by Rose, Renee
When I’ve exhausted all the work I can do without my laptop, I turn off the tablet.
“Well, I’m out of things to do,” I announce, even though Caleb’s not into conversation. “I can’t believe you don’t have any games. A pack of cards. A puzzle. Something. Anything.”
I go to the window and press my face against the glass. Despite nearly freezing to death yesterday, I find the snow beautiful.
“Trivial Pursuit?” I ask hopefully, even though I already know the answer. “It’s my favorite.” I’m babbling but the silence is getting to me. “My last boyfriend hated playing it with me because I always won. Have you ever played?”
“No.”
“My ex said it was a waste of time, learning all those useless facts, but I think he was just a sore loser.” I spin away from the window and go back to pacing the floor. His cabin is curiously devoid of almost anything personal, although it’s quite comfortable. There are throw rugs on the floor and the walls are painted pretty colors—apple green and cheery yellow. The decor doesn’t really seem like grumpy mountain man.
Except in other ways it seems very much like him. Custom cabinets that might have been hand-hewn and carved. A gorgeous slab of polished burl wood made into a coffee table. Did he make them? He seems like a man who works with his hands.
I eye them. Very large, calloused hands.
I shiver, remembering those hands stripped me bare, helped me gently into a tub of tepid water last night. What would it feel like to be caressed by those hands?
Or even… held down. Manhandled. Fucked roughly. Yeah, not by the hands, but by the man. Wow. I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts.
The mating habits of the human species. The male preens and flexes his muscles. He feeds and cares for the female, proving he will be a suitable mate with the ability to provide for their young. The female pretends not to notice, but it’s only a matter of time before she finds an excuse to brush against his big, burgeoning cock. The resulting mating dance involves fornication on the couch, on the floor, on the kitchen table...
Ack! My mock-u-mentory is turning into porn. “Cabin Sex Fever: Innocent researcher rescued by mountain man shows her gratitude.” I’d totally get off to that. Especially if Caleb was in a starring role.
I scrub a hand across my heated face. Maybe freezing and nearly dying in the woods boosts your hormone levels to epic proportions.
Caleb glowers at me from his chair. Bear watches me without moving from his slumped position on the floor near Caleb’s feet. It’s weird how my dog seems to think Caleb is his master now. I guess he’s a sexist pig, too, deferring to the man in the room. Traitor.
“Come on.” I clap my hands. “Let’s play a game.”
“No.”
“Truth or dare?”
“Pass.”
“Please,” I plead. “What else are we going to do?”
Caleb mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Thought a brainiac scientist would be quieter.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “We can either play something or I can tell you more about my research.”
“No.”
“My current project is about the effect of climate change on the tree population in New Mexico. I’m using samples from ponderosa pine trees to look at what’s happened over the last one hundred years or more.”
Caleb grunts.
I know he’s not really interested, but since he goaded me with that quieter comment, I can’t help but give it back to him. I settle in to explain the details of my grant-funded research. “Basically, I’ve plotted an area near the research cabin and now I have to take a sample from every tree within the plot. I started last fall, but the plot didn’t prove big enough, so I’m back up here to gather a larger sample size.”
Caleb’s sensuous lips tighten, but he doesn’t look away. He’s staring me down with an unnerving animal-like intensity.
I plow on anyway. “My preliminary research shows a significant effect on the trees. When I put this together with my research from whitebark pine, I should have a real case to make. Especially with the whitebark pine. It’s a keystone species in Colorado and Wyoming. Its decline has a direct affect on wildlife, especially the brown bears, who rely on its pine nuts to eat.”
For some reason, Caleb seems to find that interesting. He cocks his head and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then his beard shakes along with his head like he changed his mind. “So what’d these men do to you?”
“What? What men?” I look around the room as if to see the imaginary men.
“The ones you mentioned before. The ones who treat you like a doormat.” He frowns when he says it, and his fists clench. If Dr. Alogore or one of the dockers-wearing brigade were here, they would look pale and flabby beside Caleb’s physical perfection. I take perverse pleasure in this.
