Hell, maybe it frightened him a little too.
He had never felt like this around anyone before her—torn, confused, unsure what the hell he was doing, craving the feel of her eyes on him.
Hungry and wild for her.
She swallowed hard and twisted away from him, kept her gaze fixed on the storm as he pulled his coat on.
There was a tremble in her voice as she said, “Is it day?”
“It’s day. Late morning maybe. Not going to get much lighter than this.” He stepped up behind her, unable to deny the ache to be closer to her, to see how close she would allow him to get.
When he inched a little closer, she tensed, and then hurried forwards.
“Round the back, right?” She was quick to rush for the steps, and he chuckled as the wind caught her and she was forced to brace herself, was almost toppled into the deep snow.
Saint closed the door behind him and took hold of her arm, his grip firm. “Let me show you the way, my lady.”
She huffed at him, but didn’t make him release her, just accepted his hand on her. He kept her close to him as the wind battered them, as snow bit into his face and hands. She bent her head, muttering things beneath her breath he couldn’t make out over the howl of the storm. Reaching the outhouse was slow going, and his fingers were numb by the time he spied it through the snow.
“That’s a big toilet,” she muttered, teeth chattering in a way he didn’t like. She was getting cold too.
“It’s a few things in one building. Larder. Storage. Bathroom.” He tried to pick up the pace to stop her from freezing, only she didn’t match his speed and he almost ended up dragging her along behind him.
“Gods!” she bit out as a particularly brutal gust of wind picked snow up and hurled it at both of them, plastering her front.
“Come on. Not far now.” He pushed himself forwards, determined to get to the outhouse, because she wasn’t the only one who needed to go to the toilet now. The cold had tipped him over the edge too.
“Lovely weather we’re having.” Her breezy tone made him smile.
“And now you know why I hate winter.” He tucked her behind him as wind scoured the Ridge again, shielding her from the worst of it. He had to release her to keep her there, but any fear she would make a break for it disappeared as she fisted the back of his jacket, clinging to him.
“You make a good wind blocker.” She nestled a little closer to him and muttered something about how warm he was.
She had to be freezing if she thought he was warm, because he was so cold that he was sure his balls were about to fall off.
“Why, thank you.” He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the wooden hut and tugged the door open. “Here you go. Door to door service.”
He lifted his left arm and looked under it, wanted to smile again as she poked her head around him, but his face was frozen. She was quick to dash for the cover of the bathroom and even quicker to slam the door in his face.
Saint remained behind the cover of the building and relieved himself, made fast work of it as the cold chilled him. He tucked himself away and zipped up, moved back to the door and waited. When more than a few minutes had passed, he rapped his knuckles on it.
“What’s the hold-up?” he grumbled. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
Her soft voice came through the door. “I can’t go… you’ll hear me.”
He scoffed at that. “I’m standing in a roaring blizzard. I’ll hear nothing.”
She muttered, “You will.”
Saint rolled his eyes and searched for a solution, something other than offering to move away from the door because he wasn’t going to leave her unguarded. “I can sing, then I won’t hear you.”
Not that he would hear her even if he didn’t sing, but maybe it would set her at ease.
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Her voice was louder now as another blast of wind cut across the flat valley bottom. “It might be more off-putting.”
He chuckled at that. Humour. It was out of place, but it made him feel she was growing more comfortable around him now.
When he remained silent, she softly said, “Saint? Could you sing?”
He leaned his back to the wall, jammed his hands in his pockets and did as she had asked, singing an old country song she was sure to take the piss out of him over, pointing out how uncultured he was because he didn’t know any modern tunes.
He hadn’t made it far into the song before the door to his left opened. He stopped and looked at Holly, caught the awkward edge to her gaze as she lowered it to the snow and then lifted it again, meeting his.
“You have a nice singing voice.”
That soft admission took him aback, had him standing there staring at her like an idiot. It was the first time someone had told him that.
Rather than trying to think of what to say in response, he muttered, “We should get back, before we both freeze.”
She nodded and stepped down from the hut, closed the door behind her and started along the path ahead of him. He drifted along behind her, a strange sensation growing inside him, one that warmed him. Because she had admired his singing voice?
Pride swelled inside him, had him walking a little taller.
They were halfway to the cabin when a gust of wind came out of nowhere, making him almost lose his footing on the compacted snow.
Holly lost hers.
She slipped and her arms flailed, a shriek ripping from her as she started to go down. Saint lunged for her, grabbed her arm before she hit the deck and kept her on her feet. Barely. He pulled her up and she stumbled into him, slid again and braced her hand against his chest. Her grey-green eyes darted to his.
Hunger rolled through him, had him close to growling as his gaze fell to her lips, as a need to kiss her crashed over him. He stared at her mouth, wanted to groan as her lips parted in response, as his heart pounded a frantic beat against his ribs—against her palm.
The temptation to kiss her was great, but before he could muster the courage to bend his head and capture her lips, he noticed how badly she was trembling.
