The Cabin

by Alice Ward

  “Hold onto my shoulders and stand.”

  My knees didn’t want to cooperate, but I managed to get to my feet. As his hands guided the shorts up my legs, I forgot how to breathe. He wasn’t breathing either. There was no sound in the bathroom as we stood in the soft light of the lantern, my hands on his shoulders. His hands on my hips.

  That thing I’d never felt until today grew stronger and I wanted to circle my hands around his neck, pulling him to me until our mouths connected in the way I’d only read or wrote about. With him, I didn’t feel claustrophobic like I normally did when people stood too close to me. Instead, I wanted to press closer. I wanted to know how close two people could get without merging into one. I wanted to be the women in my novels. I wanted to know how sex was supposed to be.

  Because, for some reason, I knew this man could show me.

  He stood and lifted a hand, pushing a piece of hair back from my face. “Goddess,” he murmured as his fingers moved into the long strands, his fingers cupping the back of my head.

  My hands dropped to his chest, grasping at his shirt, and I tried to draw him to me. “Please.”

  It was a question. It was a plea. It was all the hopes and dreams I’d never dared ask for, but instead of kissing me, he took a step back and let me go, pushing both hands through his hair.

  I immediately felt the loss of him, then reality came racing back. I’d only known him for a few hours. No, less than that if you only counted the short time I’d been conscious. In that time, I was practically throwing myself at him. I was a slut. I was a whore. I was… like my mom.

  With that thought, I sank back onto the chair, holding onto the arm this time as I reached for the robe. No. I’d told myself I’d never be like that. Like her.

  Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe my morals were jogged loose when I hit my head. Maybe… it was just him. The man looking down at me with so much guilt written across his handsome features. He looked so tormented that I dropped my gaze from the pain of witnessing his expression.

  Stuffing my arms through the sleeves, I stood, locking my knees so I wouldn’t sway, and belted it tightly around my waist. Forcing a smile, I took a tentative step toward the sink. He was right beside me, not touching but ready to catch me if he must.

  But I made it, and also managed to unwrap the new toothbrush and brush my teeth. I’d never done that with a man standing beside me, but it didn’t feel as awkward as I imagined it would.

  When I was done, he offered me his arm, and I took it. To my surprise, he led me to his bed instead of the living room, where I expected to sleep on the sofa. There was a second fire glowing here, almost as big as the other. He clicked off the lantern, using only the firelight to lead the way.

  “No. Please. I’ll take the sofa.” It was like he hadn’t heard me because he continued to pull the duvet and blankets down to expose a soft gray sheet. I pulled away, staggering back a step. “Seriously, I’ll be fine in the other room. I don’t want to take your bed.”

  He made a sound. Did he just growl?

  “You’ll sleep here tonight,” he said, his voice harsher now as he gripped my arm to steady me. Sterner. So were his eyes when they met mine. “I’ll take the couch. It’s custom-made for my length. Don’t worry. Just try to get some rest.”

  “Thank you.”

  His nostrils flared as I sat down and pulled my feet beneath the covers. His face looked like it was made of stone as he covered me up.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Meow-eek.

  I raised my head to see Maggie come through the door, the kitten in her mouth. She jumped on the bed and settled on my feet before letting the little furball go. The kitten launched into a fit of hissing and swiping of claws, his back arched up, his tail a straight white line as he did some strange pouncing dance across the bed. Maggie, looking for all the world like a harried nanny, plopped her head down in what appeared to be complete exhaustion. After a few nose swipes, the kitten’s temper seemed to deflate, and he settled down beside her, curling into her side.

  Precious.

  Gray looked at me, an eyebrow raised, amusement in his eyes. “Cats are so weird.”

  The expression faded away as I smiled up at him and that thing between us grew heavy again. Even in the low light of the fire, his pupils dilated even farther. He turned to go but stopped when I called his name.

  I didn’t know what to say. All I knew was what I wanted, and what I wanted was him.

