Come Back to Me_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Vivien Vale

  In the next instant, I nearly choke on the tea as it slides down my throat. Way too fucking hot. I gasp and lean forward on the counter, spewing the liquid into the sink and coughing.

  Emma’s muffled scream startles me, scaring the living shit out of me. I whirl around, cursing myself for being so damn skittish.

  I slam the tea cup down on the counter in the kitchen and rush to Emma’s aid. What if she’s hurt? Why is she screaming?

  I checked her body when we first landed back at the cabin, but there were no major visible injuries. Perhaps she’s stumbled in the dark? The cabin gets pretty dim at night, making it hard to navigate for those who aren’t used to it.

  Rushing into the room, alarm bells in my head are going off, just like the fire alarm at Emma’s apartment.

  From where I’m standing I can’t see any obvious signs of distress. I stare at her for a moment in the darkness. She’s so fucking hot, just the way I remember her—maybe even hotter. The sex appeal oozes off her.

  Should I take her to the hospital or will she be alright with me here? It’s a hard call to make—but I can’t let my face be seen in the outside world. I just can’t.

  Decision made, end of story, the end.

  It’s not my looks I’m concerned about, no. It’s much deeper than that. But heck, no point dwelling on it now.

  Slowly, I approach her.

  Emma cowers as I approach, curling up in the corner of the couch and clutching my bearskin to her chest. Her first instinctual move is to cower, hunkering down on the couch in fear. I see her body trembling under the bear skin I provided her for comfort and warmth when we first got back to the cabin.

  “Emma…” I whisper and stop. Why is she shaking so bad? There’s no fucking way she can be cold.

  Is it me?

  Absentmindedly, my right hand strokes my beard. It’s long and a little unkempt, but hell, surely she’s not frightened of me? I mean, she knows me.

  “Emma?” I try again and wait.

  “Who…” Emma swallows hard and whispers meekly through the shadows. I can hear her shallow breathing. “Who…are you?”

  At her words, my insides tighten, as if squeezed by some powerful vice. Did she really just ask me who I am?

  Surely I misheard?

  “Emma, are you okay?” I try again to reach her. Maybe she’s suffering from shock.

  I crouch down on the floor to draw nearer to her, at eye level so as not to appear threatening.

  “What do you want from me?” Emma recoils and protectively draws her knees up to her chest. “How do you…know my name?”

  She sounds pitiful and weary. Instantly, I regret my decision of bringing her here. I reacted rashly and should have thought it through a bit better.

  “I…you…I mean,” I stutter but can’t form a proper sentence. Fuck. The bare skin of her shoulder’s fucking driving me mad.

  Tea, my mind’s screaming at me. Get her the fucking cup of tea you made.

  “I’ve got some tea,” I mutter and stride out of the room.

  Emma’s eyes follow me as she sizes me up. Then she shakes her head with genuine confusion. She has no clue who I am.

  The mirror I pass in the hallway has me stopping in my tracks. Okay. So maybe it doesn’t quite look like me, like the fucking Dylan she last saw.

  My beard is bushy, my eyes are shadowy, and my features are mainly hidden behind mounds of unruly hair not just on my head and face, but also all over my body.

  When I return with her cup of tea, she shakes her head, pushing the mug away.

  “Where am I? Who are you? Why did you bring me here?” Questions shoot out of her mouth at machine gun intensity.

  And I don’t know how to answer any of them.

  Emma stares, and when I offer the tea again, I try to reassure her. “It’s perfectly safe to drink. It’ll make your throat feel a bit better.”

  She narrows her eyes, but she takes the steaming mug with a shaking hand.

  “What do you mean on fire? Where am I? Who are you?” There she goes with all the questions again.

  “Your apartment was on fire,” I start, trying really fucking hard not to stare at the spot above her breasts where the bearskin is about to fall down and expose her. “You were all alone and had no way out. I rescued you.”

  I wince at my choice of words. Maybe I shouldn’t be so blunt.

