“—drove up the wrong Mountain Road, got stuck in the snow, and were found by my fool dog,” he finished for her, an eyebrow arching in grim amusement.
“…yeah, something like that,” she mumbled, averting her gaze to the dog to try to hide her humiliation.
He squinted up at the sky, which continued to dump down its bounty without any signs of abating. There was a hushed, cocooned feel to it, something isolated and intimate, like they were the only people in Vermont at that moment. Corinne had not often experienced snow, had not grown up with it, certainly, so she’d always loved the coziness of a snowfall, but her circumstances at that moment were not conducive to thoughts of hot cocoa and wrapping up in a blanket by the fire as she watched the world turn white.
She was almost bowled over, in that moment, by a wave of yearning to be home, in the house by the sea where she and her brother and father had lived together. If her ankle weren’t throbbing dully in pain, that would be nice, too.
No, that wasn’t true. If she never again saw that house, never again sat in the midst of all the memories of people who were gone and never coming back, she’d be the happiest person alive. With a deep sigh, she retreated into the stoicism that had served her so well through all the most difficult times of her life, and forced her features into placid, blank lines.
“I’ll help you dig your car out,” the man told her. “I’ll push it backwards down the track, to the road, and then you can be on your way.”
“I’m out of gas,” she admitted with reluctance.
He scowled. “I’ll drive you back down in my car, then.”
She blinked. “Well, I mean, you could try?” Then she gestured to their white-blanketed surroundings. “But the snow was pretty high when I got stuck. Unless you have a Humvee, I don’t see you able to drive through it.”
His scowl became even more pronounced. Somehow, it didn’t make a dent in his attractiveness.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll… think of something else.” His vivid gaze ran over her again, just as thoroughly as the previous times he’d done so. “I guess you should come to my place until I can figure out what to do.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at how grudging and resentful he sounded.
“So gracious of you,” she murmured, glaring when he aimed the scowl at her. She scowled back, twice as hard. But on her first step, her weak ankle buckled and she pitched forward onto her face, fortunately landing in a nice soft snowdrift. “Dammit,” she mumbled into the snow.
A strong hand grasped her arm and somehow flipped her over to her back. She blinked up at him for a second time through a haze of ice crystals and wondered how upset he’d be if she just sort of… snagged his sleeve and yanked him down on top of her.
“What’s your name?” she asked breathlessly.
“Wyatt,” he replied shortly. “Yours?”
“Wyatt,” she repeated. His eyes narrowed. “I’m Corinne.”
“You’re trouble, is what you are,” he muttered. “What’s wrong? You hurt?”
She stood again, this time with his assistance, his hand like a band of steel around her elbow. “Your dog tackled me. I twisted my ankle when I fell.”
Wyatt shot the beast a fulminating glare. Leo pranced away, supremely unconcerned, after a squirrel he thought he had a chance of vanquishing.
“Well, we’re not getting any warmer. Let’s go.”
He slid his gloved hand down her forearm to her wrist, encircling it with his fingers before slinging her arm around his shoulders.
“Oh!” she said in surprise. She hadn’t expected that; for him to fetch her a sturdy branch to use as a cane, perhaps, but not for him to press his divine body all along hers and practically carry her through the woods. “If you slow down, just a little, I can go in rhythm with you. It’ll be easier in the long run.”
He slowed down only enough to be noticeable and Corinne duly changed her strides so that she put her weight on her injured ankle when he was stepping on the foot closest to her, thus distributing their weight to avoid overbalancing, and soon enough they were making progress that, while not brisk, was at least steady.
The world’s most awkward three-legged race, she thought, feeling stupid and embarrassed and still kind of turned on.
It took a bit over ten minutes, she estimated, to come to a little clearing, in the center of which sat the coziest, most wonderful-looking log cabin she’d ever seen. The big windows glowed with light from inside, giving it a welcoming atmosphere. The logs were a golden honey-brown, the porch was neatly stacked with piles and piles of firewood, and smoke curled from the chimney, filling the air with a wonderful homey smell that Corinne inKyled deeply. It was precisely what she’d wanted, when she’d arranged to rent the place she thought she’d been driving toward.