  Which was stupid.

  “Sleep well,” I said instead, pulling the blanket up to my chin.

  He hesitated for a moment and my heart began to pound as he took a step in my direction. He cursed, then muttered something else under his breath and headed toward the door. Just before he closed it, he said, “Sweet dreams.”

  ***

  The room was cold, the fire having died down to embers, and for a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was. In a blink, it all came rushing back to me. The blizzard. The accident. Him.

  I closed my eyes, turning my face into the pillow that smelled like Gray and inhaled deeply. I wondered how long I would be staying here, sleeping in his bed, eating his food, soaking in his tub. I wondered if the attraction that was evident between us last night would still be alive in the light of day. More importantly, I wondered if we’d act on it.

  The thought didn’t scare me.

  Which was what scared me more than anything.

  I knew basically zero about the man. Hell, he could be married or engaged or in a significant relationship. And if he wasn’t, why did he live all the way up here by himself? Was he hiding from someone? Was he a criminal on the lamb? Was he right now planning on peeling off my skin and wearing it as a corset? Would he kill me quickly or torture me first, pulling off one nail at a time?

  The thing was… I didn’t think any of that bad stuff could be true. I’d be able to tell if he were an ax murderer, wouldn’t I?

  Surely, I wasn’t so emotionally messed up that the first man I felt an attraction for was a serial killer. Of course, my track record wasn’t so great. The first time I went to a bar by myself, that hadn’t ended so well. But I was supposed to meet my mother. She wasn’t there.

  I’m going to make you feel good.

  I shivered and turned onto my side, gazing at the glowing embers, wishing my Super Z teleportation abilities would cause wood to appear on the coals. It was still very dark outside the tall windows, and so quiet. The silence was like a living thing around me. I wanted nothing more than to stay under the warm covers and go back to sleep, but my bladder had ideas of its own.

  Careful of my still throbbing head, I groaned as I sat up and swung my legs out of the bed, shivering as my bare feet touched the cool floor. There was a movement, but it was just Maggie lifting her head, the kitten still curled into a tiny ball at her side.

  I scratched behind her ears and she leaned into my hand. I’d always wanted animals but since we never knew where we’d be living, I was never allowed. One of Mom’s boyfriends had a Newfoundland I adored. Deke adored me too and would sleep with me, rarely leaving my side. I had been brokenhearted when Mom and the guy — I couldn’t even remember his name — broke up and he gave us twenty-four hours to get out. That was when I learned to not get too attached. To be nice but keep a safe distance. To not give up too much of my heart.

  Maggie licked my hand, and a tiny piece of said heart broke off and floated down into Maggie Land. “Such a good girl,” I cooed and gave her chin and neck a good rub.

  At my words, the kitten woke, jerking awake in an instant. Hissing and spitting, the little thing sliced a paw in the air even though I hadn’t touched him. Maggie just seemed to roll her eyes, and I laughed. “He’ll come around, I bet. A couple more servings of milk and he’ll be ours forever.”

  Forever? What was I saying?

  It was like this cabin was some kind of portal to a land I was unfamiliar with, a land where I did and said and thought things I normally didn’t. Frowning,
I picked up the lantern Gray left by my bed. With a flick, the soft light drove the night away, and I stood, giving myself time to catch my balance before staggering like an old woman to the bathroom.

  I peed and washed my hands, frowning at the dark purple bruises that had now appeared on my face. By the morning, my right eye would boast a spectacular shiner, I suspected. At least it would match the nasty looking bruise on my forehead.

  Goddess.

  I snorted. That was what Gray called me earlier, but I was more like a dime-store hooker now.

  Shivering hard, I grabbed the lantern and made my way from the bathroom and startled when I opened the door. It was Gray. He was tossing some additional wood on the fire, and he barely looked my way as I stepped into the room.

  Instead of jeans, he was wearing a pair of sweat pants that rode low on his hips, and a white t-shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles underneath. His toes were bare, and seeing them caused something deep and low to twist in my belly.

