Damn.
He walked to his room, grabbed his toothbrush, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, his gaze fixing on his reflection.
Idiot.
He could have kissed her, and she would have melted in his arms. It would have been sweet. But then morning would come, and things would be awkward between them. There was no chance that they could be together, so there was no point in crossing the line and getting physical. Strange that he could feel so drawn to a woman who wasn’t right for him.
Remember Elena?
Yeah. Maybe it wasn’t strange. Maybe it was a pattern. Jason had felt drawn to Elena, and she’d turned out to be the enemy.
Moral of the story? Don’t let your cock make decisions for you.
He finished brushing his teeth, walked back to his room, and stripped down to his boxers. Then he turned out the light and crawled beneath the covers.
He willed himself to relax, to let the sexual tension ebb away—or tried to, anyway. Images of the day passed through his mind. Winona, wet and naked in her bathrobe. Winona, listening as he interpreted the sign, dark hair caught in the breeze. Winona, excitement on her face when Jack invited them to stay at the ranch.
He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping when something woke him. He sat up, listened. Was Winona crying?
He got out of bed, slipped into his jeans and a T-shirt, opened his door, and stepped into the hallway.
A stifled sob.
He walked to Winona’s door, knocked. “Winona, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Ah, hell.
He stood there for a moment, trying to decide whether to let her lie stand. “I know that’s not true.”
Footsteps.
The door opened.
Winona stood there in her sleepshirt with the pink sheep, her face wet with tears, misery mixed with embarrassment on her pretty face. “I woke you, didn’t I?”
“That’s okay. What’s wrong?”
She leaned against the doorjamb, her dark hair tangled around her shoulders. “Just a bad dream. I have nightmares about it sometimes.”
“About the time the bastard attacked you in your clinic?”
She nodded, sniffed. “The dreams always seem so real.”
Jason understood a thing or two about that. “Why don’t I make you a cup of tea or warm some milk, and we can talk?”
“I should be makingyouthe tea. You’re my guest.”
“Hey, you told me to make myself at home, remember? Follow me to my kitchen.”
* * *
Winona saton the sofa with a fleece throw around her shoulders and a cup of chamomile tea in her hands, while Jason put wood on a fire that had burned down to glowing coals.
He closed the wood stove. “That ought to warm things up.”
“Thanks.” She sipped her tea. “Sorry again to wake you.”