by Elle Aycart
She nodded, her sweet mouth moving up to his throat, the tips of her hair tickling his skin. Man, she smelled so good, even after getting shitfaced. Go figure. Her forehead touched his chin and she let out a moan. “Stubble. Love stubble burns. On my face. On my thighs.”
Holy crap. He closed his eyes, trying to get the situation under control. Fighting to get words out. Nothing came.
Her lips brushed over his stubble. When he opened his eyes, he saw hers. They were smoky gray. Opaque. With unbelievably thick eyelashes. He hadn’t seen such striking eyes in twenty years. Since…
He froze. “Meg?”
She ignored his question and looked around, seemingly surprised by her surroundings. A frown formed on her face. She blinked several times and then, as if something had dawned on her, she wrenched away with a surprised yell, covering herself with the blanket.
Alec lifted his arms, trying to look harmless. It wasn’t easy. After all, he had over a hundred pounds on her and was almost naked.
She glanced around again, confusion clouding her beautiful eyes. Yes, she was Megan. No doubt about it. He’d recognize those eyes anywhere. Although last time he’d seen her, she’d been a chubby thirteen-year-old with a sweet, if bossy, disposition. She’d had sparkles in her gaze, dimples in her knees, and curls in her long hair. This Megan was skinny as hell. Her face was angular, and her straight, short hair didn’t reach her shoulders. Oh, and there was no sweet disposition to be found anywhere. “What…”
“You passed out and were freezing. I brought you in.”
Again, she didn’t acknowledge his words. “I’m still here,” she whispered as if to herself.
Where the hell did she expect to be?
“Shit, it was so perfect,” she mumbled, ignoring his presence and burrowing into the blanket. “Cosmically perfect.” She looked up to the ceiling. “Why are you fucking with me? Can you please get another punching bag, thank you very much? And you”—she pointed at a corner of the ceiling—“stop laughing. Not funny.”
She was not making any sense. Then again, one of the symptoms of hypothermia was confusion. “You were freezing to death,” he explained, trying to calm her down. “If I hadn’t been passing by—”
She snorted, standing up. She wobbled, then grabbed the back of the couch and stood straight. Sweet little Meg had apparently grown to be a woman who wouldn’t appreciate him reaching over to steady her. She was still bossy, though. “Right. God save us from good Samaritans.”
“What?” Now he was the one who didn’t understand squat.
She moved aside the armhole of her camisole, by her heart, revealing a DNR inscription over the swirling dragon tattoo. “Do not resuscitate, Mountain Man. Don’t you know how to read?”
Oh. She hadn’t been confused.
Not confused at all.
He stood up and crossed his arms. Fuck trying not to look intimidating. “I was too busy saving your butt, sorry. And for the record, I didn’t resuscitate you. I just groped you until you warmed up.”
“Who asked you to? Ever heard of minding your own business?”
“You weren’t complaining while you were groping me back. Besides, a death on a property I run is my business.”
“I’m alive,” she said, shoving his jacket at him and pushing him to the door. “Unfortunate accident averted. Won’t happen again. Bye.”
He was pissed. More than that, he was stunned. There was no other way to explain how such a tiny woman managed to push him out of the cabin.
After she slammed the door in his face, he realized the master key was still inside.
She’d locked him out.
Chapter 2
Alec turned off the engine and looked up at the cabin’s porch, where Megan was sitting on the swing. Had been for a while, judging by how red her nose and cheeks were. Thank God this time she was dry and better dressed.
“I come in peace,” Alec said, lifting a bag. “I brought food.”
She got up and leaned against a pillar, her arms crossed and a smirk on her beautiful face. She was wearing black pants and a black sweater, and she’d obviously combed her hair with her fingers. No make-up, no frills. And yet, she was gorgeous. “Why? Are you on suicide watch?”
