on him. She could better understand the rush peeping Toms got now.

She peered out the window. “I think it’s slowed. Are we going to try and get back to the ranch?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head and his shoulder brushed hers. A cascade of electric sparks ignited up and down her spine.

“We’d be foolhardy to try. It’s already getting dark. We’ll spend the night here and start out first thing in the morning, unless the rescue party finds us first.”

Sure, that made sense.

She just needed to convince her libido. Cass shivered.

Matt frowned. “Are you cold?” He glanced down at her bare legs—she’d draped her wet pants over the back of a chair to dry—and moved toward the old Franklin stove nestled in the far corner.

She sighed her relief.

“Hang on, I’ll get a fire going.” He crouched and opened the glass-front door, used a log to move the leftover ashes out of the way, then fed the belly of the stove with kindling and a couple of larger pieces of wood. Finally, he stuffed a shredded newspaper into the gaps, lit a long match from a box on the hearth, and waited until the kindling began to burn before closing the door with a satisfied grin.

“I still have the touch.”

Cass smiled back, disarmed by this relaxed version of her pseudo-fiancé. “I see that. How are you with campfire coffee, then?”

He rose in one lithe motion, and her heart kicked. “I think I can rustle us up a cup or two.” He walked over to another closet that turned out to be a pantry loaded with a variety of trail rations. Curious, she moved closer for a better look. There was everything from tins of beans to canned peaches on the overloaded shelves.

“Wow, you guys don’t believe in roughing it, do you?” she teased.

Matt reached for a beat-up tin coffee pot and a jar of grounds and carried them over to the single farm sink set into a wooden countertop. He used the hand pump and got the water running, then glanced over his shoulder and caught her watching him.

Cass hurried to grab something—turned out to be a can of peaches, thank goodness, she wasn’t a fan of beans—and looked for a can opener.

“It’s in the box on the bottom shelf,” Matt said.

She dug through an assortment of spatulas and serving spoons, grabbed a couple of forks along with a hand-crank can-opener and tried to figure out which end did what.

Matt had filled the pot and placed it on the stove by then. Cassandra looked from the opener to the can and forfeited her pride.

“Ah, Matt. How do you operate one of these things?”

He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “Are you serious? You’ve never used a handheld can-opener before?”

She shook her head, embarrassed. “Told you I wasn’t a camper. I’m a city girl, we have modern-day gadgets.”

His gaze became interested. “Oh yeah? You’ll have to show me one day.” He grinned and she just knew he wasn’t talking kitchen appliances.

Cass passed him the items, then made herself busy getting coffee mugs, sugar and dried milk, which she’d never used and didn’t plan on starting today. She brought them to the scarred table and sat awkwardly in one of the two chairs.

“Well, this is cozy,” she muttered.

Matt set the opened can of peaches in front of her without fanfare, for which she was oddly touched, then grabbed an oven mitt before bringing the perked coffee over and pouring their mugs. The aroma was richer and more fragrant than anything the fanciest coffee houses could produce.

She wrapped chilled fingers around the mug and gave a silent, peaceful sigh. Surprising, considering she was stuck in a cabin with a virtual stranger. Although, Matt didn’t seem like a stranger. He knew things about her that she’d never told another soul. Like her fear of tight places. Of being alone.

And he’d shared insights into his character too, whether he realized it or not. His kindness to animals, and determination to do whatever it took to ease his grandmother’s mind. The love and respect his family shared spoke of deep ties. Someone willing to commit. A man who would make some lucky woman a husband she could count on no matter what road their lives together might take. And who didn’t wish for one of those?

“Want one?”

Cass blinked. Matt’s words, following so close on her thoughts, made her wonder if she’d spoken aloud until she noticed the peach slice dangling on the tine of his fork. Her tummy rumbled its complete endorsement.

“Hey, those were mine.” She leaned forward to grab the can, but he was quicker, and slid it out of reach.

“Tsk, tsk, the princess has thorns.” He gave his wrist holding the fork a twist, tempting her with the fruit’s plump ripeness. “C’mon, I’m willing to share. I don’t know about you, but it’s been hours since I had anything to eat. I’m starving.”

Her salivating mouth said she was too. Giving up, Cassandra lifted her hand to take the fork, but Matt ignored it and brought the slice to her lips.

“Open up before it drips on you,” he said, his voice rich with humor.

She opened her mouth to tell him where he could put his peach and he slid it between her lips. The sudden explosion of sweet juices made her moan. So good. It was almost as though she was tasting fruit for the first time.

Meeting Matt’s suddenly intense gaze, she froze, and slowly licked the syrup from her lips. She cleared her throat. “They’re tasty.”

He set the fork on the table with great deliberation, then used a hand to grab the bottom of her chair and give a sharp tug, pulling her between his knees. He leaned forward and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, before bringing it to his mouth and sucking the flesh.

“Mmm, you’re right,” he said, his tone little more than a rumble.

Her eyes widened.

Holy cow.

She was in so much trouble.