“Never mind,” I wave a hand. “They’re not important. I was wrong, anyway, to lump you in with them.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“What?” My eyes widen at the tension rippling up his muscled arms. It’s breathtaking, really. I’ve never met a man like him before. So rugged and coarse, but not unkind. And clearly bothered by any injustice that may have been done to me.
Wow.
“No. Not at all. Well, unless you count emotional and career distress. They’re just… chauvinists. And not respectful. They treat me like a pretty piece of ass. Or their personal research assistant. Or worse—a secretary.”
His nostrils flare. “Do they touch you without your consent?” he growls. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, but my nipples also harden. Something about this rugged mountain man saying the word consent. Oooh, sexy. Shiver.
“No, nothing like that.” I toss my hair back. “It’s just that they don’t respect my contributions. My brain is only useful in a support role for their projects. They don’t value my research. They never invite me to take the lead on anything, only to do all the hard work—writing the proposals and research papers—and then they put their names on the publications above mine.”
Caleb mutters something.
“What was that?” I cock a hand to my ear, ready to chew him out for some sexist comment.
He clears his throat. “Then they’re idiots.” He looks me straight in the eye.
I swallow.
“Any guy would be lucky to have you on their team. You’re clearly a hard-working, driven scientist who knows her shit.”
Well, how nice. “Thank you—”
“But it would be hard for them to ignore that you’re easy on the eyes.”
Swing and miss. I roll my eyes at him. “Truth or dare.”
He shakes his head.
“I just did mine. It was truth. It’s your turn.”
He groans.
“Truth it is. Why are you up here all alone?”
“None of your business,” he growls and picks up his chair, turning it to face the fireplace and dropping it with a thud. Bear gives a little whine.
“Fine then.” I go back to pacing.
Boredom stretches. I can’t stand not being busy—not working, especially in the middle of the afternoon. I usually work until I can’t think anymore and then I let myself be brain dead and watch The Bachelor or The Voice. I actually have a few episodes of The Bachelor saved on my tablet, but if I’m going to be here all day, maybe more, I figure I should save them for later. Tonight, when I’m ready for bed and need to wind down.
Caleb doesn’t even have a television. And he doesn’t seem to mind doing nothing.
I seriously don’t get it.
“What do you do for work?” I ask him. “When you’re not snowed in?”
“Construction. Road crew. Pick up work.”
I raise a brow. “In the winter?”
One corner of his mouth quirks in a crooked smile. “Smart woman. Nah, not in the winter. I usually rest up in the winter. But last month I did a little cage fighting for money.”
My eyes fly wi
de, the image of him, naked to the waist, fists cocked flashing far too easily into my mind. I hate boxing—never watch any form of fights—but for some reason I’m turned on. All my lady parts activate, my nipples getting hard, clit buzzing.
The dominance display of a male in his prime never fails to attract the females of the species, no matter how refined...
Seriously. Must be the aftereffects of hypothermia. I’m never this much of a horn dog. Especially over a He-man like Caleb.
“I’ll bet you kick some serious ass,” I muse, more to myself than to him.
He raises his brows, like he’s surprised, then shrugs. “Last match was a forfeit, which was a huge fucking disappointment for me, even though I took home the winnings. I didn’t even get to fight.”
I drag my lower lip through my teeth. I swear I feel his testosterone washing over my body like a warm wave.
What made me think I hated men?
This one makes all those qualities I usually hate seem admirable.
To distract myself from undressing him in my mind, I get up and search the kitchen, making myself at home. “You know what I’m craving?”
Caleb grunts.
“Hot chocolate. Do you have hot chocolate?” I rummage through cupboards.
“What do you think?” Caleb sounds disgusted.
“It doesn’t need to be the mix. I can use any chocolate bar… melt it down or something.” I grab an unmarked bottle. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.”