“You shaking because of the cold or because you’re scared of me?” he husked, praying to the gods it was the former, even when he didn’t like the thought of her being cold. It was better than the thought that she feared him.
Holly eased closer to him, openly seeking his warmth in a way that made him want to growl. “I’m freezing.”
It was strange but addictive to have her this close to him, pressed up against him, even if she was only trying to steal his heat. He dialled back his need, caged his urges, and placed his arm around her. He tucked her against him, waiting for the inevitable protest.
She said nothing, just nestled closer to him, sinking into his side as they walked. Her steps were too slow for his liking, her breathing too shaky. He faced her, bent his knees, and scooped her up into his arms. She didn’t even protest then. She sighed and snuggled up to him, her breath warm on his neck.
Gods, it felt good to hold her like this.
To take care of her.
It felt right.
He carried her the rest of the way to his cabin, didn’t set her down until he had reached the couch. He placed her on it and looked her over, frowned at how pink her fingers were and her face. She didn’t make him stop when he removed her boots, or when he rubbed her toes through her socks to get some warmth into them. She didn’t even push him away when he removed her damp coat, revealing a basic red long-sleeved T-shirt that wasn’t at all suitable for the weather conditions.
No wonder she was cold.
He rose to his feet and went to the door, closed it and hung her coat up and then stripped his off. He kicked his boots off and went back to her as she tried to lean forwards, stretching her hands out towards the fire.
Saint crossed the span of fur between her and it, grabbed the end of the couch nearest her and pulled it towards the log burner, moving her closer to it.
He cast a glance at her as s
he looked at him, gratitude in her eyes.
He sank to his knees in front of her again and rubbed her arms, quickly at first but the strokes slowed as he grew aware of her watching him, her eyes on his face. He lifted his to meet them, stilled as he lost himself in the look she was giving him, one that made him want to kiss her.
She had accepted his warmth. Would she accept his kiss?
Saint didn’t think so, and he didn’t want to frighten her, so he forced himself to stand again and went to the kitchen. He filled the kettle with water from a container he kept beside the sink and set it on the stove, and then hunted through the cupboards, looking for the packets of hot chocolate he was sure he had seen somewhere.
He wanted to growl when they eluded him, when he began to worry he would have to disappoint her and make her coffee instead. It wouldn’t do. Her eyes had lit up when he had offered hot chocolate. He wanted to come good on his offer, wanted to see warmth in her eyes like that again when he presented her with the drink. If he had to go back out into the storm to find some in the larder, he would do it.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he moved a packet of pasta aside and spotted the hot chocolate sachets, grabbed them just as the kettle whistled.
Saint glanced at Holly from time to time as he prepared the drink for her, and one for him. She looked brighter now, the deep flush of cold gone from her skin, and it was a relief to see it. He picked up both drinks and carried them to her, set his down on the small table at the end of the couch and held hers out to her. She was quick to take it, to hug it in both hands, tucking it close to her chest as if it were precious and drawing a deep breath of the steam.
She sighed, the sound holding a hint of bliss.
Apparently, she liked hot chocolate. He made a mental note of that and then shook his head, because once the storm had cleared, he had to do the right thing.
He had to give her back to the cougars.
He stomped away from her as the thought of doing that soured his mood, ignored the heat of her gaze on his back as he walked to the cupboards at the far end of the room. He picked through his shirts, trying to find one that wouldn’t swamp her frame. She needed something warmer to wear, something that wasn’t as revealing as the figure-hugging T-shirt she wore. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to resist the urge to touch her again if he left her in just that flimsy garment.
He needed to cover her up.
Not too much though.
Just enough to shut down that urge that kept coming over him, one that was growing fiercer every time he felt it, that was slowly transforming into a need that was new to him—a desire to bend her to his will.
He fished out a blue checked shirt, sniffed it to make sure it was clean enough for her, and then carried it over to her. When he held it out to her, she scowled at it.
“I’m not wearing that.” She sipped her hot chocolate, not taking her eyes off the fleece shirt, as if it might leap and attack her if she didn’t watch it closely.
“Why not? You’ll be cold in what you’re wearing, and you can’t wear your coat all the time. You’ll be too warm.” He held it closer to her.
She recoiled and glared at it, and then tipped her head back and hit him with a hard look. “You just want me to smell like you and I don’t want that.”
Saint arched an eyebrow at her. It hadn’t been his intent, but good gods, he found it appealing. He was tempted to make her wear it now, wanted to stamp his scent all over her as Cobalt had, as Knox had, but reined it in, aware that if he pushed her, she would push back, and he was enjoying the calm between them.
He tossed it on the arm of the brown couch near her. If she got cold, it was there, an option she could choose to take. That primal part of him liked that idea even more. The thought of her choosing to wear something of his, intentionally rubbing his scent on her, had him on the verge of growling.