Shame she’d only be enjoying it for a short while, before Wyatt drove her back down the mountain, because she thought it unlikely she’d be able to get to her own cabin, with how the weather was acting. If they made it down the mountain at all.
Up the three steps to the porch they went. Wyatt kicked the door open and hauled her through. The heat of the interior was incredibly welcome and Corinne basked in it while taking in her surroundings. There was a single large room with a sofa and two big armchairs arranged around a roaring fireplace. A kitchen area stood along the far wall, with heavenly smells emitting from a tall pot on the stove. Two doors were on the left wall, leading to… a bathroom, most likely, and something else, possibly a bedroom?
In spite of the rustic setting and traditional exterior of the cabin, inside was not snowshoes and fishing poles, as Corinne had seen in the photos advertising her cabin. Instead, it was all deep jewel tones of blue and green, with brown and tan leather. Everything was worn enough to be comfortable but still in excellent condition and, if she weren’t mistaken, very high quality— nothing looked cheap or flimsy. She thought back to all the chairs she’d broken just by sitting her considerably-sized self in them and almost sighed at the thought of not having to worry she’d demolish the man’s home.
“Does it meet with your approval?” he asked, and she realized he was standing there, watching her survey his cabin, looking very amused. He’d denuded himself of his outer wear and, as she watched, tugged off his boots to set them in a tray by the door. Under his coat, he was wearing a thick cable-knit sweater in navy blue. He looked positively edible.
“Y-yes, it’s nice,” she stammered, embarrassed. “It’s wonderful, that’s why I was— Yes. Sorry.” Balanced like a flamingo on one leg, she plucked at her own coat. “Should I…?”
“Unless you want to sit in cold, soggy clothes and give yourself pneumonia, yes, at the very least the coat should come off,” replied Wyatt. “You should probably take it all off.”
Her eyes flew from where she’d looked down, starting to peel off her damp gloves, to his face. God, his jaw was a work of art. Another little hallucination, of her naked, and him, too, their bodies painted with firelight, flitted before her eyes.
“I meant— come here,” he said, a faint pink tinge coming to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold they’d just left. He pointed to the first door on the side wall. “My bedroom. In the dresser… clothes you can put on. We’re about the same size, it should all fit. I’ll get you a towel. You want some coffee? Tea? Cocoa? Pot roast? No, that’s not ready yet. A sandwich?”
He’s embarrassed, Corinne realized in wonder, and nervous, if the rambling were any indication. Adorable.
She quickly shucked her snow-caked parka, scarf, and gloves, hanging them all on the pegs in the wall by the door. She sat on the arm of the nearest chair to tug off her boots before setting them neatly beside his in the tray. She hobbled a few steps in his direction but he soon sighed and approached, slinging her arm around his shoulders once more, to help her get to her destination with more speed.
This close, unencumbered by their coats, she could feel his body heat. He smelled like a cologne commercial, too, somet
hing spicy and mouth-watering that put her in mind of thick golden resin. Perhaps it was for the best that he was so keen to get rid of her, because being cooped up in this place with him for any period of time would be hazardous to her sanity.
He nudged open the bedroom door with his sock-clad foot. Inside was a massive bed in a wooden frame that looked nigh-indestructible, and why was she thinking about how sturdy his bed was? Oh, who was she trying to fool? She knew why. The bed was piled high with fluffy pillows and a duvet that looked thick enough to drown in. Corinne wanted to swan-dive into it and not come back out for a week.
And if she had company while she were there, well…
Darting a sideways glance at him, she found his gaze locked on the bed and watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. When he looked at her, she could have sworn the expression on his perfect face was hunger.
“Th-that pot roast smells good,” she said inanely, but it was the only explanation she could think of.
