by Emily Bishop
My whole body shivers as I curl up in a ball on the ground and fight for air. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that I’m hyperventilating. Lorn towers above me, but I can barely hear him. His voice sounds like it’s coming through a wind tunnel.
“Rayne! Rayne, breathe! Focus on your breath. I need you to focus for me, Rayne.”
He sits on the ground and tugs me into his arms, cradling me as he tries his best to calm me down. Images of Larry’s sneering face float along my vision. My father is dead on the floor. I see myself standing with my hands out, covered in blood. Some of the images never even happened. They are simply the stuff of my nightmares.
My horrible, terrible nightmares.
“Rayne, I need you to focus on my voice now. I need to you focus on inhaling and exhaling. Forget everything around us except for your breathing and the sound of my voice.”
He sounds so authoritative.
“Are you listening, Rayne? I want you to breathe in and out. Count your breaths until they come back, until you don’t even realize you’re doing it. Let’s count together. One…”
His voice soothes me. I want to do as he asks. Larry’s face dissolves into darkness as I squeeze my eyes shut and count every breath with Lorn. We make it to twenty before I’m breathing normally again, but my whole body is stiff as a corpse.
Perhaps the corpse I will soon become.
I cry then. A good, solid cry. I cry for my mother, the woman who left me to pursue her own dreams. I cry for my father, whose life was cut too short. I cry for myself, the orphan forced to watch her father die. There are so many tears that I’ve held back for so long. My whole life.
Lorn holds me as my tears sink into his jacket. He rocks back and forth in an attempt to soothe me, and I can tell that he’s worried. I don’t need to look into his face to see it. I would be worried, too, if a woman completely lost her marbles on a mountaintop. He strokes the top of my head as though I’m a small child. I should probably be offended, but I’m grateful.
Lorn’s touch is a salve that soothes my tortured soul.
I release a shuddering breath as I try and pull myself together. Lorn says nothing as he continues to hold me close, the snow falling in sheets all around us now.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He tightens his grip around me. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He has so much conviction in his voice I almost believe him.
“I thought I would be safe, getting away, but it’s clear that I’ll never be safe. Not until I die, probably by his hand,” I breathe.
Lorn slides his finger beneath my chin then and forces me to look at him. “Listen to me. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I have breath in my body. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand?”
He sounds so certain. I remember when I felt certainty about things. That was a blissful time, about twelve years ago. When he holds my gaze, I nod. He wants me to agree, to tell him that I believe in his ability to keep me safe.
Then again, maybe I do. Who better than this beautiful monolithic man to protect me? Still, I remind myself that Lorn is a socialite. What does he know about self-defense?
Oh, right. Prison.
There is a toughness to Lorn that does not come from the ivory towers in New York, but the wild cages of a jail enclosure. Lorn has seen things I can never imagine, and still he holds his head high.
Lorn glances up and around us. The snow is picking up. It’s not a blizzard, but the heavy flakes certainly make it difficult to see. “We need to get back home,” he says.
I think about walking the thirty minutes back down this mountain. The thought is less than appealing. Without missing a beat, Lorn slides his arm beneath my knees and lifts me up.
“Lorn. It’s a thirty-minute walk down a slick mountain. I… I can make it on my own.” Even to my own ears I don’t sound convincing.
Lorn shakes his head, and a smattering of snowflakes dislodges and falls to the ground. “Not a chance. I’m carrying you down, and I don’t want to hear another protest about it.”
A wisp of a smile tugs at my lip at his protective tone. “Or you’ll what?” I ask.
He glances down at me. I can still see worry in his eyes, but there’s a tiny glint of humor. I feel a little more human the more we talk. “Or I’ll have to kiss you until you stop talking.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat? Now I want to protest more.”
He dips his head and kisses me, his lips whisper-soft against mine. When he lifts his head, he starts walking down the mountain. His eyes stay on the path, presumably keeping an eye out for slick spots as he carefully winds his way down with me still in his arms.
“Don’t you get tired? I mean, I know I’m not the heaviest person on Earth, but you carry me around like I’m another one of your books.”
Lorn chuckles. The sound fills my heart with glee. “There’s not much to do out here, as you may have noticed. When I’m not chasing strong-willed young women around, I tend to spend a lot of time working out.”
“With what? I’ve never seen weights around your cabin. Do you let Milly wrap herself around your neck and then fight to break free a few times a week?”
“Milly would never do such a thing. She is a calm and gentle creature.”
“OK, OK, I get that. But seriously, what do you do?”
I like making conversation. It’s distracting me from my pounding heart and aching mind. My eyes feel like sandpaper in the cold after crying so hard. I must look awful, but when Lorn glances down at me, I see what appears to be adoration in his eyes.
Is that what that is? No. Lorn has sworn off women. We’re… well, I don’t know what we are.
“I do as our ancestors did. Lift logs, chop wood, things like that. Actually, chopping and stacking wood is a great workout, and it’s something I never stop doing, since every cabin has a wood burning stove around here.”
