by Parker, Zoey
A stranger who saved my life, that is.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, that was bitchy of me,” I mumble. “I wasn’t thinking. It’s just that I was so excited about getting home to see my parents for the holidays. It’s been a while, you know? They were looking forward to seeing me, too. This isn’t how I’d planned on things going.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m sure they’d rather have you alive than frozen to death in the middle of the road.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Okay. You’re right. You win. And it’s nice of you to let me stay. It was really great that you came to get me, too. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We sit in silence for a while, then I remember something.
“Shit. Is your land line working? I didn’t have any service on my phone, then it went dead. I couldn’t call my parents, and they must be worried by now. Especially if they heard about the blizzard.”
“Oh, yeah.” He gets up and fetches a handset mounted to the wall by the backdoor. I take it and dial, hoping the lines are still up and I can get through to my mom.
“Christina! We’ve been worried sick!”
“I’m sorry, Mom, really. I got stranded in the snowstorm out here and…had to pull over at a motel for the night.” I glance at him and notice the way he grins when he hears my lie. I roll my eyes, assuring Mom that I’m safe and I’ll call her in the morning.
I hang up, now at a total loss for words. For better or worse, I’m stuck in a secluded farmhouse with a total stranger. What do I do now?
Chapter 4
Jax
The whiskey loosened up her tongue and now she won’t shut up. If I’d known she’d be a talker, I might have left her out in the snow.
Okay. I wouldn’t have left her out in the snow, but maybe I’d have bought myself some earplugs before the storm. Something to help me deal with her incessant talking.
I know it’s because she’s nervous. We’re strangers, and I’m sure that to Little Miss Coffee Shop I’m the Big Bad Wolf. I remember how she looked at me when I first walked into her place last week. Her eyes went round before she could stop herself. Her skin was already fair, but it turned so pale I could see the freckles standing out against her nose and cheeks.
I’m used to getting that reaction when people first meet me, though. It’s nothing new.
She’s not a bad person, of course. She was genuinely nice to me. But that was because she didn’t know me. She had no idea that I really am the Big Bad Wolf.
Now she’s nervous, alone in the house with me. I notice the way she hesitates before taking off her coat, and I know it’s because she’s still slightly afraid of me. Even though I saved her damn life, she’s still afraid.
This isn’t exactly an everyday thing for me either. I haven’t spent this much time alone with a woman, awake and with our clothes on, in years. Ever since…
“Do you live here alone?” she asks, looking at me with those big green eyes. Innocent eyes.
“Why? You think the house needs a woman’s touch or something?”
“No.” I think I see a little bit of a blush on her cheeks. “I was going to say just the opposite. It’s a really nice house. Cozy.”
“Thanks. It was decorated by, uh, a woman I knew.” I look down at my hands. It’s still hard to talk about her, even after all this time. The girl is smart enough to not ask any questions.
“I just realized something,” she says, laughing. “I don’t even know your name!”
“God, of course not.” I’m laughing now, too. “I’m Jax. Jax Fairbanks.”
“Christina Reardon.”
“Christina Reardon, you make a mean blueberry muffin. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for a week. Really, it was excellent.”
She definitely blushes this time. “Thanks.”
“You’ve been there how long now?”
“Six months.”
“I bet the town considers you a pleasant change from Ricky.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Ricky was, you know, a guy. And not the handsomest guy either.” As a matter of fact, he looked like a troll. But I keep that to myself, not wanting to come off like too much of a prick. “The first thing I thought when I walked in was that it was a nice change of pace, seeing you behind the counter instead.”
She scowls, and I wonder what the hell I said to piss her off. “So what you’re saying is that because I have tits, I have customers?”
“That’s not what I said at all. I’m gonna chalk it up to the whiskey.” But there’s no backing down from her. She stands up, hands on hips.
“No, that’s exactly what you meant. I’m a girl, so people come to my shop. If I was a guy—a plain, average-looking guy—they wouldn’t be as likely to come in.”