“Not particularly, no,” he totally lied. “Although I would appreciate it very much if you didn’t kill yourself here. A lot of paperwork and hassle I’d rather avoid, if possible.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not offing myself. It was an accident. I locked myself out by mistake. Decided to do the best I could with what I had.”
“‘The best’ being getting drunk?” Seemed to him that would only make matters worse.
His tone must have been a little judgy, because she straightened her back. “What was I supposed to do, let the wine go to waste? Who exactly are you? I picked up the keys from the owner.” She gave him a once-over. “You are definitely not her.”
“I look after the rentals.” He stared at her face. It had changed, losing the roundness of childhood, but she was Megan. He was positive. And she didn’t recognize him. He offered his cell. “You can call Heather to check. She’ll vouch for me.”
That must have sufficed for her because she nodded. Her voice softened. “Thanks for helping me before, and sorry about kicking you out. I was still a bit out of it. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You mistook me for someone else, didn’t you?”
“Yep. I thought you were the feminist version of Saint Peter welcoming me to heaven.”
“You were going to heaven, huh?”
“Oh, I’m okay with hell. Either way, having a hunk to welcome me was the selling point, really.”
Funny, this new Megan. A bit cynical, but funny nevertheless.
“You sent me the mechanic, right?” she asked, motioning to the empty space where her car had been.
He nodded. “Bart is reliable. He’ll get a new window installed in no time. How’s the hangover? You hungry?” He was always ravenous after drinking. And this Megan looked like she could stand to gain thirty pounds. Or fifty.
“It was only a bottle of wine,” she said with a shrug.
He offered her a travel mug. “You’ll need this. It’s hangover tea. It doesn’t taste fantastic, but it works miracles. You might even feel like helping me out with this beer afterward.” He nudged the bag of groceries, a six-pack peeking out the top. “Now, you going to invite me in, or are we roughing it outside?”
She accepted the mug but studied him as if assessing the threat level. “I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers in.”
“Well, considering we’ve seen each other naked, slept together, and groped each other, I figure we aren’t technically strangers.”
A lopsided smile bloomed on her face. “I’m warning you, I’m a black belt in karate.”
“That’s a good thing when you’re traveling alone.” He picked up the bag, and they entered the cabin. “You’re staying for a couple of weeks, aren’t you?”
She stopped dead in her tracks. “How—”
“I work for Heather, remember?” He’d looked up the details of Megan’s reservation. And run a comprehensive background check while he was at it, aka stalked the shit out of her.
She frowned. “Did I mention I also have an LED defender and pepper spray?”
He tried not to sound amused. “No, you didn’t, but I’m glad you’re better prepared to defend yourself than you are to survive outdoors. Next time you need to spend the night in the open in winter, build a debris hut.”
“A what?”
“Lean spruce branches against a tree, shovel snow on top to insulate, and crawl inside.”
She laughed. “Who the heck do you think I am, Bear Grylls?”
Man. Her laughter was so contagious. Just like it had been when she was thirteen. It’d made him feel ten feet tall then, and it did the same now. He tried to keep a straight face. Couldn’t. He never could with Megan. “So I guess telling you to pee around your camp to warn predato
rs to fuck off is out of the question?”
She snorted softly.
He stretched out a hand. “I’m Alec, by the way.”
“Megan.”
“What brings you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Megan?” he asked, putting the bag on the kitchen table.
“Star shower.”
“Good thing I brought food,” he said, glancing at the empty cupboards.
She shrugged. “I figured I’d live off the land.”
Right. “You mean hunting?”
“I don’t know how to shoot. I mean off the supermarkets built on the land—specifically, off the ready-to-eat meals. But now that a certain someone has had my car taken away, I’m out of options.”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we’ll go grocery shopping in town,” he suggested.
She stared at him, her inquiring gaze intense. “Let’s see how today goes. If it doesn’t end with me running away from an ax-swinging serial killer, then I’ll consider that offer. I may even invite you to dinner.” She cleared the table of a big pile of paperbacks. Romance novels by the looks of it. And a cellphone and earbuds. Oh, and his master key.
