Driving Him Wild

by Zara Cox

  Minutes passed with his arms wrapped tight around me. I floated in stunned euphoria, unable to form sensible words to fill the silence. The realisation that I didn’t need to, that this wasn’t another artificial encounter where I needed to deny my true self, filled me with an alien emotion that suspiciously resembled...contentment.

  For however long this lasted, Jensen was my willing sub and I was his mistress. I could do with him as I pleased. If that included silence, it was my right.

  Again, the thought shook me to my core. Enough to make me avert my gaze when he eventually eased up to look down at me. When there was enough space between us, he glanced down. ‘May I?’ he asked gruffly.

  I nodded.

  He eased out of me, rose and went into the kitchen. The supply closet door opened and a minute later he was back at my side, a towel in his hand. He cleaned me up, then himself, then tossed the towel away and resumed his position next to me.

  It took a few minutes to wrestle my emotions under control. Striving to lighten the mood, I cast a deliberate gaze around the cabin. ‘No TV. I’m assuming no Internet either?’

  ‘In good weather my satellite phone’s reliable enough to keep me connected but in this weather it’s probably non-existent.’

  It was a little disconcerting to be so cut off. Well, I still had my satellite phone for however long the battery lasted, but the thought that I wasn’t in touching distance of a ringing phone felt...strange.

  Admittedly, in a way that wasn’t...awful. The lack of urgency to be in the centre of everything I’d built was freeing. Enough to trigger a smile. ‘I’m assuming no board games either?’

  He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. ‘I wasn’t exactly planning on entertaining when I came out here.’

  I wanted to ask him why he’d come out here when, like mine, his professional life was booked solid for months. But the emotional wind tunnel I’d gone through a few minutes ago made me shy away from the personal. ‘So what do you actually do here to occupy yourself?’

  He smiled, an open, carefree smile that melted my insides as he caught a strand of my hair and toyed with it. ‘We didn’t get around to the full tour. My darkroom doubles up as office and studio. Most times I bring my work with me. When I’m not working, I hike the woods or take the dogs out for a run.’

  Great, he was one of those healthily outdoorsy types.

  He caught my expression and grinned. ‘Yep, I’m one of those. I find it difficult to sit still for long.’ His fingers left my hair, drifted over my shoulder and down my arm. ‘Unless I have suitable distraction.’

  I nodded, understanding him perfectly. After all, I was one of those. But, sadly, my restlessness had nothing to do with the need to be at one with nature and everything to do with running away from the demons haunting me.

  ‘Why adventure photography?’ I asked, despite my intention to steer clear of anything personal. But this wasn’t personal. We were professionals exchanging professional courtesies. He was working on a project close to my heart and I had every right to know the man behind the camera.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  ‘My stepfather bought me a camera for my seventeenth birthday, a peace offering for sending me off to summer camp when I wanted to spend the holidays at home. I had every intention of hating it, along with everything and everyone at the camp,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  He shook his head. ‘I fell in love with it. I photographed everything I could. When I returned and had the pictures developed, I realised I didn’t suck at it, so I stuck with it.’

  ‘And don’t tell me, since you’d suddenly gone crazy about the outdoors you decided to throw a few risks in there?’

  ‘It was easier to convince my mother that the purpose behind climbing mountains to get one unique picture out of thousands was worth it rather than climbing just for the hell of it. Although that was a seductive draw too.’

  ‘And she was okay with that?’

  His face tightened. ‘She wasn’t. Not for a long time.’

  ‘Why not?’

  His gaze shifted away from mine, reluctance in the fingers that absently caressed my wrist. Clearly his relationship with his mother wasn’t smooth sailing. ‘She found it difficult to let go, generally. At least she did before my stepfather.’

  There was much more to that story and I probably should’ve changed the subject then. Hell, hadn’t I earned a reputation for interfering where I shouldn’t, pushing when I needed to step back? ‘What about your father?’

