by Erin Havoc
This side-road is even darker than the main one.
I do hope this man loves my cake. And Laura, my former classmate, will have to share the picture of it a couple of times to make it worth it.
I drive up, gripping the wheel as I press my teeth together. At the end of the road, I glimpse a house. More of a cottage really. There’s no light nearby except the one coming from the windows. A warm glow amid the snow and silence.
I’m finally here.
Sighing, I park next to the porch entrance. I leave the car and a gust of cold wind hits me, messing my hair. I pat it back in place, wanting to look presentable as I open the back door of my car and pull the cake out.
It’s way colder than I expected when I approach the main door. I knock. No sound comes from the inside.
Anxiety rolls over me. He has to be home. Good Lord if I drove all the way here for nothing.
My fingers grow numb with the cold. I knock again. This time, I hear steps.
I go over the man’s name once more in my head and what I’m going to say. My cheeks are beginning to burn with the chill when the door opens.
The smile I had opened freezes on my face.
The man staring down at me is huge.
Huge.
I cannot put into words how big this man is. He’d have to duck to pass through the door. But he doesn’t. He does nothing. He only stares at me like I’m an alien or a rather strange bug. His shoulders are wide, taking the whole door. A beard covers his chin and his eyes are hard.
Words die on my tongue. Am I in the right place?
“Yes?” He says in a rough, hoarse voice that… That…
That should terrify me. Should make me turn on my heels and run for my life.
But that’s not what his voice does. Oh, no.
Why in the world are my panties so damp?
2
* * *
ZACH
For a moment, I wonder if I’m dreaming.
There’s a woman on my porch.
And not any woman. She’s beautiful. Bright green eyes on a doll’s face. Her cheeks are bright pink. She’s not properly dressed for the cold up here — the jacket and jeans she wears mark her frame, and she’s got curves for days. But she’s definitely freezing.
For a moment, I’m sure I’m dreaming. There is no other reason for a woman like her to be here, holding a… box?
“Yes?”
Her plump lips part, a puff of air leaving her mouth. Fuck, she’s not beautiful, she’s glorious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman like this.
“Are you Zachary Holiday?” She says it in a small, trembling voice.
Am I scaring her?
Wait. Is she here to see me?
“I am. And who are you?”
“I… I’m Sienna.” The way her gaze shifts up and down my body ignites something in me. This small girl is checking me out. Fuck. “I was sent by Laura.”
I frown hard. Why the hell is my daughter sending girls like this one here? In the middle of a snowstorm?
“She didn’t mention she was sending someone. Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head, her dark hair covering her shoulders. She has a strand of hair dyed pink next to her temple. I stretch an arm, gripping the door frame. The image of her dark and pink hair wrapped around my knuckles flash on the back of my mind. I imagine fisting her hair as I guide her plump lips up and down my cock.
I grind my teeth together. I’ve never had this reaction to a female. Any female. And I’m forty.
“It’s your birthday, right?” She smiles, and it’s bright like sunshine. “Happy birthday,” she says in a sing-song voice, reaching the box for me.
I blink. Several times. Then I take the box from her. “Did Laura send you all the way here for this?”
She nods, putting her hands in her pockets. “Yeah. She said she wouldn’t be able to drive up here to see you, and she wanted to send you something.”
I look her up and down again. Is this Laura’s idea of a joke? She never sends me anything. We keep little contact besides the basics. I ask her how she’s doing and what she’s needing. She says she’s okay and sends me a list of stuff she needs to pay for — new shoes, fix her car, Internet and college bills. Then I send her the money.
Her mother’s pregnancy came as a surprise for I’ve always been careful with protection. But I never doubted her word, and I tried my best to be present in Laura’s life. After she grew up, it got harder and harder. And I don’t really see the need of her sending me this out of nowhere. She’s never been one for surprises.
And what kind of surprise is this one?
Our eyes meet. Her green orbs give me an odd feeling — like I’ve forgotten something and I can’t remember what. Sienna gasps softly, her face reddening further. I feel the sound deep in me.
Deep in my balls.
I tell myself it’s because of the snowstorm. But really, I’m not ready to let her out of my sight just yet.
Stepping inside my cabin, I motion with my head for the girl still standing by the porch. “Come on in. Warm yourself up a little.”
She seems to debate it for a moment — which is the correct thing to do. I’m a stranger. A stranger in the woods. She shouldn’t trust me.
But after a heartbeat, she follows me inside my place and shuts the door behind her. Pressing small hands to her arms, she hugs herself and shudders to the warmth in here.
My place is not huge — I know how cold it can get up here, and larger places are harder to keep warm. I pass the living room, where I had been sitting with a book by the fireplace, and step to the main corridor. I hear her soft steps following me.
Down here, I have a bathroom, a guest room, the living room, and the kitchen. The kitchen is big enough to have both the cooking space and the dining area. That’s where I head to.
I put the mystery box over my dining table and wait for beautiful Sienna to follow me there. When she doesn’t, stopping by the door frame with a gasp, I turn to watch her.