He looked confused. “…yes?” he replied. They stared at each other another few seconds before he cleared his throat. “So, uh, like I said…” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Help yourself. And… a towel. I’ll get you one.”
He left her there. She began to undress, pulling her sweater off— shivering when the cold, wet cuffs touched her goosebumped skin— to reveal the sleeveless t-shirt she liked to layer underneath, then stripped off her socks. She hazarded a guess for where his socks might be and struck gold on her first try. Selecting the topmost pair, she sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on her chilled feet.
A noise at the door had her looking up to find Wyatt in the threshold, a towel dangling from one hand, seemingly forgotten as he stared at her. Was she that freakish, that she’d stun him into freezing like a statue and goggling at her as if she were an exhibit at a freak show? Standing, she limped to him and took the towel.
“Thank you,” she muttered unhappily, draping it over her head and scrubbing furiously at her sodden hair, hating herself and him and Leo and everyone and everything else on the entire planet.
Chapter 3
Fuck. It was both an expression of dismay but also what Wyatt Lindstrom wanted to do in that instant: fuck. He had no idea what was wrong with his groin, but it was very, very interested in this very unusual woman.
It had begun the moment he’d reached where she’d lain in the snow. Searching for Leo, hearing what sounded like an exclamation of pain from a woman, he’d followed the sound to find a person sprawled out on their back. He’d bent over them, looking for signs of life, trying to calculate exactly how much work it would cause him if they were dead, when they’d laughed, though it sounded more like the kind of cynical laughing that was all he seemed to do, anymore, than from genuine amusement.
There was no time to puzzle over that; the person opened their eyes, looking straight up at him, and then he was experiencing a near-instantaneous erection the likes of which he’d not experienced since his high school days.
The size of the person had given him pause; they were enormous, as big as he was, and he was no shrimp. And their face was covered. All he’d seen were their eyes, but that appeared to be all his cock required to stand at attention.
God, I hope that’s not a man, he’d thought. If it is, I have some thinking to do. He didn’t want to fuck a man. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but… the only penis he had any sexual interest in was his own, and only in terms of using it to get off rather than enjoying it for its own sake.
The relief that had coursed through him, when she’d confirmed she was female, had been just as enormous as she was. Nothing to worry about, he thought, and wondered if he could talk her into a quickie before he hastened her back off his mountain.
Damned inconvenience, there being two Mountain Roads. No matter how he tried, how often or how generously he tried to bribe the governor, the man stood firm against renaming one of the roads to something else. Lindstrom Lane had a nice ring to it, but no. As long as the governor’s crazy wife continued to badmouth Wyatt to her husband, who’d do as she said just to shut her up, Wyatt had no hope of prevailing. The governor’s wife couldn’t get over the way her lone date in college with Wyatt, fifteen years earlier, hadn’t led to a wild romance and eventual marriage as she’d planned, and now she was making him pay. Wyatt felt bad for her husband… almost.
Well, if it meant he got the odd lost visitor instead of a lifetime of misery wed to a loonie, he’d take the duplications of Mountain Roads, and happily.
Or as happily as could be when his home had been invaded by a gigantic woman who made his hormones rage like they hadn’t in decades. The strength of her was apparent, as they’d stumbled to the cabin, making Wyatt wonder when he’d acquired a fetish for women who could bench-press him, possibly with a single hand. She gazed around the cabin with such open longing that he’d felt a pang of sympathy for her— something had happened to make her want the comforting warmth and shelter his place provided.
On her face, in that moment, he’d seen a yearning to belong, to have a place to curl up and lick her wounds, and wasn’t that precisely why he’d moved there in the first place? Wasn’t that precisely why he was going to hurry her out the door, and off the mountain, never to be seen again?
It made sense, to hustle her into his bedroom to dry off and change into dry clothes, but he hadn’t counted on what proximity to both her and the bed would do to him. She smelled like the sea, something fresh and clean, reminding him of sailing and swimming and dozing on a sunny beach. Returning to the room with a towel and finding her with her arms bare, smooth skin flowing over the undulating muscles of her shoulders and biceps, made his throat go dry with desire. God, what would it be like to have those strong arms around him?