Lorn’s head is covered with a layer of snow as he walks us back down. The mountain levels off as he walks, and I cling to him a little tighter. Might as well take advantage of the ride, right?
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“You own a string of bakeries, but you’re in perfect shape. How do you do it, being surrounded by baked goods all the time?”
I grin up at him. “Running.”
“Oh.”
It’s an easy enough answer that Lorn can’t think of any witty comebacks. Instead the conversation ends, and with it, my sense of ease. I glance around us, wondering if Larry is nearby, if he’s simply biding his time. Maybe he’s been waiting for me to be alone, for Lorn to disappear so he can make his move. If he’s smart, that’s exactly what he’d be doing.
Lorn would destroy him.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you for all that you’ve done,” I say.
Lorn doesn’t miss a beat. “A five-star review on Yelp should suffice.”
I chuckle, but I can’t quite shake the somber feeling in my heart. “Do you think the police will help us?”
Lorn glances down at me then looks back up and continues walking. The path has grown flat, and we’re not far from his place.
“Of course they will. They won’t be able to get out right away, but they have his information and a lead. They’ll help us.”
“I hope so,” I say, doubtful.
“I know so. Now let’s hunker down and stay safe for the rest of the day. We’ll be able to take some action tomorrow when the police arrive.”
“OK,” I say. This isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my month away. I suppose I didn’t know what I would be doing. I never imagined a guy like Lorn in my life either, but here I am, being carried like a sack of potatoes by this dreamboat of a man.
Lorn’s cabin appears in front of us, and he keeps me in his arms as he opens the door and steps inside. It’s still chilly, since the fire from the night before died out and we made a quick exit this morning. Lorn sets me back down on the couch and wrap
s me in a blanket, then he kneels in front of the wood stove and stacks some logs.
He lights the fire and stokes it until it’s blazing hot, then he turns to look at me. “Your color’s still off. We need to get you warm and get you some tea.”
I want to protest, but I don’t know why. Why not let myself get treated like a goddess? I’ve never had a man put such care into me before. I’m not used to it, and I don’t know how to handle it. Lorn rises and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, then cradles the back of my neck with his hand as he presses his forehead against mine.
When he stands, my whole body tingles all over. Lorn steps away into the kitchen, and I don’t even bother to hide the fact that I’m watching him as he prepares a cup of hot tea for me. The fire warms my stiff limbs, and I watch as Milly slithers out of her little room and glides past me.
“Hi, Milly.” I drape my hand down and let my fingertips slide along her smooth scales as she moves by. What a strange place this is, and yet it feels like a place I would never want to leave. Lorn gives Milly a pet and steps out to feed her, then brings me my cup of tea.
He sits next to me and gingerly hands me the cup, then lifts my legs and props them over his lap. Together we sit by the fire and warm up from our excursion.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
To be honest. I don’t know. I was thinking about how nice it is to be held in Lorn’s arms, how wonderful it is to feel real safety. I’m in danger. My instincts have never led me astray about that. I also know that Lorn is a powerful man with the ability to protect me in any situation, no matter what.
Oh no.
I glance up at Lorn, at his perfect, stunning, caring face. I’m falling in love with him. I don’t think I’m going to be able to tell him that. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?
“Nothing,” I say.
I’ll leave it at that… for now.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lorn
At this point, I consider myself a bit of an expert in the field of knowing when Rayne is keeping information from me. This time, I don’t feel like delving further. We’ve expressed quite enough to one another. Perhaps I’ll let her keep some of those secrets to herself.
I sip my tea with her legs draped over my lap. I’ve never felt more comfortable with another person. Even Natalie didn’t like this kind of contact. She was always much more into sex only. Once we were done, she’d turn away and go to sleep.
I like this much better.
I watch Rayne from the corner of my eye. Her gaze is intent on the flickering flames of the fire, her face cast in a warm glow from its light. I still wonder what she’s thinking about. Her brows are creased ever so slightly. They reveal concern of some sort. I have to imagine she’s thinking about Larry, and that gets my blood boiling.
“Are you OK?” she asks.
I’ve been glaring into space, thinking about that asshole. I blink. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just plotting some revenge on that stalker of yours.”
Her smile is small as she blinks up at me, her eyelashes fluttering. It’s a shy gesture, which warms my heart. Rayne has no reason to be shy around me. I’ve seen and touched every inch of her body on several occasions. Yet here we are, still learning about one another. Still meeting.
What a strange situation to be in.
I glance out the window. The snow continues to fall. The world outside is a dull gray, and I look forward to the day when it melts and the trees blossom with flowers. Rayne would love it up here in the summer, with the lake nice and cool and the sweet scent of the mountain flowers drifting on the breeze.
Wait, that probably will never happen.
As much as I’ve enjoyed my time with Rayne, it’s never far from my mind that she has every intention of leaving, once she figures out her whole stalker situation. A selfish part of me hopes secretly that we never find him, and that she has to stay with me forever, where I can keep her safe.
Unfair? Absolutely. Does that little asshole part of me care? Nope.
