She took a tentative step outside, awe-struck by the gleaming forest floor and the icicle-laden tree branches. It felt like a wonderland, and a spark of childlike delight flared inside her. She took the steps slowly, holding the railing, being careful not to slip. Her feet crunched into the thin layer of ice covering the snow as she walked around the side of his house, headed toward the outdoor “facilities.”
When she stepped around the corner, she came to an immediate halt, her eyes widening as her mouth opened on a sudden intake of air. Jak was standing in the snow, shirtless, his jeans still unbuttoned and resting low on his hips, rubbing a piece of cloth over his wet hair. He raised his head at the small sound of surprise, the cloth he held lowering as his blue eyes speared her.
“Sorry,” she said brea
thlessly. “I didn’t know”—she raised her hand, indicating his half state of undress—“that you were, um . . .” She tried to look away, she really did, but his shoulders were so broad, his chest so beautifully sculpted, each muscle defined, his skin reddened from the cold, his small flat nipples—
“Showering?”
“What?”
He looked at her in confusion, his brows knitting together. “I was showering.”
“In the snow?”
He moved closer and it surprised her that she experienced no impulse to move away. “I have to if I want to stay clean in the winter.”
“Yes. Oh, of course. It’s just . . . it looks very . . . uh . . . uh . . .”
“Cold?” He lowered his head, his lip tilting up a bit, teasing.
“Huh?”
He frowned again, his eyes running over her. She was obviously confusing him. She was just sort of . . . slack-jawed and useless with him standing there like that. A half-naked snow warrior, scarred and exuding so much testosterone it must be addling her brain. Unbidden, her gaze dropped to the sparse line of dark hair on his flat stomach, following it slowly downward. “You can use it . . .”
Her gaze shot to his, eyes widening. “What?”
“I keep it dripping so it doesn’t freeze.” He nodded back over his shoulder to where the pipe ran up the side of the house.
Right. She glanced at the still-dripping pipe and wondered if he’d stood under it naked only moments before. She swallowed. Of course he did, Harper. Who showers in their pants? “No. I mean . . . I . . . don’t think I could stand it. I’d die of cold. I’d freeze like an icicle.”
He smiled slowly, that unpracticed one that was boyish and sweet and totally at odds with his appearance. She did step back then. Away from that smile that made her stomach muscles dance.
“I’ll just wash up.”
“Okay.” He stepped around her, and she turned to watch him leave, letting out a gasp when she saw his back. He halted, turning his head.
“What happened to you?” she asked, moving closer and running her finger across a long, jagged scar that ran from his lower ribcage to the middle of his back. He had other scars on his back as well, but that one was by far the worst.
He turned toward her. “A pig. It tried to gut me.”
“A pig? One of those wild boars?” She shivered internally. She hated those things. They were crazy and unpredictable, and she’d heard awful stories about people being horribly maimed or even killed by them when they’d unexpectedly encountered one.
“He was wild. But so am I.” Something came into his eyes then, something challenging, though she wasn’t sure whether the look had to do with the memory of being attacked by the wild boar, or a warning he was issuing to her.
She raised her chin, meeting his eyes. “Clearly he didn’t get the best of you.”
He watched her for a few moments, and then he let out a breath, turning. Over his shoulder he said, “I’ll be inside.”
She stood there for a moment, watching him walk effortlessly through the snow, knowing he’d done it a thousand times, under a thousand different winter skies. Why had he made a point to comment about being wild, she wondered as she turned and made her way inexpertly to the water pump a few feet away. Was it a warning? Why? Did he want her to go because she bothered him by interrupting the way of life he’d become familiar with and had no desire to change? She thought about what he’d told her the night before. How someone had taken him from his baka and left him out there. She supposed it wasn’t much worse than what she’d already thought she understood: his parents had abandoned him to the elements. But didn’t he want answers to the questions of who and why? Who had been cruel enough to do that to a little boy? And could it be a coincidence that he’d seen the helicopters looking for her parents on the same night he’d been left out there?
She pondered on what little she knew of the mystery as she splashed frigid water on her face, letting out a sharp squeal as it hit her skin. She smoothed the water back through her hair, rinsed her mouth, and used her finger to clean her teeth as best as possible. He had a toothbrush in a cup next to the water pump, but no toothpaste. No products at all. Apparently, he hadn’t been willing to trade with Driscoll for shampoo. She used the other rustic amenities before heading back inside.
When she got to his door, she knocked, feeling uncomfortable with just opening it and letting herself inside. Jak pulled it open, now having put on the same long-sleeved shirt. She gestured over her shoulder. “It looks like a winter wonderland out there.”
He looked past her for a moment, his gaze softening. “Things aren’t always . . . the same as they look.”
She stepped inside and he closed the door. “Yes. I know. I mean, it’s beautiful, but no less harsh. Is that what you mean?”