by Kit Tunstall
As it was, she had gotten to the point of sending Lupita downstairs to see if Richard was around before she left her room. There was nothing inherently wrong with him, and he was always polite, but the sight of him was a reminder of what was coming and had been enough to put her on the verge of tears.
That had been before her massive panic attack, but she supposed with hindsight she had been working up to one and had failed to recognize the signs. “That’s okay. I just need a tow truck, or perhaps a car rental place.” She tipped her head sideways, looking at him hopefully. “I don’t suppose you have reliable Internet up here?”
The side of his mouth quirked. “You’d suppose wrong, Breanna. I have to have a dedicated connection to keep in touch with the office, so if you need to use the computer to contact someone, I’ll show you to my den.”
She walked behind him over the deliberately rustic-looking flooring, though it was smooth as glass under her feet bare feet, and into a room that was the quintessential man-cave. There was oversized furniture, a billiard table and dartboard, a state-of-the-art computer, and a stereo system probably capable of reaching an entire auditorium of sports fans.
He sat down behind the large desk in the even larger leather chair, though it seemed to barely fit his frame. He was huge, both tall and broad, and she realized abruptly that he must have carried her at some point last night. No man had ever carried her before, and the thought sent a surge of heat shooting through her. She made a conscious effort to reject the voice whispering in the back of her mind that she was too heavy even for him to carry.
There were days when she really liked her body, with its lush curves, burnt-honey brown hair, and vivid blue eyes. Those were the days when she hadn’t run in to her mother or any of her mother’s friends, and when she had spent the day locked away in her room, composing music in her head. The other days, the days when she was forced to interact with the people in her parents’ social circle, and those who were her so-called friends, were the days when her confidence faltered, and she questioned everything about herself again.
He tapped on the keyboard before he pushed away from the desk, waving his hand to indicate she should sit down in the large chair he’d just left. She brushed past him, their bodies colliding for the briefest of seconds, and dizziness swept over Breanna. Her heart rate accelerated, and she found it difficult to breathe.
In the short millisecond they had touched, her nipples responded by beading to hard points, and moisture dampened her panties. A fierce flush swept across her face, and she looked away from him, hiding behind the veil of her hair in an attempt to hide proof of her embarrassment—and arousal. “Thanks,” she said, still not looking quite at him.
“Sure. Take all the time you need. I’ll be around.” He sounded gruff when he spoke, before striding from the room without looking back.
She feared she had upset or annoyed him in some way, but she couldn’t figure out how. After a moment’s contemplation, she shrugged. Whatever had put her host in that state, she likely had nothing to do with it.
Breanna sat down in the large chair, which made her feel like a kid again. She recalled days when she’d sneaked down to her father’s home office to sit in his chair and wait for him, back when he had still been proud of her potential, before she grew up and fucked it all up by becoming shy and curvy instead of confident, beautiful, and able to display her prodigy-level musical talents. Her throat clogged with unexpected tears.
Clearing the lump away with a small cough, she focused her attention on the computer. She didn’t bother to check her email or try to contact her parents or Richard. By now, they would either know she was gone or they wouldn’t. If her parents had detected her absence, she didn’t feel like reading electronic lectures about her actions.
Instead, she went on Facebook and searched for her friend Grace. Thankfully, Diplaski was a relatively uncommon last name, making it easy to find her friend’s page. After sending a friend request, along with a brief message reminding how they had met—though she doubted Grace had forgotten her in two years—she checked for a tow truck near where she estimated herself to be.
Coeur d’Alene was at least an hour to the northwest, and the two towing services that appeared closer didn’t have websites. Without a working phone, that was a dead end, and she assumed Rafe was correct that she would be his guest until the snow stopped and the skies cleared again. She didn’t know whether to dread that prospect or regard it with anticipation.
Chapter Four
Rafe barreled out into the snow, no clear destination in mind. All he knew was he had to get away from the temptation sitting in his office. When she had touched him, his bear had flared to life—especially when his nose had caught the aroma of her arousal.
Knowing she found him attractive and sexually responded to him had made it almost impossible to keep his bear in check. Even now, his ursine side was growling at him and urging him to turn back to the house. Yes, I know we could have her in just a few minutes, but give her time. She’s still recovering from her accident.
Hoping his bear would listen to reason, or at least shut the hell up for a while so Rafe could remember she was still fragile, he went to the wood pile. He had enough logs split to last him most of the winter, but it was good exercise, and a way to take his focus off his houseguest.
Our mate, growled his bear in the back of his mind.
With an irritated growl of his own, Rafe stripped off his jacket and picked up the maul, rolling his eyes. That was nonsense, though he knew several bear-shifters who believed they would recognize their mate on sight—or scent. The human side of him regarded that with a healthy dose of skepticism, but his bear seemed to have endorsed the idea as soon as he smelled Breanna.
The spicy musk of her arousal lingered in his nose even now, making his cock hard, and his need for her all the more urgent. With a disgusted sigh that sounded almost like another growl, Rafe turned his attention to splitting wood. Soon, he had worked up a sweat and had stripped off his sweater and the flannel shirt underneath. In just jeans and work gloves, he used the maul to split the wood and try to break his focus on/obsession with Breanna Dawson.