  He froze, his fingers sliding away from my skin. ‘He’s no longer in the picture,’ he said tightly, his jaw clenching as his gaze swung to rest on the fire.

  Was he dead? Had he abandoned Jensen as my parents had abandoned me? Questions teemed in my head, but I reluctantly accepted that he’d given me more than I intended to give him.

  Minutes passed. When he looked back his expression was cordial enough to display no hard feelings but wary enough to warn me my probing questions were no longer welcome. The brief flare of disappointment and anxiety threw me. I throttled them down as he spoke.

  ‘I’d very much like to feed you, min elskerinde.’

  Hunger pangs immediately registered in my stomach, deciding our next activity. Summoning a smile, I nodded. ‘I could eat.’

  His smile returned. ‘Do you have any preferences food wise?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t mind, as long as it’s hot and tasty.’

  His gaze slid down my body and I could tell he was thinking about something entirely different from food. Nevertheless, he answered, ‘I can rise to that challenge.’

  He caught my hand in his, trailed kisses on my knuckles before rising. ‘Stay here. I’ll be about half an hour.’

  I shook my head, reaching for my sweater. ‘No, thanks, even princesses have to take a break from endlessly lounging about, waiting to be adored and pampered.’

  He grimaced. ‘I’m not going to live that down, am I?’

  ‘Not for a long time, buster.’

  He watched me pull on my sweater, disappointment in his eyes as I covered myself from chest to hip.

  ‘Would you like some socks?’ he asked, holding out a hand to help me up. ‘There’s underfloor heating but it’s patchy in places.’

  The cabin was warm enough. ‘I’ll be fine. I want to explore the pantry.’

  Again, he smiled. My heart tripped foolishly.

  ‘It’s right through there.’

  I left him to tug on his boxers and headed for the pantry. The room was about eight feet deep, with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, and packed with enough food and supplies to last a good few weeks. Even months.

  How long had he been planning on staying here? What had Stephanie done to make him retreat from the world?

  Questions lingered while I clocked the types of food Jensen liked. I was reaching out for a packet when he materialised in the doorway.

  I couldn’t help myself—I gaped at his delicious body. Watched him watch me as I adored him with my eyes, his cock thickening behind the stretchy fabric of his boxers. When my gaze returned to his face, his eyes were dark, gleaming in a way I’d learned signalled his arousal.

  ‘I make a mean chicken fettuccine. Will that work for you?’ he said, his voice a husky rasp.

  ‘Good to know. The question is can you make a mean chicken fettuccine...naked?’ I countered.

  He delivered another one of those insanely sexy smiles, right before he yanked his boxers down his thick legs and kicked them away. I suppressed a gasp, my heart racing as he prowled towards me. ‘Whatever my mistress wants, my mistress gets.’

  He plucked the packet from my nerveless fingers, calmly collected the rest of the ingredients and left the pantry. I followed, worried that I was seriously in danger of becoming addicted to Jensen Sc
ott.

  It became clear very quickly that he was a maestro in the kitchen. He diced vegetables and smashed garlic with shameless aplomb. I wasn’t even annoyed that I was reduced to simply fetching and carrying, the joy of watching him enough to dissipate my disgruntlement.

  ‘Like a glass of wine?’

  I hadn’t spotted any wine when I fetched groceries from the fridge. He wasn’t storing it outside the cabin, was he? ‘Not if I have to venture out in that storm to get it, no.’

  He laughed. ‘There’s a cooler in the pantry. I can’t promise the vintage will meet your high expectations, but it’s perfectly drinkable.’

  My spirits plummeted, that stain of spoilt little rich girl cooling the atmosphere. I sensed his gaze on me as I went to the pantry. I’d missed it the first time round, probably distracted by a near-naked Jensen, but there it was in the back, a slimline cooler filled with a dozen bottles of white, and a wooden shelf next to it, holding bottles of red. I grabbed a white without reading the label, irritation warring with hurt as I returned to the kitchen.

