Читать книгу Northern Encounter - JENNIFER LABRECQUE - Страница 8

TESSA ROLLED OVER AGAIN and glanced at the bedside clock. After midnight. She was tired. By all accounts and purposes she should already be asleep. Instead she was wide awake and restless.

It was as if everyone she’d met tonight was flowing through her brain and she couldn’t stop thinking about them. She traveled frequently and met lots of new people, but she’d never felt as engaged by new acquaintances as she had with the citizens of Good Riddance.

And at the top of the engaging-people heap was Clint Sisnuket who happened to be in the room next door. At least tonight there was a wall between them. Tomorrow night they’d be sharing a single-room cabin. The mere thought set her pulse racing.

She hadn’t been prepared for the sheer impact when she met the man. Those dark eyes, the high, flat cheek bones, the beautiful hue of his skin, the glossy darkness of his hair, the rich cadence of his voice all tripped her trigger.

And in return she couldn’t figure him out. He’d been almost hostile when she’d first met him, but then a couple of times over dinner, she could’ve sworn he was as attracted to her as she was to him. And she supposed in the long run none of it mattered because she was simply here to do her job and then move on to the next location.

Feeling thoroughly out of sorts with herself and the fact that she couldn’t sleep, she pushed aside the quilt and sheet and climbed out of bed. It was chilly outside the covers but she welcomed the cold. She’d worn thick, wool, hiking socks in bed, and now that she was up, her feet felt warm. In an effort to pack light, she hadn’t bothered with pajamas and instead was sleeping in thermal bottoms and top. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she wandered over to the window and looked out.

Outside the wind howled and snow swirled like white confetti being blown out of a machine. It took her a few seconds to realize that no lights lit the single street running through the town’s center. She rather liked the way it looked with just the rushing snow. Something she couldn’t name shifted inside her.

Without giving it a second thought, she grabbed one of her cameras and started shooting through the window. It would probably never make it to one of her videos but she wanted it for herself because there was something very moving about the place at this moment.

Satisfied with what she’d captured on film, she turned the camera off. As she leaned forward, her warm breath fogged the glass. She smiled at her whimsical impulse to trace her initials there the way she used to in the freezer section of the grocery store when she went shopping with her mother. There was definitely something about this room, this place, that evoked childhood memories, memories from the time before she lost her parents.

Tessa put the camera away and crossed to the door. She cautiously opened it to the landing. Merrilee had given her room to the pilot—Tessa couldn’t remember his name—who’d flown in Merrilee’s ex-husband and his fiancée. Actually, Tessa was pretty sure Merrilee appreciated having an excuse not to sleep under the same roof with Tad Weatherspoon.

Tessa didn’t blame Merrilee at all. Tad left a lot to be desired with his big mouth, hair plugs and spray-on tan. The couple was in the room at the opposite end of the hall.

Moving quietly, Tessa eased her bedroom door closed behind her. She made her way down the hall to the communal bathroom guided by a hall nightlight and one in the bathroom, wincing when one of the floorboards creaked loudly beneath her weight.

She finished her bathroom business and smiled as she washed her hands in the sink that replicated an old-fashioned wash basin. She liked Merrilee’s flannel-and-lace shower curtain. It brought a touch of whimsy and softened all the wood in the room without being overwhelmingly feminine and fussy.

Tessa was returning to her room when Clint opened his door and stepped out.

The hall quite suddenly became very tight quarters since he had obviously rolled out of bed and pulled on just a pair of blue jeans and flannel shirt. His jeans were zipped but his shirt hung open, revealing a broad chest well sculpted with muscle. Like men from many native cultures, he had very little body hair, or at least none she could see on his chest.

Tessa forced herself not to stare in the low lighting but her heart thumped in her chest like a wild thing. She had only thought he was potently sexy before. Now she knew.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, for lack of anything else to say. Something desperately needed to be said, otherwise she’d probably continue to stare at him like a hungry cat eyeing a tin of sardines. For crying out loud, you’d think she’d never seen a man with his shirt open. She had. Plenty of them, in fact. It was just that none of them had been this man and none of them had looked like he did.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked in a low tone. The shadowed hallway accentuated the angles and planes of his face, the intensity of his dark eyes.