by BJ Wane
Sighing, she opened her eyes to his face hovering right above hers, his warm breath wafting across her lips. She wondered if he included some of that bossiness in his kisses and then questioned what the heck was wrong with her to have such a thought pop into her fuzzy head. “A candy bar,” she admitted, leaving out her bruised hip and leaning back to restore her bearings.
“Figures. Stay still while I heat something up.”
Mitchell kept his annoyance under wraps as he turned on the propane fired stove and retrieved the packaged chicken breasts from the refrigerator. So much for enjoying a peaceful few days in front of the fire, away from the demands of his job and the well-meaning but nosy friends he’d made since answering the ad for a family doctor in the small town of Willow Springs. At the time, he’d thought the much slower pace would suit him, that trading the big, noisy city for a quiet, rural environment would soothe his heartbreak faster. He didn’t have the day to day memories haunting him here like in Denver where he saw Abbie’s face in every room of their home, heard her engaging laugh every time he ate at a restaurant they had frequented and pictured her writhing, glistening bare body at the BDSM club where they’d met.
But it hadn’t taken him long to discover he couldn’t flee the pain of losing her. Abbie’s sweet, biddable nature had drawn on his dominant urges and when she had submitted to him the first night they’d met, there’d been no looking back, or elsewhere for either of them. Eight years hadn’t been enough time with her, and too often he found himself resenting her for leaving him, followed by a stab of guilt from that emotional buffer.
Was it too much to ask for these few days alone so he could wallow in self-pity and rage at fate for the last two years of loneliness and sorrow?
The single overhead bulb flickered and then went out, plunging the cabin into semi-darkness, the gray cast from the one window and amber/yellow glow of burning embers in the fireplace the only sources shedding any light. Lillian didn’t say anything, which prompted him to look around and check on her. Slumped over on the bed, she lay sound asleep, her slim legs still dangling over the side, her upper body twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Grateful for the few minutes reprieve, he slid the pan off the burner, the generator kicking in as he shrugged his coat and gloves back on. At least he had stacked enough wood by the door to last a while before her presence had interrupted him.
Thirty minutes later, wood sat piled next to the fireplace and Mitchell was setting the fried chicken and a bowl of corn on the table when his guest roused. He watched her stretch and then wince as she arched back too far. Her grimace was enough to set aside the fleeting appreciation of eyeing her movements that pushed her breasts upward and shifted those long, slender legs apart. The woman looked good in snug denim.
Mitchell shoved that observance to the back of his mind in favor of getting a hot meal down her. “I would ask how long you’ve gone without sleep, but I won’t bother. Come eat something.”
Lillian sat up and scrubbed her hands over her face, mumbling, “I’m not hungry.”
“You’re irritating me, pet.” She glared at him, her eyes flashing. Why he enjoyed riling her with the nickname, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care for the way her censuring look stirred his cock.
“And you’re irritating me with your nagging, but we’re stuck with each other for now, aren’t we?” Lifting her hands, she tunneled long fingers through her hair, pushing the thick, dark red tangled mass back, offering him an unobstructed view of her pale face.
“We are.” He pointed to a chair. “Come on. You need protein, and then I’ll put an ice pack on your ribs.”
She shuddered, standing up. Plopping into the chair, she cast him a derisive look. “I have enough reminders of why I have sworn off men. You don’t need to add to them.”
Mitchell took the vacant seat across the small table from her, stabbed a plump chicken breast and reached over to dump it on her plate. “Not all men are like the one who gave you those bruises, but I’m fine with you including me in the group you’ve sworn off of.”
Frowning, Lillian picked up the fork and knife and cut into the chicken, ignoring him as he scooped corn onto her plate before seeing to his own servings. The fire crackled as the wind rattled the window and door, picking up speed while they ate in silence. Mitchell liked she didn’t feel the need to chit chat, but the longer he surveyed her black eye, bruised cheek and cut lip, the more his curiosity and ire increased until he couldn’t hold back from getting answers.
“Tell me why you didn’t seek medical attention instead of driving into a forecasted snowstorm.”
Lillian swallowed, looking up at him with a smooth expression. “Because I’m an idiot?”
He shrugged. The girl had grit, he’d give her that. “I don’t know enough to answer that. Enlighten me.” Instead, she shoveled in a forkful of corn, her slim brows dipping in a frown he found as cute as the freckles sprinkled across her slim, straight nose.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, tilting her head so her hair swept over her shoulder and upper arm.
“I find you attractive even if your intrusion on my privacy doesn’t sit well with me. The least you can do for your imposition is tell me why you ended up stranded in the middle of the state.” He could tell she didn’t know how to take his blunt honesty.
Her gaze flickered out the window as the wind howled and the snow changed to ice pellets pinging against the glass. “Aren’t you worried about the weather?” Lillian swung her eyes back to him. “For that matter, why are you out in the middle of nowhere in this kind of weather?”