  He was leaning against the centre aisle, naked as the day he was born with his cock at half-mast. ‘Look, I didn’t mean—’

  I stopped him with the dismissive wave of my hand. ‘If you’re going to throw another apology at me, don’t bother. I know I come with a few unsavoury labels. It’s not your fault if you can’t help but go with the evidence bandied about.’

  ‘You’re upset, so I’m guessing they’re not just meaningless labels?’ he pressed.

  ‘Is this just curiosity or do you actually want me to prove to you that I’m not what the media label me as?’

  He shrugged. ‘I want to know you. To see the woman behind the labels for myself.’

  My fingers tightened around the bottle, a profound shaking starting inside me I was loath to outwardly display.

  It stunned me how deftly he continued to pull the rug from under my feet. First with his unguarded admission of his sexuality and now with this. I dragged my gaze from his, but only strayed as far as the window, at the snowstorm raging harder with no signs of stopping.

  The wind picked up then, and a loose branch smashed against the window, echoing the elemental force churning inside me. There was too much going on here, deep waters I was scared to wade through.

  Ignoring him, I went to the drawer and searched for an opener.

  Behind me, another drawer opened. A moment later, he appeared beside me, holding out the corkscrew. I took it, keeping my gaze on the bottle as I worked the screw into the cork. Tension vibrated through the cabin until a pop echoed in the silence. I’d spotted glasses in a cupboard earlier and I went towards it.

  Jensen beat me to it, reaching up to the tall shelf to hand me a glass.

  ‘Aren’t you having one?’

  Silently, he handed me another glass. ‘I will if you want me to, min elskerinde,’ he murmured, darkened eyes rapt on my face.

  He was too much. Everything I was scared to desire.

  I poured two glasses, handed him one and downed half the contents of mine.

  An expression flitted across his face, too fast for me to decode as he raised his own glass and took a moderate sip. The sight of him, sipping wine while he stood there stark naked, comfortable in his own skin, yet with his eyes a little troubled as he stared at me, made me want to laugh. Or scream. Or hide.

  From the first moment I’d laid eyes on him, he’d commanded extreme emotions from me. As if he were the Dominant.

  Topping from the fucking bottom.

  Well, if he wanted personal, he was about to get it.

  I forced a shrug. ‘No need to go on an extended expedition. I’m everything the media proclaims me to be. Spoilt. Rich. Some would even label me a ball-breaking bitch.’

  A smile ghosted over his full lips. ‘I can refute that last one. My balls were in your hands only a short while ago and I can attest they’re still whole.’ He cheekily glanced down at himself and I couldn’t help but follow his gaze. Hell, he really was too perfect to ignore.

  I wanted to end all of this by jumping him again, to dilute the heavy emotions with soul-drenching sex. I resisted the urge. ‘Don’t you need to look after the food?’

  He shook his head. ‘We’re good for another ten minutes or so. Enough time for you to answer one question.’

  I met his gaze with a deliberately sceptical one. ‘Just the one question, is it?’

  ‘Satisfy my curiosity. Just one innocent question.’

  ‘I can order you to shut up. You know that, don’t you?’ I taunted softly.

  His nostrils flared, but despite the mournful look in his eyes, he nodded. ‘I’m aware of that. Do you want to?’

  Emotion, thick and charged, arced between us, tugging tight and pulling me towards him. Several feet away from him, I stopped, bracing my hip against the centre aisle, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why my heart raced with alarm and anticipation of what his question would be. Why I was even considering answering in the first place. ‘Ask.’

  ‘Who’s your favourite person in the world?’

  I blinked in surprise. ‘That’s what you want to know?’

  ‘I find the company one keeps says a lot about a person.’

  ‘What if my person is not a person but a cat?’

  His lips twisted and he shook his head. ‘I’m willing to bet my favourite camera it’s not. You don’t strike me as a cat person.’