She gawks at my kitchen, from the wide counters to the number of drawers, the large fridge and the apparels. I do have plenty of stuff in here. Since I usually spend long months isolated within the cabin, I like to have options and large quantities.
I watch the way her green eyes widen, how they glisten with pleasure as she takes my place in.
It fills me with an odd pride. Yeah, I want her to like my place. I don’t know why, but I do.
She turns, giving me a full view of that perfect, round ass of hers. Raw instinct kicks in. A beast inside me growls.
A beast I had no idea existed. I have never been one that cared about relationships — my mind’s always been on my job. But now my whole being yearns for her.
It’s not only about sex. It’s about her.
My body wants her. It needs her. This girl who just showed up at my doorstep, bringing me a present from my daughter in the middle of a snowstorm. She’s trouble. Sienna is trouble times ten with the way she’s swaying her hips around my place.
And this is wrong. This is so wrong. I’ve done many a wrong thing working for my country, but nothing like this. Nothing like wanting a girl twenty years younger than me. So innocent. So pure. A stranger invited her in, and she just accepted.
Forcing my attention back to the box, I read the pink letters written across it.
Muffin Top Bakery.
I frown. No, I scowl.
A bakery?
I look over my shoulder at the petite, curvy girl running her fingers over my counters. She looks way too young to have a business of her own. Maybe she just delivers the goods?
But she looks at my kitchen with such adoration, I can’t help but picture her using it. Owning it.
Gritting my teeth, I force breath in.
Get a grip, Zachary.
Too young. Too innocent.
All shades of forbidden.
“You have a nice place here, Mr. Holiday.” She chimes, her voice ringing like soft bells.
I don’t want to answer her. I don’t want to look at her. Because I’m suddenly wondering about how she tastes.
This is going too fast. I’m behaving like I was possessed.
She goes on, stepping closer. “I hope you like it. Laura’s the one who chose it.”
I open the box, but my attention is not there. It’s in her, as she gets too close. Her warmth spreads through the air to touch my arm. Her fragrance wafts up to my nose, but before I can distinguish how she smells like, I hold my breath.
I’m not going there. I can’t do this.
This woman is temptation in flesh.
Finally, my eyes focus on the item inside the box.
It’s a cake.
And it’s blue.
Whoever baked this took their time with the swirls and the writing and the decorations. It’s well-made. It must have been quite expensive.
What the hell did Laura have on her mind?
“What do you think?” The girl standing next to me stands on her tip-toes, pressing her hands to my table. Just by the way her voice hitches, I can tell she’s the one who did the baking.
I would have liked to protect her feelings. But I have no reason to.
In fact, it’s for the best if I suck it up and let her go. The truth is that I need this girl out as soon as possible. My body is having the strangest reaction when she gets this close.
Better to rip the band-aid. If she hates me, she’ll leave and I’ll never see her again. No risks.
“I hate cake.”
She silences. Thoroughly. Even her breathing quiets down.
I slide her a glance. Her plump lips are open, her brows arched up in a shocked expression. Heat flickers in her eyes.
No, not shocked.
Outraged.
“What?” The words escape her mouth in a tone I’m surprised to hear. It comes out as a breathless threat. As if I had just insulted her mother.
I turn to look at that expression better. It’s something I wasn’t expecting. She was supposed to be saddened, disappointed, but not insulted.
She squares her shoulders. As if she’s about to pick a fight with me.
With me.
I’m double her size. In height and span. She’s got curves but I’m wide-shouldered. She’s tiny next to me. A small porcelain doll I’m afraid to break if I treat unkindly.
But she stands with such fiber. With such fierceness, I’m sure she’ll hit me.
Slowly, I shrug. “I don’t like cake. Nothing sweet, really.”
She gasps. I force my jaw shut to keep the laughter from escaping. She’s offended. Because I don’t like cake.
Who is this woman?
I don’t even remember the last time I laughed. The last time I felt this heat, this need to have something, someone.
And she entered my house, my life, like a whirlwind, turning everything upside down.
She’s shaking her head, covering her heart with a hand and stepping back.
Raising my hands in a placating sign, I press my brows together. “It’s okay, you had no reason to know it. I’m just surprised Laura bought a cake. I thought she knew.”
She shakes her head harder. “It doesn’t matter! It can’t be true. You can’t not like cake. It’s against human nature! It’s against nature itself.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “How so?”
“We, humans, love sweet things. Our bodies love it, it’s easy fuel. You can’t tell me you don’t like cake.”
“You’re reacting as you’ve just learned I’m a serial killer or something.”
Her eyes flare up and she grins. “I know what. You definitely ate awful cakes throughout your life and you’re now traumatized. That’s it!” She turns in her heels and walks to my drawers. My drawers. She pulls a couple open looking for something. “Let me just find a fork. You’ll eat my cake and you’ll love it!”
I gawk, watching her fumble through my things in search of a fork. She does find it and turns to me with the apparel tight between her small fingers. The smirk across her face, bright with confidence, fades as she catches sight of something over my shoulder.