But she had taken his staring poorly, was insulted by his blatant observation— and why not? Having a complete stranger watch her like he wanted to take a bite out of her, she probably thought he was a pervert or an ax murderer— and came to snatch the towel away.
Unfortunately, when she began to rub her hair dry, the motion made her breasts jiggle under her shirt. And if his suspicion were correct, she wore no bra beneath it, the dark shadows of her nipples showing through the whisper-thin cotton.
“I’ll just…” he began, but then decided simply to flee. His own clothes needed changing, his jeans clinging cold and damp to his legs, but that didn’t seem to matter much. Needing some air and distance, he stepped back into his boots, pulled his coat on with a fresh pair of gloves and a dry scarf, and headed out to try to fetch the stupid dog in.
Outside was all swirling snow, the faint crisp sound of it falling the only sound in that muffled, silent world. Their footsteps from only minutes earlier were well on their way to filling in, and there was no sign of Leo anywhere.
He’ll come back eventually, Wyatt thought grouchily, and went back inside, carrying with him another armload of firewood. He stacked it in the rack on the hearth, then divested himself of coat and the rest once more, standing before the fire with hands out to warm again.
He hadn’t even wanted the dog to begin with. His brother Tyler had convinced him that, if he were going to set himself up in a hermitage atop a mountain far from home, he needed to have some company.
“That defeats the purpose of being alone,” he’d told his brother dryly, but Tyler would not be dissuaded.
“You’ll go insane all by yourself,” he’d informed Wyatt. “More insane, that is.”
And yes, it probably wasn’t too rational, leaving everything behind to go into seclusion like a religious zealot, minus the religion, but… the world was fraught with stress and pain. Or at least people were. Wyatt had had enough of both. Avoid people and you avoid the mess they brought into your life, he figured.
Wyatt had had the good fortune to be born a Lindstrom, of the New York Lindstroms, the wealthiest and most powerful branch of a family that was among the wealthiest and most powerful of all families in the c
ountry. He had attended the best prep school, gotten an MBA from the Wharton School, taken possession of his immense trust fund at the age of twenty-five, and joined his elder sister Kaylee and their father in running The Lindstrom Group.
The Lindstrom Group had a finger in every pie imaginable; Lindstroms were famous for hedging their bets. They owned the country’s largest chain of bookstores, but also had massive quantities of stock in Amazon. Lindstrom Energy was one of the world’s preeminent drilling companies, but also had a division working feverishly to create methods of power not reliant on fossil fuel. Whatever life threw at them, the Lindstroms were going to be prepared.
…except they weren’t prepared when, after finally reaching critical mass of tolerance for his family’s cut-throat managing practices, Wyatt could no longer withstand the protests of his conscience, and left.
He was infamous within the family for having a conscience at all. The blame for it was placed squarely on the head of that hippy who Uncle Kevan had married; Aunt Darla had been a notorious flower child, back in the day, but she had also been a smoking-hot babe who Uncle Kevin was powerless to resist. He’d married her, and she’d been the sole shining light of goodness, of openness and love, in Wyatt’s affection-starved youth.
Kaylee and their younger brother, Tyler, had tolerated her overtures of affection with the same “what can you do?” resignation of the rest of the Lindstroms, but Wyatt… Wyatt had always wanted more, needed more, than token gestures of familial sentiment. He felt, sometimes, like the only person among them with a heart beating in his chest instead of a series of gears and cogs serving to keep their bodies going.
Common Lindstrom practice, when economic downturn threatened, was to reduce the size of their workforce. Labor was the steepest of the costs impacting their bottom line, after all, and at the end of the fiscal year, they needed to show significant profits on their bottom line in the annual report to stockholders. The board of directors decided that layoffs were the way to go, and handed down the command to their chief operations officer— Wyatt— to get the task done.
Signs of Life Page 2