***
When Rafe hadn’t return after more than an hour, Breanna grew curious, and perhaps a little alarmed. He was obviously familiar with the terrain in a way she wasn’t, but what if he had gotten hurt out there? It wasn’t snowing as heavily as last night, but with the continued downfall, another few inches seemed likely. If he’d passed out somewhere, and she didn’t go looking for him, he might end up buried under a blanket of snow and freeze to death before he was found.
It was a far-fetched scenario, but once embedded firmly in her mind, she couldn’t push the thought back. Feeling silly, she got up from the computer, leaving her message system open in hopes she would return to find a reply from Grace.
Padding down the hall on bare feet, she entered the bedroom and realized suddenly that it was the only bedroom in the house, with the only bed. She clearly wasn’t going anywhere tonight with snow still falling heavily and no tow truck available, so she guessed she would make do with the couch.
Briefly, the idea of sharing the large bed with Rafe popped into her mind, but she shook her head almost immediately. She wasn’t brave enough to ask such a thing, and she couldn’t imagine a world where a man like him would want a girl like her.
She wasn’t being too hard on herself that time; just realistic. She was the kind of woman who attracted intelligent, geeky, or desperate men, not the linebacker type. Not that she knew if Rafe had ever played football, but he certainly had the build for it. He had the build for a lot of things, like lifting her up and holding her as they fucked hard against the wall.
Her eyes widened at the thought, and she blinked to clear the image from her mind. Where had that come from? She didn’t usually indulge in such crude fantasies of men. Of course, she couldn’t recall the last time she had been so attracted to a man, whether she had known him five minutes o
r five years. Perhaps she just needed to get laid.
If that was the case, she had to look elsewhere unless she wanted to be rejected. He would probably be kind about it, though she couldn’t be certain with his hint of gruffness, but it would still be a stinging rejection, and she’d had enough of those to last her a lifetime.
With renewed resolve, she checked her jeans and decided though they were damp, they would work long enough to check on him. Her shoes were by the bed too, but they were completely impractical for going out in the snow. She must have still been wearing the ballet flats when he had brought her into his home, and it was one more thing he had stripped from her. She shivered at the thought, but not with disgust. Instead, it caused a dart of desire to shoot through her, and she wished she had a memory of the events.
As soon she’d dressed and shrugged on her faux fur coat, hanging neatly on the coat rack and completely dry, she requisitioned a pair of snow boots she found by the back door. A small giggle escaped her after she’d slipped them on and took a couple of steps. They flopped around ridiculously, making her feel like Bozo the Clown, but they’d have to do.
She tromped out of the house and down the porch. A thwacking sound caught her attention, and she shuffled her way through the snow, unused to such depths. It never snowed where she lived, and the few times she had visited places like Vail, she had worn skis or snowshoes.
More likely, she was relegated to the lodge. After the first couple of attempts to teach her to ski had embarrassed her parents to no end, they had politely demanded she stay at the lodge. That had hurt deeply, but she couldn’t deny she lacked their athletic prowess, so she made it easy on everyone by usually politely declining their tepid invitations to join them on their ski vacations.
Slowly, she plodded through the snow until she came around the side of the cabin and froze. The sight that greeted her made her gasp softly. He stood in front of her in profile, stripped down to nothing but jeans, snow boots, and work gloves. The sheen of sweat made his bronzed skin glimmer even without much sunlight filtering through the overcast sky. Every muscle was exquisitely detailed and so perfect that any artist would have wept with gratitude to be able to sculpt or paint him.
She longed to be able to kiss him or run her fingers over his smooth expanse of flesh. Her panties were soaking wet in no time, and she was embarrassed both by her arousal and her inability to look away.
Suddenly, he froze, lifting his head. In a peculiar fashion, he drew in a deep breath before his head turned and his gaze locked directly onto her. She shivered under the force of the intense expression. Was she imagining that dark hunger in his eyes? She didn’t think so, but she was too timid to approach him to find out. Instead, she stayed where she was and nervously called out, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been gone a while.”
“I’m fine.” He swung the heavy maul and wedged it into the large stump he used for chopping. The lithe motion made her gasp, and a new wave of desire flooded through her. She’d never seen anything so magnificent in her life as this man doing something so simple as cutting wood. Breanna realized she was holding her breath as it left her in a ragged exhalation when he turned to walk toward her.
There was purposefulness in his posture, and the way he held himself revealed determination and perhaps something else—something a little feral or wild. A tinge of fear made her spine tingle, but that was obliterated when he reached her, his hands fastening around her arms as he pulled her close.
Before she had a chance to question his actions, or ask what he was doing, his mouth was over hers. He didn’t kiss gently or sweetly. He marked and branded, kissing her thoroughly and deeply, as though determined to memorize every bit of her mouth.
After a second’s hesitation, passion she had never known spread through her, and she was eagerly returning his kisses with the same intensity. She was feeling rather wild herself, and she shoved back the voice of reason trying to admonish her behavior. It sounded too much like Estelle Dawson, and she was in no mood to have her mother ruin this experience.