“What the fuck difference does it make either way? Why are you getting so worked up over this? Either way, it works in your favor. You’re pretty. You’re nice. I’m sure people like visiting the shop and seeing a pretty, nice girl smiling at them. That’s all I meant.” I hold up my hands, surrendering. Christ, she’s tough.
She’s still simmering, but she sits back down. “My pastries are good.”
“I just said they are.”
She folds her arms. “And I remember everybody’s name and what they usually order.”
“I’m sure they appreciate it.”
“They do.”
“Good.”
“Why do you always have to have the last word?”
“I don’t.” She turns her head toward the fire so I won’t see her smile in spite of herself. Now that she’s not looking at me, I can size her up. She’s tall, curvy, with wavy dark hair that hangs past her shoulders. She has that rash of freckles on her nose and cheeks, which I don’t normally like, but on her, they’re cute. She’s the opposite of Marissa.
Even after two years, my heart clenches like it always does when I think of her. She was tiny, short and small framed, with golden blonde curls. She was always quiet, thoughtful, never really shared an opinion. Always going whatever way I wanted to go. Always stepping aside so I could stand in front of her. Smart as hell, but not overly opinionated. She’d been taught from an early age to keep her opinions to herself.
The girl in front of me right now is nothing like that. I’d tried to give her a compliment and she practically jumped down my throat.
So why am I so attracted to her? She’s nothing like the women I usually go for.
Because even now, when I’m on the prowl for pussy I go for women who remind me of Marissa. Petite blondes without much to say outside of complimenting me. Women who don’t fit that profile might as well not exist. Even when I first saw Christina in the shop, I noticed that she was cute. But it didn’t go further than that. Because she’s not my type.
So why do I want to take her upstairs and fuck her senseless?
I don’t think she’d be the kind who’d go for just a one-time deal, though. And that’s all I’m interested in. No strings, no commitment. Not even a cuddle. Just sex. A basic human need. I won’t open myself up to anything deeper than that ever again. It’s not worth the pain.
She’s fun, though. Now that I know it’s so easy to get her riled up, I wanna find new ways to do it. She’s pretty enough when she’s just sitting there across from me, looking at the fire. When she’s pissed off, she’s gorgeous.
“What made you decide to buy the shop?” I ask her. “That’s a pretty big step for someone who’s practically new in town.”
“How did you know I was?” She’s on edge and I have to wonder why.
I just shrug, to show her it’s not a big deal. “You’re new here. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’d never met you before I walked in for a quick breakfast. You were nice to me, which, like I said, isn’t the norm. And you were totally unprepared for a freak storm, which we get around here at this time of year. There wasn’t even a blanket in your car.”
Her eyes narrow. I guess she wa
sn’t expecting me to have a brain in my head.
She doesn’t argue. “I’ve only lived here for eight months,” she admits. “I didn’t know winter was so weird.”
“Yeah, winter’s pretty weird.” I can’t help grinning. It’s just natural to tease her, though I don’t know why.
“How come I’ve only seen you once in eight months? Like you said, you’ve lived here your whole life. Why did you never come in before?”
“I was…away.” I wish I’d never asked in the first place. I don’t feel like getting into this with her. “And I’m not such a big fan of a lot of the town. I only go there every once in a while. Usually I’m out here, or working with my clients.”
“Clients? What do you do?”
“I’m a corporate attorney.” She smirks at me. “What? A corporate attorney can’t have ink?”
“If you’re not going to answer me seriously, don’t bother answering at all. I’m only trying to make conversation.”
“So you do judge books by their covers.” Now she’s scowling. “I’m a landscaper, actually. And you never answered my question. What made you decide to buy the shop?”
She’s shy now. I watch thoughts go through her head. She’s wondering if she can open up to me. Can I be trusted? Will I judge her? Why does she care? She has absolutely no poker face at all.