  Emma’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

  “I don’t—” she starts, then stops. Now she does try some of the tea. Briefly, she closes her eyes.

  “Fire…my apartment…but why…” she mumbles.

  It seems as if she’s forgotten I’m in the room because she’s let go of the rug shielding her naked body from my prying eyes.

  “Mmm.” I try clearing my throat to get her attention, but it’s not working.

  Her eyes are staring off into the distance. I wonder what the hell she’s thinking about now. Is she able to remember the fire and the rescue, or is she able to recognize me and—my own fucking thoughts trail off now.

  The situation is stressing me out, and the whirlwind of the night is catching up to me emotionally. If I’m not careful, I’ll need a whole lot of therapy I can’t access up here in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  Now Emma stares at the tea for a second and then shifts her gaze back to me.

  The longer I stare at her naked upper-body glory, the harder this becomes. I need to get some clothes on this girl.

  “I’ll be back,” I growl and leave the room.

  When I return, I’ve got a spare flannel shirt. I toss it at her.

  Recognition dawns. Her free hand frantically grabs the shirt and holds it protectively in front of her.

  “Could you stop perving?” she hisses at me, and I turn away.

  Fucking shit.

  I’m a fucking man after all. I mean who wouldn’t look when the opportunity presents itself?

  “As I was saying. I saved you from your burning apartment and, well, you won’t be able to return for a while.”

  “Where am I? Who are you?” Emma repeats, covered now from head to foot in clothing way too fucking huge for her.

  Unfortunately, it makes her look even hotter. It takes every ounce of self-control I’ve got in my muscles of steel not to jump her bones.

  My lonely cock’s about to take over and send my brain on vacation. One thing is for sure—if I stay, the consequences will be ugly.

  “You’re safe,” I grumble and stand up again. “Nothing will happen to you up here.”

  Without another word, I leave the room. I can’t stay any fucking longer.

  Already, my self-control has been stretched to its limit. I feel like a million isotopes are pulsing through me, ready to set the entire fucking cabin on fire.

  “Hey, wait. You can’t just leave me here without answers,” Emma yells after me.

  Briefly, I hover on the threshold of the door.

  No. No fucking way. Don’t go back.

  “Come back here, Grizzly, or whatever your name is. I deserve some answers.”

  Silence. I’m leaning against the wall in my hallway. My heart’s racing in my fucking chest.

  “Can you hear me? You can’t do this to me.” Her yelling is a little softer, and my heart is being ripped in two.

  I’m torn between maintaining my distance and running back in and telling her everything.

  Without another word, I rush out into the snow. A fucking ice bath should take care of quenching any urges I’m feeling right now.

  Emma

  I yawn and rally my brain cells into action. My body feels like it’s filled with lead, and my joints are slow to come to life.

  How long did I sleep?

  Another yawn escapes me. I stretch, catlike, to get myself moving. So much is happening in such a short amount of time. Millions of questions are buzzing around my head, and I’m entitled to some answers.

  I don’t think that’s too much to ask, particularly when a bear-man walks into
your blazing apartment and whisks you out of bed, taking you to some far-off mountain cabin, hut, or whatever the fuck this is.

  So far, I’ve not been given the grand tour. Still, I can tell it’s not a New York penthouse we’re hiding in, or an executive suite in Vegas.

  Wherever we are, I’ve got to get away ASAP. An hour or two ago would’ve been good, last night would’ve been even better.

  I sigh and swing my legs over the side of the bed. It’s about time I find the bear-man and ask him some of these questions. They’re still buzzing around my head like crazy, even more annoying than flies in the summertime.

  A girl is entitled to answers, and I resolve to get them.

  It takes me a few minutes to get my bearings. As I look around, my insides feel as if an icy wind is blowing through me. The reality of the situation is sinking in.

  “How is this real?” I ask no one in particular, because I don’t think anyone could answer that buzzing question.

  I go through the surreal series of events in my head. Some crazy man kidnaps me from my luxurious lifestyle and deluxe penthouse apartment, telling me my place was on fire, and he happened to come along at just the right moment to rescue me and take me to some remote mountain cabin.