I shake the bottle and it sloshes. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.” I pop the cork and take a whiff. Pure grain alcohol sears my nose and I sputter. “Whew, hello.” I cough. “What is this, one thousand proof?”
“No.” Caleb’s at my side, reaching for the bottle. I didn’t even see him move. “Put it back. That stuff is stronger than you can imagine.”
“No.” I hide the bottle behind my back, pleased I’ve gotten him out of his chair. He crowds me against the cabinets. “It’s mine now.”
“I’m warning you. It’s way too strong for a hum—I mean woman.”
“Were you going to say human?” I laugh. “Finders keepers.”
“What you gonna do, drink it?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, making his biceps bulge beautifully.
“Maybe I will.” I pull the bottle out from behind my back and eye it. It’s a little intimidating in its brown bottle. I sniff the rim. Smells a bit like turpentine. Maybe it’s not really drinkable.
Caleb towers over me. He’s all in my space and my body seems to love it. I touch my tongue to the glass.
“You wouldn’t,” he says.
Now I have something to prove. “Bottoms up.” I take a swig.
Next thing I know I’m bent over, gasping, as lighter fluid sears my insides.
“Miranda,” he yelps, and pounds my back. There’s a smoking pit where my stomach used to be. It’s the first time he’s said my name, and I like the way it sounds. Especially with that note of concern.
“Damn,” I cough, my eyes streaming. “That really cleans out the pipes.”
“I thought you were going to take a sip, not drink half the damn bottle.” He must have saved the bottle from tumbling out of my nerveless hands, because he sets it on the counter with a thud.
“Your turn,” I rasp.
“No way.” He propels my willing body into a chair.
“You’re the one who wanted it back. I dare you.”
“No.”
I point to the bottle. “Chicken.”
His eyes narrow. Inwardly, I crow. I don’t know what possesses me to harass this guy, but now that I’m sure he’s actually a gentleman, I love goading him. The female tests the male to make sure he’s worthy in a form of flirtation...
Growling under his breath, he stalks to the counter, grips the bottle’s neck and takes a pull. I eye him waiting for signs of distress. Nothing. Nada. Not a cough or an eye twitch. Caleb is badass.
Meanwhile, the alcohol isn’t so much hitting my bloodstream as blazing a fiery trail through each and every limb. I pump my fist in the air and I whoop. “Truth or dare!”
Caleb sits across from me, his fist clenched on the bottle. “Oh, no. It’s your turn.”
“All right.” I lick my lips. His gaze snaps to my mouth. Dammit, I gotta stop. “Um… truth.” I don’t think I can take a dare quite yet, especially if it involves turpentine flavored moonshine.
“Where’s your man?”
“What?” My mouth moves slowly now. In fact, my whole face is a bit numb. I pat my lips until I realize what I’m doing. “What man are you talking about?”
“The man whose ass I’m gonna kick for letting you come up here alone and unescorted.”
My brow wrinkles as I try to figure out who he’s talking about. “Man whose ass you’re gonna kick… you mean my boss?”
“No, but I don’t like him either.” His growl shakes the table. Dr. Alogore is definitely on his shit list. Scary mountain man is intimidating. I definitely wouldn’t want to be on his bad side. I mean, in a non-flirty way. Oh God—am I flirting?
I never flirt!
“I mean your man. Don’t tell me a woman like you doesn’t have a man.” By the way he sweeps my body with his gaze, things suddenly become crystal clear.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I wave my hands. Damn, is it hot in here? I unbutton a couple buttons on the flannel shirt. “Um.” I refocus on Caleb. “Those are a lot of assumptions for you to be making, buddy. First of all, I do not have a man. It is not a requirement for a woman like me or anyone to be attached to someone with a penis. I am not ‘had’… by anyone. Ever.”
His eyes darken. “Are you saying you’re a virgin?”