Finally, she settles on, “I’ve always loved baking. Since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed of owning my own bakery. The coffee shop is the next best thing. I mean, it was like a sign, you know? I moved here because I thought it was nice, quiet. Peaceful. And then, bam! Coffee shop goes up for sale. Like it was meant to be. I couldn’t pass on the chance.”
“And you like it?”
“I love it. I really do.” She’s not only gorgeous when she’s pissed off, she’s also gorgeous when she’s talking about the things she loves. Her eyes light up.
But she’s sexiest when she’s pissed.
I look out the window, noticing the wind isn’t howling the way it was before. “It’s slowed down a little,” I say, standing and stretching. I feel my tee ride up when I do, and I see her glance over to take a look when she thinks I won’t notice. I manage to hide my grin and keep that little bit of information in the back of my mind. The way she looked at me.
“I think it might not be a bad idea to go out and clear at least some of the snow,” I say. “It’s gonna keep snowing but I wanna get a jump on it. So there’s not so much to do all at once.”
“You trust me to stay in here all by myself?”
I can’t help smirking. As if she was some sort of threat. “I think the house can handle it. Unless you’d rather come out and help me. Maybe those leather boots will keep your feet warm.” Even with a disgusted look on her face, she’s beautiful. And so easy to set off. I think saving her from the storm was a good move on my part.
My eyes move down to her body before I turn away. Yeah. It was a very good move.
Chapter 5
Christina
Who the hell is this guy?
I watch him as he puts that massive parka back on, shoving his feet back into his thick boots, his hands back into heavy gloves that he left to dry on the radiator. I didn’t expect him to be witty. He’s not really funny or even extremely charming, but he’s smart. He makes me smile even when he’s pissing me off.
“Try not to burn anything down while I’m out there,” he says, and I scowl at him in disgust.
“Try not to get buried in a snow bank,” I snap.
“If I did, you’d be good and fucked, wouldn’t you?” He laughs a little before disappearing outside, slamming the door shut against the wind.
Ugh.
He’s so sexy I can’t stand it.
I don’t know what it is about him. Yeah, he’s hot. I knew he was handsome the minute I first saw him. Anyone with eyes could see that. But there’s something else. Something deeper. A magnetism. He has tons of it.
I get up and walk to the window, still a little unsteady from the whiskey. At least I’m conscious, though. He didn’t drug me. I feel slightly bad for doubting him so much.
He’s out there, shoveling away like a machine. The snow is nothing to him, the shovel like a toy in his massive hands. If I hadn’t already learned he worked outdoors, I would have guessed it once I watched him clear away the snow. He’s used to this kind of work. Before I know it, he already has a clear path to the driveway, where I can just barely make out the indents that used to be the path we cleared when walking up here from the main road. Has it really snowed so much since then that I can hardly see where our footsteps fell?
I crane my neck, standing on tiptoe, trying to see my car. There’s nothing but snow as far as the eye can see, though. I’d have been buried alive for sure. I shiver at the thought. Imagine if he hadn’t noticed me. I still don’t know how he happened to see me in the first place. I just didn’t think to ask him. Maybe it would be better not to. Maybe not knowing how much of my life, at this moment, has to do with chance is for the best. Otherwise I might go crazy.
I look around the room. It’s like a picture from a book, right down to the hound dog curled up in front of the fire. Two rocking chairs, facing one another on either side of the hearth. A rug between them. Copper pots and pans hanging from a rack over an old stove. A small table with an old-fashioned lamp suspended above it. I would never in a million years see a man like Jax living here. A little old lady living on a pension? Sure. Not a heavily inked, muscular roughneck.
I pace back and forth in front of the fire long enough to get the dog’s attention. He jumps up and wags his tail at me.
“Sorry, old boy,” I say, scratching him behind the ears. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wondering what to do with myself now. Any suggestions?”
