by Sienna Parks
“How many times will I have to tell you I’m not a killer?”
“I… it was the book, not you.” Her hand still rests against my abs, the warmth of her hand sending jolts of electricity throughout my body as I take her toward the bedroom.
“Glad to know I don’t… affect you.” I can’t help the undercurrent in the tone of my voice. Her gaze falls to my lips, and I know I have to put some distance between us. The energy in the room is unmistakable.
I place her down on the bed forcing myself to take a step back, but it only serves to heighten the awareness of her body—my own reacting without regard for anything other than primal need.
“Can you help me into the shower? I’m sorry to be a burden, but I can’t do it alone, and I’ve got blood on me.” I hadn’t even noticed the smear of blood on her cheek or her arms. I can’t do this right now.
“I need to shower first, so I don’t keep getting you covered with blood.”
“You don’t like making me dirty?” The mischief in her eye goes straight to my groin. This girl has me spinning from one minute to the next. I don’t answer, turning to leave as quickly as possible.
As I close the door behind me, Eli’s room becomes my escape. I switch on the shower in his bathroom and set it to cold, a wave of guilt washing over me. I had my share of women when I was younger, but the moment I met Angela, I didn’t care about any other woman on the planet. She was everything. And the sex… my heart still pounds when I remember her falling apart beneath me.
When she died, I stopped wanting… stopped feeling. My focus has been on Elijah, and a woman doesn’t factor into that. I’m not saying it hasn’t been hard. I miss it… fuck do I miss the feeling of sinking into her. Now, my sex life consists of jacking off in the shower and at night when the cabin is quiet and no one can hear me cry out in empty satisfaction.
I throw my jeans and boxers on the floor stepping into the cold shower—attempting to calm the impulse coursing through my cock. Slamming my hand against the wall, I fight as long as I can before turning up the heat and wrapping my fist around the base.
Water cascades over my shoulders as I move up and down grasping tight enough to walk the line between pleasure and pain. I throw my head back and picture Angela, naked and confident before me, a sexy smile lifting the corners of her sumptuous lips as she palmed her breasts teasing me into a frenzy. But, as I rub over the tip, it’s not her face I see… it’s Juliet’s.
I shake my head willing myself to block out this intriguing stranger in my house, but I can’t. The thought of her dropping to her knees, taking my cock into the sweet warmth of her mouth and loving every second of it—I’m lost in the sensation. I’m too far gone to stop, but I feel like I’m being unfaithful.
I brace myself with one hand against the wall as I pump my fist… one… two… fuck me! My cum spills out with an urgency and longing I haven’t felt in four years. My legs feel weak beneath me as I struggle for composure. Five seconds or five minutes, I don’t know how long I stand under the freezing cold water letting it rain down on me in an attempt to wash away the vision of Juliet.
How am I going to get through the next few days?
I take my time getting dressed steeling myself to help Juliet, but when I find myself at her door, the image of her in my fantasy comes rushing back.
“Travis?” I’m not as stealthy as I’d like to believe. I twist the handle and open the door taking a deep breath as I enter the room.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Would just really like to get this blood off me. That stupid book gets me every time.”
“You’ve read it before?”
“Probably five times! I love Stephen King, but I always let myself get sucked in, and then I can’t sleep because every little noise scares me half to death. Sorry about earlier.”
“No problem. I’m the same way.” I hold out my hand to pull her to her feet and take her weight.
“Really?”
“No. I was just trying to make you feel better.” A slight chuckle escapes my chest. “Maybe you should read something else while we wait out the storm.”
She hops on one foot as we navigate to the bathroom. Steady against the counter, I switch the shower on and find her some fresh towels.
“You good from here? Just shout when you need help out to the living room.” Her smile is soft and uninhibited. Something in the way her eyes sparkle—she seems truly at ease, and it’s endearing.
“Thanks.”
The wood smoke billows up the chimney, and the meat is so tender it’s like slicing through butter. Cooking has become one of my pleasures in life out here. Rustic, healthy, simple food. I’m salivating at the thought of it. I didn’t realize just how hungry I was until I started preparing dinner.
The water must be running cold by now—Juliet’s been in there for at least twenty minutes. As the thought of her passes through my mind, she calls my name. I pull the seared venison from the flames and set them on the plates before heading to the bedroom. Overcooking them at this stage would be a travesty!
I open the door expecting to find her dressed and ready to eat, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
“Travis.” Her voice is small, smaller than the personality I’ve witnessed since we met. She’s still in the bathroom.
“You okay?”
“I don’t have any fresh clothes. Could you find me something to wear?”
“Fuck. Hang on.” I rifle through my drawers in search of something that won’t drown her small frame.
I lay the clothes on the floor right outside the bathroom—dumbfounded when she opens the door. My body responds at the sight of her standing over me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get up off my knees right now.
She’s stunning. Her hair is wet and wild, her body still wet from the shower. All that stands between my burning hot gaze and her naked flesh is a bright white towel wrapped around her curves. Her eyes spark with desire—the rise and fall of her chest mesmerizing.