  I stop mid-step.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  My heart starts to race in my chest, and it sounds like waves are crashing in my ears.

  I’m walking right into this dude’s trap. People are after me? My ass they are.

  This crazy bear-man’s either in cahoots with these crazy idiots, or there is no them, only him.

  The icy feeling spreads. It’s as if long, frozen fingers are raking through me. They touch everything, each and every one of my pores and cells. Everything they stroke turns icy cold.

  The world shakes a little bit and goes fuzzy. It’s as if the focus of my eyes needs to be adjusted.

  Pull yourself together, girlfriend.

  I hear my friend Amanda’s words in my mind. I haven’t seen Amanda in a while, but once, a long time ago, she was a good friend. She disappeared from my life, just like Dylan.

  Of course, Amanda’s reason for leaving me was different than Dylan’s—whatever his was. Amanda’s working for some charity, traveling to different poor, remote villages in developing countries.

  She’s not reachable by the usual means of email or mobile phone. The only time we ever catch up is when she graces my world with her presence, which, as far I’m concerned, isn’t often enough.

  Dylan is a different kettle of fish.

  Dylan.

  There I go, thinking of Dylan again.

  Man, oh man. I must really get this guy out of my fucking head.

  The minute I get back home I need to find a good therapist for this shit. I’ve avoided seeing someone about it so far, and even though I’ve been managing fine, it might be time to put skeletons to bed.

  I mean, if I can’t even go a minute without thinking of the prick, even here in the middle of nowhere, it’s still pretty freaking bad. I’ve tried to do it on my own, but it’s time to face facts: if I want to get that prick out of my head, I’ll need help.

  I wonder how I can find a good therapist? There must be someone I know who can give me a recommendation.

  Fuck it, I need to stop thinking about this shit. I need to focus on the here and now and try to find out what the hell is going on.

  It’s so quiet here. I listen for any signs of the man-bear, or any signs of anything, really, but there’s only silence.

  Where is the crazy man-bear person this morning, anyway?

  There’s that fear again. Maybe he’s behind me? I spin around, suddenly convinced I can hear breathing.

  There’s nothing there.

  Emma, I tell myself, take a deep breath and stay calm.

  Okay, so this man-bear creature who’s holding me captive could be the same man who set fire to my apartment.

  He could be some psychopathic killer, or⸺

  I need to stop my thoughts from going any further along this gruesome path. It’s bad enough I’m in this mountain cabin, in the middle of nowhere. I don’t need to imagine some horror movie scenario on top of that.

  But, fuck, I can’t help it. I catch a glimpse of the flurrying snow outside, and the sight makes me shiver.

  Okay, I’m all alone out here, in some cabin, with no one but a bear-man for company. What if he’s planning to tie me up and beat me to death?

  Pain shoots through me at the mere thought. I rub my wrists—I can almost feel the ties there already.

  Or worse, maybe he doesn’t want to kill me at all. Maybe he wants to use me as a sex toy.

  My imagination is now in total fucking overdrive, going down the worst possible scenarios.

  Stop it, I tell myself. You’re being ridiculous.

  I take a deep breath and creep along the floorboards. They’re well-oiled and don’t make the usual creaking noise one expects of old floors.

  I reach the end of the hallway and peer around the corner.

  If I come face to face with the Grizzly⸺my nickname for the crazed man who’s kidnapped me⸺I need to make sure he isn’t armed.

  My heart’s beating so fast I fear I might pass out.

  From what I can see from where I’m standing, I don’t think anyone’s in the kitchen. I edge forward on my tiptoes, taking my time. My muscles are poised for flight.

  If he comes at me with any kind of weapon, I’m going to kick him in the balls and run for it. I’d rather take my chances with the snow than a crazed psychopath.

  Of course, there’s no evidence whatso-fucking-ever he’s what I imagine him to be, but I still need to tread with caution.

  My eyes dart around the room, eventually fixing on the teapot on the bench. I walk over and grab a cup from the sink.

