Her gaze slowly took in broad shoulders, muscled chest, and a trail of dark hair that traversed a tight, trim stomach before disappearing into the only stitch of clothing he wore—a pair of black cotton boxer briefs that gave her imagination enough material to fuel her fantasies for years to come.
Chapter 23
He was dreaming. Had to be, right? Or she was an illusion. A figment of his delusional imagination. After more than forty-eight hours without sleep, there was no other explanation for the hallucination of Brittany Lucas on his doorstep at ten o’clock at night.
Joel squinted in the bright overhead light, then scrubbed his hand across his face. Two days of whiskers scraped against his palm. He’d come home, showered and literally fallen into bed. Was probably asleep before his head hit the pillow. Maybe still was.
He focused on the vision in front of him. “What are you doing here?”
“I…ah…” Her gaze rose back to his. “I found something while hiking.”
He rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand, eyes scrunched tight. Opened his eyes again, and she was still there. She sounded pretty real for a hallucination—and she was frowning at him.
What had she said…she’d gone hiking? So what?
“May I come in?”
At the polite request, he automatically stood aside. Once she walked by, he stepped forward to look outside. Yep, that was her truck. He shut the door and turned around, but she wasn’t there.
Good God, he was tired.
Closing his eyes, he let himself slump against the door and leaned his head back with a soft thump.
“Where do you keep your coffee?”
His eyebrows rose. Eyes opened. Joel pushed away from the door, toward the kitchen and the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing.
“Coffee?” she repeated upon his entrance.
“Freezer.” He watched her locate the container and start measuring grounds into a filter. His mind began to clear a bit. “You don’t drink coffee.” Not that he’d ever seen, anyway.
“It’s not for me. I need you to sober up.”
He noticed her gaze sweep down the length of him, then she whirled around to run water into the pot. Little warning bells went off in his head. Before she could empty the pot into the coffee maker, he stepped forward and took it from her.
“I’m not drunk, and I’ve had enough damn coffee for today, thank you.”
She moved aside and folded her arms across her chest. “You look awful.”
She didn’t. He’d woken up enough to appreciate the way her forearms pushed her breasts toward the low neckline of her tank top beneath an unzipped sweatshirt. Frayed, cut-off jean shorts showed off her long, athletic legs above a pair of hiking boots.
He averted his gaze to pour the water down the drain. “How about we see how you look after two days of work and no sleep.”
“Did you finally catch the poacher?”
Finally?
His fingers tightened on the plastic handle of the pot as he shook his head. “We found another kill. I was tracking him, but lost the trail on the second day.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
So was he. Because this last time, the disturbed sonofabitch hadn’t even bothered with a trophy ram. When Joel found the mutilated ewe, a chill had run up his spine with the realization that it was different from the others. A thrill kill. It threw them into a whole new game, and raised the stakes infinitely higher. The sick person who could carve up an animal like that would have no qualms about killing a human being.
He shrugged, even though at the time he’d wanted to slam his fist into a tree. Still did whenever he thought of the dead animals.
He’d rather look at her. When he cast another glance toward Brittany, he noticed her assessing gaze take a slow slide south. It bounced back up a moment later as she straightened.
“You know, maybe you could put some pants on so we can talk?”