I know the gentlemanly thing to do is avert my gaze and give her the privacy to cover herself… but hell if she isn’t a vision of everything that’s sexy in a woman.
Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out my hand to caress her ankle. Lowering my gaze to where our skin meets, I wait for her to speak. To tell me to stop. But, she’s silent—her leg leaning into my touch. I steal a glance just long enough for her to nod her head before closing her eyes—savoring the anticipation that sizzles between us.
Her legs are toned, her calves smooth beneath my fingertips. The smell of my body wash on her skin makes my dick twitch. I relish every inch of her as I edge my way slowly up her leg dipping my head to kiss the back of her knee. The brush of my beard against her skin elicits a moan from her lips, driving me crazy. Her body begins to tremble, and I pull her down toward me.
Within seconds, she’s beneath me on the floor, her eyes begging me to kiss her—but I can’t stop staring. I’m captivated. Following the trail of my hand, I run my fingers over her collarbone down to the swell of her breasts.
My cock is tight against my jeans as I skim over the towel shielding her from my gaze. The moment my skin makes contact with her thigh, her body shivers beneath me. It’s intoxicating—driving me to slip my hand underneath—ghosting over the warm, soft skin at the apex of her thighs.
She’s already slick with arousal sending me into a tailspin. I lunge forward capturing her lips with mine in a frenzy of desire. She tastes like a gentle summer breeze, but with the ferocity of a hurricane as our tongues twist and tangle exploring each other.
Writhing against my hand, Juliet groans making me harder with every labored breath that passes between us. My body wants her… needs her. I grind against her, the fabric of my jeans torturing me with a delicious kind of friction.
“Travis.” Her delicate hands rake down my back cupping my ass before snaking between us, her fingers making short work of the buttons on my fly. I’m lost in a fog of lust, operating on instinct�
��. until her hand wraps around my cock.
Memories of Angela flood my brain—emotion overwhelming the physical sensation.
I can’t speak.
Can’t move.
“What’s wrong? Travis?” I pull back and stumble across the room. “Did I do something wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You don’t know me. I don’t know you.” She grabs the shirt I was leaving at the door covering herself before attempting to reply.
“We’re both adults. Don’t apologize. We have… chemistry.”
“I know. Fuck… I want you. But…”
“Then have me.” Her willingness to give herself—to be vulnerable—kills me. I don’t want to be vulnerable.
“No.” My tone comes out clipped. Arrogant. “Don’t you have any regard for yourself? You come out on the mountain without checking the weather. Almost freeze to death. Then, you want to sleep with a guy you’re stuck in a snowstorm with.”
“Fuck you, Travis. Get out.”
“Gladly.” I slam the door behind me hating myself for it. Juliet did nothing wrong.
I feel like I betrayed my wife by thinking of her while a stranger made me feel so goddamn amazing—for wanting to forget her—if only for an hour.
7
JULES
I need to get out of here. Figure out a way to signal someone—get help.
The signals were all there. I didn’t initiate that lesson in humiliation. For him to call me out on my choices—what the hell? He’s a friggin’ sasquatch recluse. He should think himself lucky that I was willing to blow the cobwebs for him. Well… that ship has sailed!
I’ve never had a guy turn me down. What’s his problem? I actually felt bad for that asshole earlier. When he was gone, I contemplated what would drive someone to come and live up here. He said his wife died, and the journalist in me wants to grill him for details. How long ago? I would understand if it happened recently, and he told me he’s not ready to move on—but don’t instigate something you have no intention of following through on. Ugh. I sound like a frat boy—pissed that my date won’t put out.
I’m letting myself get distracted from the reason I came to this arctic tundra! My editor assured me I’d get this article knocked out before the first tendrils of winter take this mountain hostage. Confirms how much he knows—he’s an idiot of epic proportions. Of course, this will be my fault when all is said and done.
I’m so angry right now, I can’t even see straight! How is this my life? I told my dad that knowing how to hike would never help me in life. If I hadn’t come out here thinking the trails in Utah had prepared me for this, I’d be sitting in my favorite coffee shop on La Brea contemplating my career while topping up my tan.
Everything about this trip is ridiculous. If the storm had hit six hours later, I would have been back at the B&B. If Travis hadn’t found me, I’d probably be dead. One wrong foot and this is where I end up. I’m grateful to him, but it doesn’t give him the right to treat me like trash.
Sex is supposed to be fun. I wasn’t asking for marriage, babies, and forever—I wasn’t asking for anything. He touched me. God… the way he touched me. All rough hands and smooth skin. His strength evident in a feather-light caress, and the power coursing through every corded muscle of his arms. And, his lips… I can still feel the delicious scratch of his beard and the taste of his mouth on mine. I run my fingers across my lips, fascinated by the juxtaposition of my knight in shining armor and the angry loner who walked out on me only moments ago.
It takes me half an hour to grapple my way up onto the bed. In a shirt that smells of Travis and a pair of boxers that barely stay up, I snuggle down into the covers. I haven’t eaten since this morning, and the aroma of venison is mouthwatering, but I’m too proud to shout for him and request food. I’d rather starve to death.