“No, to your first question. The cabin may look rustic, but it’s sound, the generator will hold up, I have enough firewood and food to last a week and friends who know where I am and a way to contact them if I need help. I grew up in Denver and spent a lot of time at my cabin in the mountains, so I’m used to making do during rougher weather. Why do you keep answering my questions with a question?” Mitchell grabbed another piece of chicken and held it up, offering it to her first. She shook her head and he didn’t push it since she’d polished off a whole breast and was finishing the corn.
Reaching for the glass of water he’d poured for her, she took a long drink before saying, “I just spent a month unable to go anywhere, answer a call or get on the computer without a guy interrogating me. Excuse me if I’m not inclined to go down that path again.”
Mitchell drilled her with a pointed look. “The same guy who took his fist to you?”
A rueful grin lifted her mouth. “Try a hefty, backhanded swing, and yes, same asshole.”
He already knew the answer but asked anyway. “It wasn’t the first time, was it?”
Lillian blew out a breath, her hand tightening on her napkin as she picked it up. “No, but it’s not what you’re thinking. I didn’t stay out of some misplaced denial or because I believed he didn’t mean to hurt me. And it’s none of your business so that’s all I’m saying about it.”
There was more, the reason she put up with the man until recently was portrayed in her bleak expression and sorrow-filled eyes. But she was right, he didn’t need to know the specifics to offer her a safe place to stay until the weather let up. He didn’t have to like it, but there was no sense in bemoaning what couldn’t be changed.
Noticing her long blinks, he stood and picked up their empty plates. “Good enough. If you’re done, I’ll give you a shirt to sleep in and an ice pack for your ribs.” When she didn’t argue he realized her fatigue went bone-deep. More answers would have to wait until morning.
“How can I sleep with a cold icepack? I’m already chilled.” Lillian pushed back from the table and rose, reaching for the shirt Mitchell handed her.
“I’ll time it for ten minutes. That will have to do until morning. The cold would have been more effective within hours of your injury, so you’ll only get minimal relief using it now.” He nodded toward the only other room in the cabin. “The bathroom is over there but there’s not a lo
t of hot water stored, so go easy please. And don’t linger while I get the icepack wrapped in a towel or it will melt and won’t be any good to you.”
“I’m too tired to do anything except wash my face and change. If we’re sharing the bed, fair warning – I’m used to sleeping alone and having the covers to myself.”
Mitchell watched her flounce into the bathroom and shut the door, admiring her gumption and easy acceptance of the limited sleeping space. When confronted with sharing a bed with a stranger, most women would balk and at least try to argue for an alternative. He might find her physically attractive and her tart personality cute for now, but he had the control both age and being an experienced Dom afforded him. That control, along with his morose mood meant she was perfectly safe from fending off any sexual passes. In another time, maybe another place, he might not be averse to stripping her out of those jeans and demonstrating where her attitude could land her or the difference between harmful abusive pain and erotic torment.
Lillian wouldn’t admit it to Doctor Mitchell Hoffstetter, but she felt better after eating. Staring at her pathetic reflection in the bathroom mirror, she could tolerate how awful she looked now the dizziness had cleared. If she weren’t still so tired, she might give in to the temptation to continue sparring with her host. There was something about his deep, commanding voice that helped keep her mind off the worrisome building snowstorm and her sorrow over Liana’s passing. For the first time in her life, she was truly alone and that both scared her and made her sad. As annoying as she found him, Mitchell’s bossiness was still preferable to silence and her depressing thoughts.
But even after that quick nap, fatigue weighed her down and she longed to escape her sorrow and aches through sleep. After stripping off her jeans and sweater, she pulled on the blue flannel shirt he loaned her, the hem falling to mid-thigh, the sleeves needing rolled up several times. It was wide enough to wrap around her twice, but warm and comfortable, and that’s all she cared about. The slight woodsy odor reminded her of him as she left the bathroom, his direct, observant gaze as she padded over to the bed warming her insides. Yes, she mused, slipping under the turned down covers, she was definitely exhausted if a stranger she didn’t particularly care for could stir her up with a look.
“Are you sure I need that?” She eyed the wrapped ice with a shiver as he approached the bed.
“Yes.” Instead of giving it to her, Mitchell delved under the blanket, and the shirt and placed the cold compress against her ribcage where she was the sorest. “How’s that?” he asked, stepping back and flipping the covers back up.
“Freakin’ cold, how do you think it is?” She sounded bitchy but damn, it was cold.
“Be careful, pet, or you won’t like the way I warm you up.”
She gritted her teeth at the nickname. “Is that a threat? I thought I could trust you?”
“I don’t threaten, just warn. Remember that and we’ll get along fine. I also don’t hit, but I do have ways to punish a woman you wouldn’t care for.”
He turned from her but she wasn’t about to let that go. Burying deeper into the comfortable bed, she whispered on a tired sigh, “What do you mean, women like me?”
