Joseph limped toward Sophie and sank to his knees in front of her. He swiped at her tears with his thumbs. His palms lingered against her cheeks. Her skin was as cold as fresh snow in winter. A strong urge to kiss her again seared his insides. Joseph refused to contemplate his reaction to her. He had to stop this nonsense thinking. She was as soft and delicate as an alpine flower, and not suited for a life in his mountains. After she’d get a taste of winter in the Tetons, she would hightail it back to Boston as soon as the passes cleared next spring. He’d told himself repeatedly that he wouldn’t care for another woman who would only trample all over his heart when she returned to her former existence.
“Princess, you need to get out of these wet clothes,” he said slowly, his eyes on her. What sort of a reaction would his comment receive? “You’ll freeze to death otherwise.” He held out his dry shirt. “You can put this on while your things dry out.”