  He was right. I actually preferred dogs, but I was a little miffed he could read me so easily. He continued to watch me in expectant silence, his hand casually twirling his glass.

  We were straying into forbidden territory.

  Heartache territory.

  The branch slapped against the window once more, pushing me to answer.

  ‘When I was younger it was my brother, Bryce, but then...shit happened.’ I shrugged, attempted to lighten the mood, alleviate the heaviness around my heart that reminded me of my inability to sustain relationships. My own brothers barely spoke to me, and when they did it was only to discuss Mortimer Group business. ‘Right now, I’d say my aunt Flo is it for me. She doesn’t take any shit, doesn’t mince her words. She can be funny as hell with it, but she shoots from the hip and I...like that.’

  Jensen nodded, his eyes locked on me as he took another sip. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  Technically, he’d used up his free pass. I wanted to tell him to stop. Opened my mouth to do exactly that. ‘Why? What does it matter?’ I asked instead.

  ‘Humour me,’ he replied.

  I didn’t see where he was headed with this, couldn’t spot any real danger, so I responded. ‘On her birthday, a few months ago.’

  ‘So you’re birthday, Christmas and anniversary friends?’

  ‘How is this relevant to anything?’

  ‘Is she a good person?’

  A shaky sensation filled my chest. Aunt Flo was as close to love as I could manage, considering my issues. ‘She’s the best,’ I said, my voice strangely tight.

  Jensen smiled. ‘She’s your emotional compass. You go to her when you need centring. That means you hurt when someone causes you pain. You act spoilt when it suits you, but it’s just that, an act. It means you may take life by the balls, but you’ll never break them. Am I right?’

  I set the glass down with a sharp click. ‘What the hell is this?’

  He shrugged, setting down his own glass to walk past me to the stove. ‘Simply getting to know you, min elskerinde.’

  He lifted the lid on the sauce, bent forward to stir it. As he did, thick strands of his hair parted at his nape. The glimpse of ink drew me to him.

  ‘What is this?’ I asked, parting his hair to reveal a dark blue tattoo etched into the skin between his shoulder blades.

  Given our conversation just now, I gasped at the sigh
t of an elaborate compass. It wasn’t a common one. For starters, the lettering that should’ve clearly indicated correct points were different. Instead of N, S, E and W there was A where south should’ve been, D for east, M for west and the space for north left blank.

  He stirred the pots for another few minutes before setting down the ladle. Then he faced me. ‘We all have our ways for centring ourselves. This is mine.’

  ‘What does the lettering stand for?’

  ‘Family, for the most part,’ he said a little tightly, reiterating my suspicion that things weren’t warm and cosy on the family front for him either.

  Nevertheless, his family seemed to be his guiding light. A compass guiding him when he needed it. I couldn’t help the searing jealousy that lit through me before the curious burst of joy that immediately followed.

  Even more confused by my jarring emotions, I let his hair fall back into place. ‘Are we done with the interrogation? I’m hungry.’ I was aware that my voice was several shades cooler, but couldn’t seem to help myself.

  The glance he sent me over his shoulder held empathy I didn’t want.

  ‘I don’t want to risk being ordered to shut up so, yes, min elskerinde, we’re done. And the food is ready.’ His voice was even, bordering on gentle, which absurdly riled me up even further.

  Feeling out of sorts, I busied myself gathering plates, cutlery, and setting the table. In silence, we dished out the food, took stools on opposite sides at the far end of the island that doubled up as a dining area.

  I poured more wine while Jensen spooned mouth-watering fettuccine, sauce and lashings of grated cheese.

  He stared, not touching his food, as I took the first mouthful. Grateful that we’d moved on from emotional subjects, I happily gave my verdict. ‘This is good. Really good.’

  He smiled, picking up his cutlery to dig into his own food. By mutual agreement, we stayed on safe subjects.

  Why anyone would choose to risk life and limb the way he did as he described his most adventurous shoots was beyond me. I told him as much.