“Deal. Can I have that?” he asked, pointing at the key.
She winked. “If there isn’t any ax-swinging by the end of the evening, then yes.”
Hilarious, this new Megan. “You on holiday?”
“Sort of. I’m on sabbatical.”
“From what?”
“My life, mainly.”
“Then why aren’t you in Cabo, sipping cocktails and getting tan?” he asked as they sat at the table.
“I like the cold. I’ve always loved small-town America, so I’m on a walkabout. What’s for lunch?”
He emptied the bag. “Beer. And cheese pizza and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Cheese pizza and PB&J is my favorite food in the whole world,” she said, taking a bite from the slice of pizza he offered her.
“I know.” He took in her surprised expression. Not wanting to spook her more than he already must have, he added, “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Brow pinched, she cocked her head. “No. Should I?”
“I used to have long hair and tons of shitty attitude. We met almost twenty years ago. Ring a bell, boss?”
Boss? No one had ever called her that except—
Oh. My. God. Her eyes opened wide in recognition. “Bonehead?”
He laughed. “Man, it’s been ages since I’ve heard that name. I go by Alec nowadays. Less conspicuous.”
She stared, dumbfounded. This mountain of a man was Bonehead, the skinny delinquent she’d met on vacation with her aunt and uncle all those years ago? She had a thousand and one questions, but somehow she couldn’t get any out, because she was remembering his abs and his tattoos and his thick erection pressing against her stomach as she fondled him that very morning—shamelessly, she might add. She choked on a slice of pizza.
He patted her back as she coughed. “You okay?”
“Went down the wrong way,” she got out as the treacherous mouthful finally headed where it belonged. So embarrassing. On the plus side, it probably looked like she was red from asphyxiation, not mortification. “Holy shit, Bonehead. Is it really you? You’ve changed so much. You’re so… big.”
He laughed again. “Thanks, I guess? You haven’t changed. You’re as pretty as ever. How’ve you been?”
She didn’t answer that question. “What are you doing here?”
“Told you. I look after these cabins.”
“You stayed? You hated it here. All your dreams included getting the hell out of here. You said both your foster parents were dicks.”
“True. To be fair, I hated everything everywhere. Except you.” His smile was impish. “By the time the summer was over, Heather and Fergus had grown on me, but I was too tough to admit it, you know?”
He’d been such an insolent thug. Mad at the whole world. “Didn’t want to ruin your gangsta cred by admitting they were good people.”
“Something like that. Anyhow, I figured I’d stay put. I was waiting for you to come back the next summer.”
“Sorry. My uncle decided to rent an apartment at the beach that year. In my defense, I didn’t think you’d stuck around.”
“Damn analog childhood, huh? Anyhow. I stayed. Helped Fergus build the cabins. It kept me out of trouble until I joined the military.”
The military. Of course. Alec had that soldier vibe going on. The “my way or the highway” attitude. Not to mention the camo pants and big bad boots.
He was more handsome than she remembered—all hard planes, sharp angles, and ripped muscle. His almost-black hair was a bit longer than the standard military cut, and his dark eyelashes framed beautiful caramel-colored eyes. The mere sight of him made her stomach somersault. Oh, and that low, raspy voice—that was new. So damn sexy. She averted her eyes, but it was no use; he spoke and she broke into goose bumps, for crying out loud.
She shook the thoughts away and fought to regain her bearings. Military. Cabins. “Well, I don’t know how good a soldier you were, but as a builder, you kick ass. I couldn’t break into this cabin. I swung a chair into the window and didn’t get a single crack.”
Those laugh lines around his mouth and eyes were totally at odds with his otherwise severe demeanor. “Yeah, well, Fergus was a bit paranoid. Vietnam vet. This was his hideout. There’s no way to break into this place. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
He was trying to suppress a smile. “Do you see that rug?” He pointed at the corner. “That’s a trap door. Fergus always had a plan B. And C. And D. He dug a tunnel so he could escape if the cabin fell under siege.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What?”
