Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3), Marie Johnston [books suggested by bill gates TXT] 📗

“Stripping bunnies bothers you?” She’d eaten everything he’d trapped and hunted.

“No.” She wrinkled her nose and pressed her hand against her stomach. “My brain has no issue with it. Obviously, I know what needs to be done. But for some reason my stomach isn’t totally on board.”

“It’s okay.” She’d handed him a reprieve. He’d stay outside and clean the meat. “Want to go back to the cabin and figure out what we’ll have with it?”

Her face regained some much-needed color and she nodded. “I can do that.”

She went inside and he went about cleaning their meal for the next couple of nights. When he was done, he stopped in the garage and wrapped the meat in paper before going inside.

Sierra was at the stove. She plopped a cover on what was probably rice. He didn’t keep much variety in the house but she worked magic with broth and spices.

“Perfect timing,” she said while he was toeing out of his boots. “The oven’s warmed up and I got out the seasonings.”

He set the meat down and unwrapped it. A strangled groan came from his side and he looked in time to see her swaying on her feet.

“Sierra?”

Her gaze popped up to his and her eyes rolled back. He dropped what he was doing and caught her. Swooping her up, he rushed to the bed and set her down, leaning over her.

“Sierra?” He shrugged out of his coat and snow pants, dropping them to the floor, forgotten, as he inspected his fallen angel.

She groaned and shifted under him. Her eyelids fluttered open, taking a few seconds to focus on him. A lazy smile spread across her face. “Hey, you.” She rubbed her hand along his beard, her fingers tangling in the strands.

It was a beard. It wasn’t his dick, but her touch lit him up like a Chicago office plaza. Nerve endings he’d ignored for a long time fired up and blood rerouted. His eyes went half-mast and he leaned into her touch.

“You’re really good-looking, you know that?”

He knew he wasn’t ugly. Before Phoebe, he’d never had trouble getting dates. Once he’d been on Phoebe’s radar, he’d been toast.

As gorgeous as Phoebe had been, she wasn’t this fallen angel who radiated both strength and vulnerability. This woman who fainted at the sight of rabbit meat and woke to give him a compliment instead of complaining about the long hours he worked.

He briefly closed his eyes. This wasn’t his old life. This was nothing like his time before he’d come to Montana. He was in danger of Sierra dragging him back to himself.

“Your lips look really soft.” She ran her thumb along his lower lip and he dipped his head farther until his mouth hovered above hers. How could he not?

“Yours do too,” he murmured.

Her smile grew. “You’re a good guy, Boone Reamer. You’re the best guy I’ve ever met.”

Her words sobered him and he yanked himself away.

She blinked out of her daze and half sat up, pushing her hair off her face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said gruffly. She’d passed out and then he’d been all over her, ready to devour every sweet ounce she’d give him. She hadn’t been in her right mind. He had no excuse.

“I don’t know what came over me. I never get sick over simple things.”

She might be okay ignoring what had almost happened, but he had to address it head-on. “We can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Kiss and stuff. I’m helping you. I don’t need anything in return.”

She rolled her lips in, her cheeks flushing with either embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell. “I have no plans to sell my body.”

“I promise I would never ask you to do anything like that.”

She steadied her solemn blue eyes on him. “Where I come from, promises aren’t made arbitrarily.”

“Then we must come from the same place. I mean what I say.”

Disappointment emanated from the hard set of her chin, but her gaze was full of respect. “I meant what I said, Boone. You’re a good guy. I’m lucky you’re the one who found me.”

“You were lucky anyone found you.”

She drew in a long breath and lay back. “I know.”

He filled in what she didn’t say. No one was supposed to have found her. He’d figured out that much. Whoever had hurt her and dumped her in the middle of the Montana wilderness hadn’t meant for anyone to see her. His curiosity swelled, a thousand questions scrambling to get out. She’d been vague about what had happened to her and he wanted details.

Part of him suspected it was best he didn’t know a damn thing. Those pretty eyes of hers grew haunted when things were the quietest between them. She couldn’t forget what had happened, and she couldn’t fathom how her future was going to turn out.

Their stories converged at that point.

Boone was avoiding her.

She couldn’t blame him. He probably thought she’d passed out in order to get him close and try to have sex with him. Why, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t explain what she’d done either. She’d woken up, he’d been close enough that his heat had blanketed her body, and her internal filter had failed.

Shame filled her. She knew he didn’t want her. The last two weeks, the brush of his gaze had caressed her body at various points during the day. He might be attracted to her, but he wasn’t acting on it for a reason.

She was attracted to him, and she’d acted on it.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she swung her legs off the end of the bed. What could she do to pass the day? She’d kill for a TV.

The books Boone had didn’t interest her, but each minute ticked by slower than the one before. There was nothing more to clean. No more new snow had fallen. The snares and traps were his territory, regardless of whether he taught her about them or not. He’d escaped outside for most of the last week, not