  Great. Now I was a slut with a foot fetish. I was definitely blaming my head injury on that one.

  My mouth was dry, but I managed to say, “Thank you. I was going to do that myself.”

  “No problem. The other fire was down so I figured yours was too. When I heard you get up, I thought I’d take the opportunity to make sure you were warm.”

  Turning off the lantern, I set it down and tightened the belt of the robe, less because it needed it and more for something to do with my hands.

  When the fire was blazing again, I stepped closer to it. The instant warmth caused me to shudder. Or maybe it was because our shoulders were only inches apart.

  “How are you feeling?”

  My fingers explored my shiner. “Better. Steadier, I think. I’ll resemble Mrs. Frankenstein for a few days, but like you said earlier, I was lucky so I can’t complain.”

  “You’re beauti—” The compliment died in the space between us. He cleared his throat and scratched at his beard. “Need anything before I go?”

  You. Your lips on mine. Your hands in my hair.

  “I think I’ll get something to drink, maybe take a few Tylenol, if that’s okay.”

  He headed toward the bedroom door like there was a lion about to take a chunk out of his ass. “No problem. Anything you want, just ask.”

  I followed more slowly, heard Maggie jump from the bed. Turning back, I saw the kitten look over the edge. Going back for him, I managed to escape his claws and gather him to my chest.

  “Do you need to pee too?”

  I smiled when he gave me a tiny purr as I scratched behind his ears and under his chin. He was learning to handle being touched, and even enjoying it. As I headed to the kitchen, I wondered if there was a metaphor in that.

  Gray had lit several more lanterns so the kitchen was glowing in the soft light. “Do you have a box?”

  “Um yeah, probably. How big?”

  I kissed the kitten’s head and came out of the encounter no worse for wear. “About litter box size. I’m thinking I can tear up some newspapers or paper towels. It won’t be perfect, but it might do the job. He’s probably hungry again. Might as well feed him. Maybe see if he can eat out of a bowl this time.”

  He scowled at the little cat, but I didn’t think the expression was serious because there was a little quirk at his mouth. “Milk, juice, whatever you want is in the fridge. Bowls and glasses in that cabinet. I’ll find a box then get you back to bed.”

  I glanced at the stove. It was only three o’clock. No wonder it was so dark outside.

  After he went into a room I hadn’t seen yet, I got to work. Taking a sip of juice, I laughed as the kitten stepped into the bowl, knocked it over, but kept lapping up the spilled milk. Before long, Gray was back with a perfect size box that he then made more perfect by cutting the sides down. I ripped up some paper towels then golf-clapped when the kitten used it.

  “What are you going to name him?” I asked and took another sip of my juice. It was wonderfully cold and grapey and soothed a throat I hadn’t realized was sore.

  “I’m not.”

  I gaped at him. “Why?”

  “Because I’m not keeping him.”

  I repeated myself. “Why?”

  He poured himself a glass of orange juice and lifted a shoulder, like that explained everything.

  I tried one more time. “Why?”

  “Because I’m not a cat person. Because I like things the way they are with just Maggie and me.”

  At her name, the dog thumped her tail on the floor and the kitten immediately attacked it. I was glad for the distraction because what I heard in his words were… you don’t belong here either.

  He was right. I didn’t belong here, and it was ridiculous to feel a pang of hurt at the comment. So, just like I did everything else, I suppressed it to the place where my ulcers lived.

  Forcing a smile onto my face, I asked, “How long have you lived here?”

  “Two years.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “New York.”

  I leaned against the counter, wondering if I should try for a change of subject or just go back to bed. I went for option one. “New York is one of my goals.”

  His eyes slid down my body. “You’d hate it there.”

  I was immediately affronted. “Why do you think that?”

  He set his glass on the marble counter a little too hard, causing the juice to almost jump out. “Because anyone with half a brain would detest living in that crime-ridden, concrete jail.”