So he strode to the kitchen and busied himself again, grabbed the pasta from the cupboard and a pot, and focused on cooking it for her. He stared at the bubbling pot of pasta, deeply aware that she was probably going to find it basic too. If she mentioned his offering of pasta and sauce was subpar, he wouldn’t take offence. Getting her to eat something was more important than avoiding another hit to his pride.
He strained the pasta and divided it onto two blue plates, added sauce from the other pan to both of them and then grabbed two forks and carried them to Holly. She was quick to take the plate from him, and even quicker to tuck into the food.
Not one complaint left her lips as she devoured it, and he enjoyed the comfortable silence as they both ate. When she was done, he took the plate from her and set it on his, and placed them both on the floor.
He sat back and stared at the fire. It would be good for a while, had enough logs to keep it going. He tried not to be hyper-aware of Holly where she sat beside him, close to him, but it was impossible. Her scent of berries teased him, her warmth made him hotter than the fire did, and nerves trickled through his veins, had him glancing sideways at her to see if she was as on edge as he was.
“That was nice,” Holly murmured, no trace of nerves or fear in her voice. “Thank you.”
He glanced at her, lingered as he found her looking at him, as their eyes locked for a moment before hers darted away, settling on the log burner. Maybe she was as nervous as he was about sitting together like this. It seemed crazy to him. It wasn’t as if anything was going to happen, but he couldn’t shake his nerves, couldn’t stop his palms from dampening or his heart from racing.
Gods, he felt like a kid again.
Scared witless by a female, by the feelings she stirred in him, and the thought she might reject him if he dared to act on his impulses.
Holly tucked her legs up beside her and leaned back into the couch, and he sat with her, listening to the fire popping and the wind rattling the panes, debating what he was going to do. He wasn’t talking about whether or not to kiss her either. This was bigger than that, something that had been on his mind from the moment he had realised she wasn’t Ember.
Actually, it had been on his mind from the moment he had cooled down and realised what he had done. Kidnapping really wasn’t his style. He blamed his bear side, blamed the cougars too for riling him when he was tired. Blamed himself. He should have had more control over himself. Should never have resorted to stealing one of the cougars as revenge.
It hadn’t been his finest moment.
And it was unbefitting of an alpha.
He chuckled low as he thought about how reckless he had been back before he had been alpha. That part of him clearly hadn’t changed. Sometimes, he still did stupid things.
“What’s so funny?” Holly sounded sleepy.
He glanced at her, met her gaze again and saw in her eyes that she was tired, that everything was catching up with her now. He wanted to set her at ease so she would sleep, and maybe he could do that by opening up to her a little. Besides, he wanted her to know more about him.
“Thinking about when I took over the pride. I was… not really cut out for it.”
Her dark eyebrows pinched and then relaxed. “Did you lose your parents?”
“Yeah, but they weren’t the pride alphas. They were killed by hunters shortly after I matured.” He sank a little deeper into the couch. “I’m the last of my line. Was raised here and lived here long enough to see it go from a good, happy pride to one that feared its leader.”
She shuffled to face him, her grey-green eyes serious. “And you decided to do something about that.”
He shrugged, but it came off stiff. “I couldn’t let it continue. Saw too many good folks getting hurt… living their lives in fear. Like I said, I was pretty reckless back then. Guess I still am. Always leaping before I look… letting my bear instincts take the reins too easily.”
He waited for her to pick him up on the fact he had kidnapped her, only she didn’t. She just stared at him, her expression soft, firelight flickering over the right side of her face and bringin
g out the cougar gold in her eyes.
“I took the position of alpha through combat. Woke up one day in a bad mood and just walked right up to the bastard and challenged him. Caused quite a stir.”
The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. “I can imagine. You seem to have a habit of doing that.”
“I’m trying to get better. I try to do the right thing.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Sometimes I screw up though.”
She didn’t look angry at him because of his screw up this time. In fact, the more time he spent with her, the more comfortable she looked around him.
“How long have you been alpha?” She looked at the fire again, her gaze lingering on it.
“Not sure. Four… five decades maybe.” He studied her profile, wanting to gauge her reaction to that, sure she would piece together his age from the information he had given her.
If she did, it didn’t shock or disgust her, because she continued to gaze at the fire, her eyes growing hooded. Maybe she was too tired to care about his age.
She had told him that she had matured. How recently? Long ago enough to have participated in the spring mating that took place at Cougar Creek every few years?
Hell, the thought of her taking part in it, inviting suitors to fight for the right to her, made him want to roar and kill every male in that pride.
He gripped the back of his neck instead, pressed his claws in and focused on the pain, shutting down his urge to lash out. She wasn’t his. He had no claim to her. He doubted he ever would, and he deserved that lonely fate for what he had done to her.
Was there any way he could right his wrongs with her?
The war inside him reignited as two paths stared him in the face, one that was tempting and one that made him want to growl and rage.
Taking her back was the right thing to do.
But that meant letting her go.
“I think I’m secretly a bear too,” she murmured.
He frowned at her. “What makes you say that?”
Stolen by her Bear (Black Ridge Bears Shifter Romance Series Book 1) Page 9