“What?” I snort. Very unladylike snort. His shirt flops open on me and I twitch it back. “No. I def… definitely…” I speak slowly and enunciate, “have had sex. I just don’t have a boyfriend. They are a waste of time and brain cells. They want someone to stick their dicks into and make them feel good about themselves, and they don’t give anything in return. Men just take. I don’t have the energy for that. I’ve got important work to do. Trees to… sample.”
Caleb grunts. He takes another pull of the bottle. My eyes fix on the hooch. I wave a hand. “Give that here.”
He doesn’t relinquish it, but he holds it to my mouth and lets some dribble in.
“Hey!” I wipe my mouth, savoring the numbness on my tongue. “That’s not enough.”
“I think you’ve had plenty, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.” I shudder. “Dr. Alogore calls me that. Makes me want to puke.”
“Maybe you should get your man to talk to him.” Caleb looks like he wants to stab something.
“Don’t have a man. Imma own womma.” I smack my lips, trying to get feeling in them, and try again. “My. Own. Woman. I can take care o’ myself.”
“Hmm,” Caleb says against the rim of the bottle.
“Whadda ya mean, hmmm. You said that very…” I give him side eye.
“I mean, you need a man.”
“Please.” I slap the table with my hand. “I don’t need a man or anyone.”
“I mean… you should have a man. Woman like you.”
I raise a brow.
“Beautiful,” he says and the world turns pink. La vie en rose. I thought it was only a song. Arousal mimics intoxication, and vice versa. Combining the two can be dangerous…
“Thank you.”
“You need to eat more,” Caleb says accusingly. He pushes away from the table, rummages in the cabinet. Comes back with a bar of chocolate.
“O-M-Gee.” I grab it with both hands. “I love you.” The numbness has moved elsewhere, probably to terrorize my liver. Food is just what I need.
He drops in his seat across from me, looking pleased. He doesn’t even blink when I rip off the wrapper and cram the chocolate in my mouth with both hands. I eat like a chipmunk preparing for winter, and look up at him with both cheeks full.
&nbs
p; “You would make someone a lovely boyfriend.”
“No,” he mutters, and I agree happily.
“No, you’re right. You’re a grouch. But the saving my life, making me breakfast, giving me chocolate…” I give him a thumbs up. “Did I thank you, by the way?”
“Yeah.”
I wipe my mouth and say it again. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“No problem.”
“And for calling me beautiful.”
His gaze shoots up and meets mine and I’m stunned. A ripple goes through my body—a shockwave of desire. The room, the snow outside: everything is the same. And everything is different.
“Um, that was nice of you,” I whisper.
“No problem,” he says to the tabletop.
I finish my chocolate. “Sorry, I should’ve saved some for you.”
“It’s okay.” He has a strange look on his face. “You can make it up to me. Your turn. Truth.”
“Me?” Is it my turn? “Wait, that’s not how it works. I get to choose.”
“Truth,” he insists. “Why don’t you have a man?”
“You mean a boyfriend?”
“I mean a man,” he emphasizes firmly.
“Why don’t you?” I retort. He shakes his head. I sigh. I do owe him for the candy bar. “Truth? I don’t like sex.”
“What?” He freezes.
“I said I don’t like sex.” I lift my chin. “It’s completely overrated.”
“Overrated.”
“Yeah, you know,” I wave my hand. In for a penny, in for a pound. “All this wooing and all the love songs, and what they write in romance novels. It’s not true. Sex is messy, sometimes it’s downright gross. At least it lasts only a few minutes.”
“A few minutes,” Caleb repeats disbelievingly.
“Yeah.” I get defensive. “Don’t tell me you take longer or something. Every guy thinks he’s God’s gift to women and… well, it’s just disappointing.”
I fiddle with the candy wrapper. The heat of Caleb’s… emotion or something emanates from him. Sears me across the distance between us.
Caleb sets the bottle down with a decisive thump. I jump as his chair scrapes backwards and he prowls around the table, plants a hand in front of me and on the back of my chair, and leans in close.