I while away the hours staring at every inch of this room willing it to reveal Travis’s secrets and give me some insight into this strange man who affects me in ways I must ignore from this point on.
When I’m sure Travis is asleep, I slide down onto the floor and pull myself over to the door. If I can find something to act as a crutch, I can move around and get out of here tomorrow. It takes forever to slither my way into the living room.
He’s asleep on the couch with a picture frame in his hand. Even in slumber, his brow furrows and his jaw remains tight. I gingerly pull myself toward him stopping just close enough to really look at him. He’s striking—broad shoulders—it’s obvious he takes care of his body. His hair is perfectly messy, and the beard is sexy as hell. He’s one hundred percent alpha male—almost primitive in his overbearing nature.
I resist the urge to reach out and touch him instead slipping the frame from his grasp. The woman in the picture is stunning with a smile that would light up a room. I almost don’t recognize him at first. Without the beard, Travis looks much younger. His demeanor is relaxed, his arm slung around her shoulder. The look in his eyes as he stares at her—it’s love. He can’t even take his eyes off her long enough to smile for the camera. He looks… enchanted. Nothing like the man lying before me in fitful sleep.
I set the picture down beside him and stretch for the dining chair. If I can pull myself up, I can use it like a walker! I’m trying to be as quiet as possible, but the chair screeches across the floorboards. Travis starts to stir.
“Eli? Kiddo? Is that you?” He’s still half asleep.
“It’s Jules. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” His eyes open, and he’s up like a shot.
“What are you doing?” He grabs the frame from the floor.
“I just wanted to use this chair to help me get around. Clearly, you can’t lift and lay me everywhere. The quicker I’m up and moving, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Good idea.” Two words that are a slap in the face.
He steadies the chair and helps me to my feet. It hurts like a mother… but I refuse to let him see it. “If there’s anything to eat, I’ll be quick and go back to my… your room. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Without a word, he heads over to the kitchen and sets to work making both of us a plate of food. He navigates the stove with the practiced ease of a chef, and it only serves to intrigue me more. Who is he, and where did he come from? There are so many touches in this house that allude to a life before cabin fever. Before beards and plaid and hunting his own meat.
“I’m fine with cereal or something. You don’t have to cook for me.”
“I’m well aware that I don’t need to do anything.” I use my makeshift walker and hobble over to the island.
“What is with the attitude? I get it. I’m a huge inconvenience, but you can’t pull this Jekyll and Hyde act on me. What happened earlier…”
“We’re not talking about it. It was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment.”
“Wow. Way to make a girl feel special.”
“Fine. I’m a colossal dickhead. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” I can see the outline of his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Whatever his problem is… arousal isn’t it. He’s attracted to me, I know it—I feel it.
He serves up our food and slides my plate over to where I’m perched.
“Thanks.”
We eat in silence sharing the occasional glance before becoming engrossed in our meals. I have so many questions. I want an explanation of what happened earlier today, but for once in my life, I’m lost for words.
With a full stomach, I shuffle my way to the bedroom and encase myself in the covers, but sleep evades me. Memories of lips, tongues, flesh, and desire dance in my thoughts as I try to convince myself I don’t care.
The snow continues to fall—a blanket surrounding the cabin as far as the eye can see. I stayed in the room as long as possible, but my built-in manners force me out the door when I hear Travis up and moving around.
His grunts and groans are followed by loud banging. He’s cleaning out the fireplace, get
ting it ready for another cold day. I curl up under a blanket watching his every move, but as our eyes meet, the tension in the room explodes.
“Listen, Travis. Whatever I did to upset you yesterday… I’m sorry.” I’m startled by the resounding boom of wood echoing up the chimney as he drops everything and turns to face me.
“Juliet.”
“Please, call me Jules. I feel like I’m about to get scolded for something.” His eyes soften, and for the first time, his jaw relaxes.
“I know this is the biggest cliché on the planet, but it’s not you… it’s me.” I throw my head back with a dramatic sigh.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’m not used to having a woman in here.”
I can’t help myself.
“What about your wife?”
“We moved here after she died. She’d have loved this place, but we were always too busy. If I’d known how little time we had, I would’ve gotten my priorities straight. I was so focused on my career, I didn’t appreciate her enough.”
“What line of work were you in?” I can see I’ve made him uncomfortable.
“Doesn’t matter now. When I lost her, I changed everything. I came here with my son… he’s four… and we’ve been here ever since.”
“You must love it here.”
“It’s quiet.” As we continue to talk, his body language becomes less combative—more open to me.
“If you don’t mind me asking… what happened to your wife?”
“Car accident. Drunk driver.”
“Oh my, God. Were you in the car?”
“No.” The silence seems to span for hours, but he needs to go at his own pace. “She hung on long enough for them to deliver Elijah. She never even got to meet him.” Suddenly, his frost demeanor makes sense. I can’t even begin to contemplate what he’s been through.