I find more and more that I crave Rayne’s presence in my life. I crave her touch, her closeness, her smiles. Everything about her draws me in, like a siren to a distant sailor. I’m in slippery territory here, but I’m reaching a point where I don’t care.
I want her to be happy.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
The world outside is growing dark already. It must have taken longer to hike up and down that mountain than I thought. Add in the extra conversations we had on Rayne’s cell phone and, well…
Time flies when you’re hunted by a murderer.
Rayne nods and takes another sip of her tea, draining the cup. “I could eat. Do we have anything?”
“Don’t you worry yourself about it. I’m going to cook dinner.”
Her lip twists into a wry grin. “Really?”
I slide out from beneath her legs and stand. I tower above her, and I take full advantage of my height. I glare down at her with a menacing expression. “Really. You are brave to insult the cooking of the host.”
Her smile broadens. She is completely unafraid. “Yes, I am. I may be many things, but afraid to give my honest opinion will never be one of them. If I didn’t have the ability to provide honest critique, I would have no credibility as a pastry chef.”
I laugh and walk toward the kitchen. “Maybe when this is all over you should consider judging one of those cooking shows.”
“Maybe you can be my intimidating co-judge. Together we can scare the pants off bakers from around the world.”
An image of me in a stupid chef’s hat, sitting at a table while I judge trembling contestants pops into my head, and I give it a firm shake. “I’m good. I don’t think I have a face for television.”
“You would if you shaved that beard,” she says.
I turn back, and she’s silently laughing at me.
I glower. “Are you saying my beard is unattractive?” I ask with menace in my voice.
Her face turns thoughtful as she tilts her head to consider my question. “If you’d have asked me that question last week, I would have said without a doubt. It’s grown on me, if you can believe that.”
“I can. It’s grown on me, too.”
She picks up a pillow and throws it at me for the lame joke. I laugh and catch it with one hand, then toss it back to her. “Before I left, I believe beards were becoming quite the trend in our circles.”
She sighs with exasperation. “They were. Drove me nuts.”
I notice that she uses the past tense. We’re dancing around the fact that she’s saying she’s attracted to me, more so now than when we first met. I could ponder what that means, or I can make dinner.
Best if I stick to food.
I reach into a top cabinet and pull out a cookbook. One of my tenants left it in their cabin one year, and when I called to see if they wanted me to mail it out, they told me to add it to my collection.
It is the only cookbook I own.
I flip through the pages. I want to cook something for Rayne that is more than pasta or scrambled eggs. Unfortunately, the menu can’t be that diverse. All we have is a big pile of eggs, some fruit, and basic pastry ingredients like flour and salt.
As I flip page after page, I land on a recipe for quiche. Not exactly the classiest dinner, but I can do something with the fruit to finish it up nicely.
I think.
I slide my finger along the smooth pages of the recipe book as I read each line through carefully, one step at a time. A quiche will involve a crust that I must make from scratch.
How hard can that be?
“How’s it going in there?” Rayne calls out.
“Fine. You pick up a book and relax. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
“Uh huh,” she says.
I pull out the ingredients I need, including the last of the fruit. I’ve got some fresh strawberries and a few apples. I can make a dessert out of that, right?
An idea pops into my hea
d, and I dig through the pantry until I find a bag of chocolate chips tied together with a rubber band.
Ah ha! I’ve at least got a good dessert. That’s the whole point of the meal, right?
I pour some flour and salt into a bowl then melt a stick of butter in the microwave. I mush the ingredients together with my hands, and they clump and fall apart. I use all my strength to try and force the dough to stick together so I can put it into a pan, but it won’t do what I want.
How can anyone like doing this?
“Here,” Rayne says. She’s directly behind me, and I’m startled by how quietly she managed to sneak over here.
“Hey, I told you to rest.”
“Yeah, and I’d also like to eat a decent meal. What are we making tonight?”
I nod to the recipe book, and she leans over it to read.
“Quiche. Nice. That crust looks like you’re trying to beat it into submission. Why don’t we get it a little wet?”
Those suggestive words have my mind reeling. I step back and can’t help but gaze over her perfect frame as she takes over. She pours some water into the pastry, and it instantly does what she wants, forming the perfect mold.
“OK, if you can scramble the eggs and mix in some cheese, that would be helpful,” she says.
In the kitchen, Rayne is queen. She lays out commands in a firm yet gentle way that makes them feel more like a request, something anyone would be happy to do.
As a manager, that is quite the skill to have. When I ran my father’s company for a time, it was something I never handled particularly well.
Just Lorn being the great disappointment, once again.
I crack an egg into a bowl with enough force to shatter it on impact and have to pick out the little pieces.
Rayne glances sideways at me. “You mad at those eggs?”
I shrug. “More like mad at myself.”
“Why?”
I inhale and pick out the last of the eggshell from my bowl before I crack another, more gently this time. “Sometimes there’s this voice in my head that belongs to my father. It reminds me that I’m a failure at everything, and that I’ve never been good enough.”
Rayne frowns. “I hope I didn’t make you feel that way. You can cook, if you put your mind to it, you know.”