“Come here,” he said, crooking a finger. They stepped outside and walked about ten yards away from the house. Near what looked like a rotting old fence post, Alec moved some snow with his feet. “It’s impossible to detect if you don’t know what you’re looking for.” Then he lifted a perfectly camouflaged trap door. “This is an entrance to a tunnel that leads to a secret room under the house, accessed by the trap door under the rug.”
“Are you telling me there was a tunnel right here while I was busting my ass attempting to climb the roof to see if I could squeeze through the damn chimney?”
He nodded. “We don’t advertise it to clients, for obvious reasons, but it felt wrong to destroy Fergus’s place, so we kept it intact. The cabin used to be booby-trapped too. We disarmed those. We figured it would be bad for business if clients kept dropping dead while trying to make it to the front door.”
She laughed, looking to the sky. “You are having way too much fun with me.”
“Let’s go in, it’s cold.” He led the way back to the cabin. “By the way, people around here keep caches all over the place. They use different markings to identify which ones belong to whom, but they’re all easy to spot. Just look for something out of place. A carving on a tree. A piece of cloth on a branch.”
“What’s a cache?” she asked, confused.
“It’s an emergency stash. Means to make a fire, some food, Mylar blankets. Shit like that. In case you get injured or caught out in the dark or the weather.”
“Are there any caches around here?”
“Sure.”
Of course there were. “I’m not really the outdoorsy type.” She wouldn’t recognize a cache if it bit her on the ass.
“No shit. Although you were pretty good back in the day.”
She snorted, walking back. “Please. I knew how to fish; that was about it.”
“That was plenty for a city thug like me.”
“True,” she said in a soft voice.
Back in the cabin, they returned their attention to the food. Megan took a bite of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “This is good,” she said as a glob of jelly slid over her chin.
“I made them the way you used to make them for me—overflowing. Back then I thought you w
ere the best cook in the world.”
She smiled at his words. “Please, PB&J was all I could make.”
“They tasted fantastic.”
“That was because you were literally starving. You were too much of a brat to eat anything your foster mom cooked.” She had been afraid he would die on her, skinny as he was, so she really had gone to town with the peanut butter and jelly.
“Guilty, I’m afraid.”
She took a sip of the hangover tea and almost gagged.
“Told you it doesn’t taste so good, but it works miracles.”
“You sure?” she asked, smelling the brew suspiciously.
“Positive. It ought to be patented; it would bring in millions. Only the taste needs tweaking.”
Tweaking? It needed a total makeover. She kept that to herself and took another gulp and then a big chunk of sandwich to drown the taste in sugar.
It was so easy to talk to him, as if no time had passed at all. After polishing off the sandwiches, they moved to the sofa to finish the pizza, sipping beer and gross tea and reminiscing about that summer.
He motioned to the stack she’d left on a counter, her phone and earbuds on top. “I see you still like to listen to music.” She used to go everywhere with a Walkman, several cassette tapes, and earbuds. That summer, they often went fishing in the nearby lake. They’d slouch on the dock, she with one earbud and Alec with the other, and spend hours without uttering a word.
“I swear faithfully by Spotify these days.”
“Why the pile of books, then? Not a fan of e-readers?”
“Not so much. I had this friend, Jess. You know how there’s a Bible in every hotel room? A lot of hospitals have them too. It pissed Jess off. She used to say that people ought to have options, in case they were in the mood for something different. She filled all the rooms on our floor with smutty romances.”
“Really?”
She assented. “You should have seen my face when I opened my nightstand drawer and found Loving a Highlander right next to Scripture. It had a picture of a half-naked Scot on the cover. Those books were swapped all over the ward. You could take one with you when you were discharged, but you had to replace it with a new one.”