“Oh, no,” she murmurs, striding across the kitchen. She passes me and walks straight to the windows behind. “Holy shucks!”
I turn to the windows too.
And the snowstorm that had been brewing has just hit us hard.
3
* * *
SIENNA
The world has turned white.
I blink, hands sprawled on the windows, but nothing changes. It’s still white. The storm mostly feels like someone is ditching buckets of snow over the house.
The glass quivers under my fingers with the force of the wind. I slide a glance at my car, pressing my face against the glass. The snow is piling up high next to the tires.
Where is all this snow coming from, anyway?
I scowl at the sky I cannot see, cursing it under my breath.
“I can’t believe it,” I breathe against the glass, the window fogging for a moment. Dread falls like lead in the pit of my stomach.
“It’s hit sooner than expected.” Mr. Holiday says from behind me. Shivers crawl down my arms and it’s not because of the cold. No, it’s rather warm in here. But his voice?
His voice has the effect of a hot shower during a cold evening. It relaxes me and tenses me at the same time. It makes my skin prickle with goosebumps.
It also turns my knees to jelly.
Half-turning to him, I clear my throat. “I thought I could make it up here and back down in time.”
He cocks his head, tilting a brow up. “You would never make it back in time. Be glad you’re safe from the storm. It would be way worse if you were out on the road. It’s too dark out there. You might hit a tree or something.”
Hit a tree. Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe I did hit a tree and this whole thing is a dream.
Because this place feels out of the world. It’s warm and cozy while a storm rages outside. And this man?
This man towers over me with this rough voice of his, and I’m supposed to be scared but no. My body is reacting in a way I’ve never felt. I’ve never thought possible.
My girl parts ache. For a man that’s not hiding his displeasure with my presence.
I turn to face him fully. It’s so strange that he’s a classmate’s father. Yes, he does look older. But he’s not the usual forty-something-year-old man with a beer gut sitting on the couch watching soccer.
No, he’s anything but. He’s feral. Tough like a NAVY Seal, granite-jawed and muscled. There’s no kindness in his features.
The way he looks at me makes me feel exposed. Like a child who’s been caught messing up.
And I like it. I quiver at the thought of being spanked.
He releases a sharp breath. “You can stay here. It’s safer.”
I grip the fork tighter. His voice has an annoying power over me. There’s liquid fire running through my body as I stand to his scrutiny. He’s doing nothing. But his presence starts something in me. Deep inside me.
Low, between my legs.
I can’t stay.
Shaking my head, I lick my parched lips. “No, I— I can’t stay. Do you have a phone?”
“I do,” his voice is hoarse. Am I bothering him? I must be bothering him. The man lives on the top of a mountain, he definitely dislikes people. “But the line will be dead with the storm.”
I grunt in disappointment, turning back to scowl at the storm. How stupid of me. Driving up here in a snowstorm to do something I’m not even being paid for. Maybe that’s Laura’s idea of a joke. Her father clearly doesn’t think it’s funny.
Mr. Holiday takes a step closer. My muscles tense from my neck to the tips of my toes. It almost feels like he’s giving off an electric field. It’s crashing straight into me.
He halts as he watches me tense up. Slowly, he brings his hands up, palms facing me. “I’m not going to hurt you. But leaving in the middle of a storm is a deat
h wish. You should wait it out.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I curl my nose, turning to face him. I force my muscles to relax. “I’m just frustrated with this.”
His hands come to rest by his sides. “Did you have plans? I’m afraid you won’t be able to warn anyone. Not even the radio works right with this weather.”
“I know,” I sigh, my shoulders slumping.
“I don’t think you would be able to see much if you tried to leave. You can keep the guest room and I won’t bother you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I repeat myself, locking eyes with him. I regret immediately. He’s all sharp edges and his eyes are as gray as the sky outside. “Just frustrated. But it can’t be helped.” I bring the fork up. “At least I can force you to eat my cake now.”
His lip curls in what I believe is supposed to be a smile. “You’re persistent.”
“I am.” A grin opens across my face. If it can’t be helped, I have no reason to sulk around. I have to make the most of every moment. All I have to do is ignore this gigantic arousal I’m feeling toward him. Simple. “Just a tiny piece?”
“No,” he says curtly, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging.
I pry my gaze from his arms. “It’s rude to say that to the cook’s face. Just try it!”
“No,” he repeats, his smile widening. “I don’t like sweet things. Cake is supposed to be sweet, no?”
“But this one is different! Laura did say you liked subtler tastes, so I tried to make a mix that wouldn’t be overwhelming.”
He shakes his head, stepping back. “Give it up, lady.”
“Never!” I stride to stand in front of him and keep him from leaving the kitchen. “Come on, Mr. Holiday. Do you want me to beg?”
Something crosses his face. Something dark.
Animalistic.
It heats my insides like whiskey.
We stand facing one another for too many heartbeats. His eyes have darkened and I swallow, tilting my chin up.
I’m not afraid. Just terribly aroused.
“I’ll warm dinner up.” He finally grumbles, turning to the fridge.