  Oh. There was a story there, I could feel it, but he didn’t look like he was in a chatting mood at the moment.

  “Well, for your information, I wasn’t talking about living there. I was talking about their best sellers list.”

  He frowned. “Best sellers for what?”

  I waved at his shelves of books. “I’m an author. Well…” I immediately backtracked, “I’m trying to be one. It’s my dream, anyway.”

  He snorted.

  My hackles rose. “What?”

  His eyes narrowed as they searched my face. “What genre?”

  I lifted my chin. “Historical romance.”

  His head fell back on his shoulders, and he moaned, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  If I didn’t think it would cause my head to shatter, I’d stomp my foot. Instead, I crossed my arms under my breasts, holding onto myself tight. “I’m not kidding at all. I happen to love it.”

  He was still staring at the ceiling as if searching for some answer up there. “I wasn’t criticizing. It’s just that… someone I cared about loved historical romance. She read it all the time. What’s your last name?”

  The question startled me, making me wish I’d gone ahead and had my name changed. Instead of answering, I hedged. “I write under a pen name.”

  His brow lifted, and he stroked his hand down his beard, causing me to remember just how soft it was. “Why?”

  Because I catch enough flak being the spawn of a porn star.

  “It’s safer that way. I can write whatever I want and not have to worry about people’s judgments and opinions of me.”

  “Do their opinions matter?”

  Yes. Desperately.

  “That’s not the point. I prefer my privacy, so this system works for me.”

  I blew out a breath when he nodded, his face morphing into one of understanding. “Yeah. I get that.”

  I leapt at the change of subject. “Is that why you live on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere? For privacy?”

  He grinned, the gap between his two front teeth flashing at me. “No, actually I’m a serial killer and living in New York just wasn’t secluded enough for me to torture my victims properly.”

  My jaw sagged, and the grin transformed into a full-on laugh.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Oh, but it is.”

  I stomped my foot, and my head reprimanded me immediately. To add insult to injury, the kitten pounced on my toe, caus
ing me to jump. “It’s not even in the same universe as funny.” I bent down to pick up the little guy, and a wave of dizziness swept over me.

  “Whoa now.” While the world lurched and swam around me, Gray’s hands came down on my shoulders, and I found myself held tightly against his chest. “You okay?”

  As if it was the most natural thing in the world, my arms went around his waist, my fingers pressing into the tight muscles of his back. The lurching began to settle, but I found I didn’t want to let him go, even after the jokes.

  “So, if you really were a serial killer,” I whispered into his chest, “how would you torture your victims?”

  The rumble of his laugh against my cheek was sexy. Very slowly, his fingers walked up my spine before sinking into my hair. Very gently, he pulled my head back until I was looking up at him. Time stilled as those beautiful blue eyes explored my face.

  “Feathers.”

  Something deep inside me shifted as I gazed up at him. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be wanton. I wanted to live on the edge of danger. I wanted to know what his skin tasted like. I wanted to press my lips against his, know his tongue intimately.

  Before I truly understood my mother’s profession, Henry McCall kissed me at the fifth-grade dance. It was three years before I experienced a kiss again, but this time I knew what kissing led to, and when Derrick Simmons tried to grope my breasts and stick his tongue down my throat, I was having none of it. Especially after hearing him tell the other boys how easy I was. Just like her mom.

  That was when I pledged to not let another boy touch me, not that it stopped the rumors of what an easy lay I was. I was sneered at by the girls, leered at by the boys. And as my breasts got bigger, it only got worse.

  When I begged Mom to let me be homeschooled, she only laughed at my concerns. “Use what the Lord and your momma gave you, baby girl,” she said, then gave me a list of ways to make men grovel at my feet. She even offered to let me watch some of her video collection so I’d be, “Familiar with the moves.”

  When I turned eighteen, her agent began suggesting I go into the business, and even offered to “pop my cherry” so that it would be over and done with “by someone with plenty of experience. Har de har har.”