He walks over to his food bowl and noses around inside. “Feed me,” he’s saying. Well, that’s just about as good an idea as any. I open a few cabinets, looking for food. Finally, I find a stack of cans, one of which I empty into his bowl. Meanwhile, now that I’ve looked around some, I see that this kitchen is better stocked than I expected. Once again, Jax is surprising me.
I impulsively start pulling out ingredients: butter, eggs, flour, sugar. I turn on the oven, checking to make sure the pilot is lit before mixing up a dough. There are no chocolate chips, but there’s peanut butter. Peanut butter cookies it is. Before long, I’m rolling balls of dough, coating them in sugar and making crisscross patterns in them with the tines of a fork. I put them in the oven and go back to the window, checking on Jax’s progress. He’s still working out there. I can’t believe he hasn’t collapsed yet, honestly. Nearly the entire driveway is cleared. He has to be ready to collapse at this point.
The timer I set over the oven goes off, telling me the cookies are finished. I pull them out, then put on the kettle in case he wants something hot to drink when he comes in. It’s the least I can do, considering that he saved me from freezing and is giving me somewhere to spend the night.
The door opens, a blast of cold air making me shiver. He leans against it to shut it, then takes off his coat and boots. I hear him sniffing the air. “Cookies?” That’s all he says, and the word is heavy, like he’s disgusted.
“Mmmhmm,” I reply, trying to sound casual, as though I didn’t just invade this man’s kitchen. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? It must be the whiskey. What else would have driven me to make myself at home like this? I wish I’d never gotten out of the chair by the fire.
I glance at him, his face unreadable. There’s tension in the air. Is he going to flip out on me? Maybe he’s really sensitive about people going through his home and treating it like their own. I know I would be. God, how could I have been so stupid?
The kettle whistles, breaking the moment. I turn to pull it off the burner.
“I thought maybe you’d want something hot to drink, to warm yourself up,” I say, feeling insanely lame now. I wish I could sink into the floorboards and never come back.
; He moves for the first time since noticing the cookies, putting his gloves back on the radiator. Steam rises up as they drip onto the hot metal. He hangs his coat over his boots, which sit on a pile of newspapers to catch the melted snow. Then he crosses the room, his large body moving smoothly. I tense up, waiting for his reaction. By the time he reaches me, standing directly beside me, I’m holding my breath.
He reaches past me, taking a cookie from the sheet. He takes a bite. I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye and see that he’s chewing with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“You know,” he says, still chewing, “you’re gonna make some guy a terrific little housewife someday.”
“Oh, screw you.” I lean against the sink, arms crossed. I’m relieved he’s not murderously pissed, naturally. But he doesn’t have to be a dick about it.
“I mean it. Some guy out there is gonna be pretty damn lucky. I mean, homemade cookies after coming in from shoveling all that snow? The only thing better would be a blowjob.”
“You’re disgusting.” I take a cookie and stomp over to the chair by the fire, slamming myself into it. I’d almost rather he be angry than disgusting, the pig.
“Touchy, touchy,” he murmurs, fixing himself a cup of what looks like instant coffee. “You want a drink? Maybe some more of that spiked tea. I liked you better when you were buzzing.”
“I liked you better when I was buzzing, too.”
He has his back to me, and I can tell from the way it shakes that he’s laughing. This only enrages me further.
“You know, just because you did something nice for me doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like this.”
“What, like a normal human being?”
I laugh harshly. “If that’s your idea of the way normal human beings talk to each other, I can see why you live out here alone.” I’m watching him, and I can tell from the way he freezes that I hit a nerve. But then his head drops, his chin to his chest. I’m flooded with guilt almost instantly.
“Oh, hey. Hey, I’m sorry. That was a low blow.” I realize I don’t know the first thing about this person. I don’t know why he’s actually by himself. Maybe he has anxiety. Maybe he’s just a recluse. Maybe there’s some tragic backstory I’m unaware of. “Really. I mean it. That was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”