Breanna lost track of how long they stood in the snow, mouths devouring each other. At some point, he backed her against the wall of the cabin, and she was vaguely aware of the rustic logs pressing against her back through the fabric of her coat and his flannel shirt. It was a minor discomfort, and she was easily able to block it out when his hands roamed over her body.
He made short work of the buttons on her coat, before attacking the buttons on his shirt she still wore with equal vigor. She was certain not all the buttons remained by the time the top was open to her waist, but she would worry about what to wear later.
Her own hands were busy roaming over his bare chest and back. He was hard and firm to the touch, but with supple skin that invited stroking. As her hand traced the arrow of hair leading down his naval, he growled low in his throat. It was a sexy sound, so she repeated the motion until he did it again.
He was rough and ferocious, but with a tender edge that gave her no fear. She hesitated for just a second when his hand slipped under the waistband of her pants and into her panties. The first touch of his finger against her clit did away with any uncertainty, and she arched against his hand. Rafe rolled her nubbin between his fingers, making her already-wet folds super slippery.
She ached to be filled and whimpered as she pressed against his hand. His fingers dipped lower in response, and he clearly realized what she wanted. A moment later, two of his large fingers surged inside her, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more as she arched against his fingers, rubbing her clitoris against the palm of his hand in her search for relief.
She’d never been so wild and out-of-control in her life. When she had sex, she did it like a proper socialite—quietly, politely, and without vigor. This uncontrollable desire was exactly what had been missing in her life, and the epiphany broke over her at the same time as an orgasm consumed her. She’d never come with a partner before, probably because she’d been too inhibited and focused on how a lady should make love, not on how she wanted to fuck.
There was a new hint of wildness and desperation in Rafe as her juices flooded his fingers. She could sense he was moments from pinning her to the cabin wall, stripping off their clothes, and surging inside her out here in the open, where anyone could see.
The idea should have shocked or outraged her, but instead, it only made her yearning that much more intense. “Rafe, take me now.”
Abruptly, he stiffened. His mouth tore from hers, and his gaze was unfocused for a moment, reminding her of an undomesticated animal’s. She wasn’t afraid, but she was cautious when she pressed her palm into his chest. “Rafe?”
Without speaking to her, he spun away and tore off in a run into the forest. It was the strangest thing that ever happened to her, and she stared after him with mouth agape for a long moment.
Finally, the cold penetrated her clothes—or lack thereof with his shirt open to her waist and her jacket on the ground. She bent to pick up the coat and shrugged into it as she wandered back to the cabin, lost in gloomy thoughts.
She must have done something to turn him off, though she couldn’t imagine what. Was it her invitation to take her? Did he not like aggressive women? She firmed her mouth at the thought. She wasn’t normally the aggressive type, but if she felt like coming on strong, the guy she was with should be able to handle that. If not, he wasn’t worthy of her time.
It was an empowering sentiment, and she clung to it as the afternoon waned and darkness fell. As she stared out the window, sipping a cup of coffee while she watched for the return of her almost-lover, she couldn’t help a hint of melancholy overtaking her.
Though she barely knew Rafe, their intense moment outside had felt right on more levels than she could have imagined. They had clicked right away, with shared passion of the same intensity, and he’d given her that orgasm in record time. She’d never had that connection with another man before, and she missed him. It was silly to be pining for someone s
he’d only known for a couple of days, and who wasn’t a sparkling conversationalist that allowed her to get to know him easily.
For some reason, none of that mattered when she was with him. She felt comfortable around him in a way she never had with anyone, friend or lover, before. It was as though she had known him all her life, and he was the missing piece of her.
Staring out into the darkness, she sighed softly. Clearly, Rafe didn’t feel the same way.
***
Rafe didn’t allow himself to return to the cabin until he and his bear had reached an understanding. They couldn’t pounce on their mate like that. She barely knew him, and she was probably freaking out by how aggressive he had gotten. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to control the urge to kiss and touch her as soon as his nose detected the scent of her raging arousal.
At least he knew she hadn’t been unwilling, though she had probably been surprised by the intensity of his embrace. It was only when she had spoken that the human side of him regained the upper hand, urging caution and a slower approach. He didn’t want to frighten away his mate before he could claim her completely. It had to be her choice, and she had to know everything before he could in good conscience take her and mark her as his.
And he knew if he was inside her, there was no way he’d be able to resist the small love bite that would put his scent on her, marking her and warding off other male bear-shifters. Of course the pheromones wouldn’t last, unless he regularly had sex with her and nipped her to renew his pheromone marker. That was part of mating, and an essential part with a human mate, who could be quite fragile to the passions of a bear-shifter.
His mark would protect her from other bear-shifters, but he couldn’t protect her from himself if he went back to the cabin without full control. At some point in his wandering, he had come across her car again. In a conciliatory gesture, he had packed all of her things that he could fit into a large suitcase and carried it in his mouth. Now, as he neared the cabin, he paused where he’d left his clothes and transformed back to his human shape before dressing. The sharp chill in the air made him shiver in just jeans and boots, and he hurried the last hundred yards to the cabin, heavy suitcase in hand.