  I’m thirsty. To be honest, I’m hungry too. But I don’t want to rummage around here too much in case it makes Grizzly mad.

  The tea is still lukewarm, and I cradle the cup in my hand, staring out the window onto white, white, and more white. As far as the eye can see, there’s nothing but fucking white.

  If I hoped for a friendly neighbor to come and visit, finding me held hostage and coming to my rescue, well, that’s not going to happen.

  No one could possibly be out there.

  No one.

  I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  I close my eyes. Now I’m hoping this is nothing more than a realistic nightmare. If I count to ten and open my eyes again, I’ll find I’m back in bed in my luxury apartment. The silk sheets will cover me, and the alarm clock will glare at me, demanding I turn it off and get out of bed.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

  I open my eyes.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  There are no silk sheets, no annoyed alarm clock. There’s just a window covered in icicles and snow as far as the eye can see.

  So I don’t burst into tears. I turn away from the window. All that nature and vastness depresses me.

  Okay. Let’s try and approach this in a calm manner. Maybe Grizzly’s not a psychopath and does have good intentions.

  I mean, if he were one of those mad men, surely he wouldn’t have left me to roam around the cabin. Surely, he would’ve tied my up by now or something.

  What’s more, I didn’t sense evil in the man. He looked so wild, so untamed, yet there was something so familiar about him it’s driving me up the wall.

  I mean, just look at him. He’s hairy, I mean really fucking hairy, and he’s manly and sexy and looks like a grizzly.

  He’s nothing like the men I know. My admirers, of which there are plenty, are tall, thin, wear designer suits and shave twice a day.

  Brad, who I dated for about a microsecond, was obsessed with low carb, gluten-free, dairy-free, meat-free, organic soy non-fattening water, wore Calvin Kline boxer briefs and Armani suits, and went to the gym a couple times a week. He wasn’t muscly, and his complexion was a littl
e too milky.

  All in all, Brad didn’t do it for me, sexually or intellectually. The man was a total bore was and only able to talk about himself, his golf score, and blah, blah, blah.

  Dylan, on the other hand...

  Stop. Don’t go down that path. Think about someone else.

  My thoughts spin.

  Okay, so if I compare Grizzly to Brad, a shiver runs down my spine.

  I bet the man eats meat, bread, and potatoes. I also bet he’s never heard of Calvin Klein underwear or Armani suits or any designer label before.

  His clothes are like from the last century, if not earlier. I’ve never seen a wardrobe so lacking in style.

  Also, I bet bear-man has never set foot into a gym. I mean, there are certainly no gyms to be seen around here, and yet from the little I did get to see of him, he’s fucking sexy and has muscles upon muscles. Dude doesn’t need a gym.

  With another sigh, I turn back to the window.

  How am I ever going to get out of this place? I don’t want to spend another night here.

  Bear-man invades my thoughts yet again.

  His eyes. There’s something about those eyes.

  My grandmother always believed the eyes are the windows to a person’s soul. To be honest, there was nothing mean or horrible in those chocolate eyes. I felt myself melt on the inside every time those eyes were upon me.

  Maybe he’s got a map of the place? There must be a way out of here.

  If the snowstorm stops soon, I could maybe just hike out of here. I mean, I got here with grizzly man, so I must be able to leave on my own.

  I rub my forehead. Who the fuck am I kidding? There’s no fucking way I can get out of here on my own. I need Grizzly to help me, but somehow, I don’t think he will.

  The way he looked at me, studied me, held me, I think he doesn’t want to give me up.

  I don’t mean he wants to hold me here against my will. I mean he will confirm what I already know, but don’t want to admit: Right now, I just can’t leave. The weather is against me.

  I sigh again.

  My thoughts stay with the bear-man. When I first saw him, I thought he was a fucking bear: tall, big, hairy—so fucking hairy—and so strong.

  Deep within me, a little flame flickers. There’s no doubt about it, the man does strange things to me. He leaves me confused and unable to think straight.