Mitchell settled in the recliner and pulled a book out of the side pocket, flicking her a look of exasperation. “Never mind. Go to sleep, Lillian.”
Her eyes drifted closed of their own accord, rousing sometime later from the loud crackle of logs added to the fire. The ice pack was no longer nestled under the shirt, its removal without her waking proving how deeply she’d slept but not for how long. The room was dark except for the glow from the fire where her eyes focused as soon as she lifted her lids. In appreciative silence, she gazed upon Mitchell’s bare back as he bent to remove his jeans. It didn’t surprise her to see he went commando, or to note his lean muscled body was as pleasurable to look at as she’d imagined. Those broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and taut buttocks topped his long, muscled legs.
He turned, lifting an inquisitive brow at catching her staring. “You must not be as out of it as I’d thought.”
“I’ve sworn off men but I’m not dead, at least I don’t think so.” If he wasn’t going to act prudish then neither would she, but holy moly, the man had an impressive package and build.
“No, you’re not,” he replied, strolling around to the other side with complete disregard for his nudity. “Go back to sleep. I won’t bother you.”
Bummer. Lillian drifted back to sleep as the bed dipped with his weight, a giggle lodged in her throat from that one-word, wayward thought.
She slept through the snowstorm as it raged into a full-blown blizzard, the snow piling up past the one window over the next few hours. She didn’t wake up when Mitchell did, or when he dressed and started bacon sizzling on the stove. His conversation with the sheriff via his satellite phone went unheard, the coffee aroma didn’t tickle her sense of smell. It wasn’t until mid-morning when her body’s demand for the restroom won out over some explicit dreams that she rolled out from her warm cocoon, shivering from head to toe as her bare feet hit the wood floor.
Blinking to clear her sleepy vision, the first thing to come into focus was Mitchell sitting at the table appearing content and well-rested as he finished off the last bite of scrambled eggs. With the images of her writhing under the forceful plunges of his thrusting body still playing through her head, Lillian found herself resenting his probing once-over out of eyes mostly green this morning with the yellow glow of the fire haloing his head. She had zip-zero interest in men before Liana collapsed in a coma six weeks ago, and even less than that, if possible, by the time she left Brad’s house without looking back. Her appreciation of the doctor’s rescue, hospitality and physical attributes she understood, but not her mind and body betraying her with those dreams that stirred up her libido.
“Good morning. You slept well, so why the scowl?” Mitchell stood and picked up his plate, carrying it over to the sink.
“Maybe I’m not a morning person. Excuse me.” She walked into the bathroom where she washed up and dressed. A shower could wait until later. Right now it was more important to shield her body from the appreciative glance he’d given her bare legs and to get herself under control. It’s the circumstances that have thrown us together in close proximity and my stress, that’s all this is, she insisted before opening the door to see him setting a plate piled with eggs and bacon on the table. Feeling irritable, she grumbled, “I’m not hungry. You eat it.”
With a sigh, he stalked around the table and peered down at her with a frown. “You need fuel to heal. Quit being so stubborn.” Of course her stomach took that moment to rumble in hunger. A taunting smile appeared as he cocked his head. “It seems I know your body’s needs better than you, baby.”
Lillian reacted without thinking, hearing him call her baby igniting her temper with the flashback of Brad’s sneering voice. Lifting her arm, she swung only to have him halt her slap before her palm connected with his face. He gripped her wrist, his hold loose but unbreakable. his eyes going to narrowed slits and boring into hers. She sucked in a trembling breath, shaken by the force of her anger.
“You really do have a deep-rooted aversion to affectionate nicknames, don’t you?” he murmured.
“Especially that one,” she returned without thinking, the information revealing in its simplicity.
He held her in his penetrating perusal and light grip for several seconds before releasing her from both with a short nod. “Understood. Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”
Mitchell waited until Lillian complied, sat down and picked up her fork before turning his back on her. He had seen the second the word ‘baby’ triggered something inside her, her reaction as volatile as his thoughts. The urge to poke at her for more information about this guy and the circumstances responsible for her landing here was as strong as the desire to hunt him down and exact retribution for her. The intensity of his need to do those two things bothered him. Not since his wife, A
bbie had been diagnosed with stage four cancer had he experienced such a profound desire to right the wrong done to a woman. He didn’t even know Lillian, not like he had Abbie, or the submissive members of The Barn, the private BDSM club he’d joined eight months ago, shortly after arriving in Willow Springs. With any of them, he could indulge in a long spank-session over his knees to get the answers he wanted and then reward them with a climax when they quit holding back.
Stoking the fire, a warm curl of remembered fondness spread around his chest as the memory of Abbie coming to stand before him with a shy smile popped up. Spanking for discipline or to get answers was sometimes necessary, but nothing beat the pleasure of watching your sub approach you with need of your hard hand connecting with their bare flesh reflected on their face. It hadn’t taken long to convince Abbie not to wait for his order if she yearned for the release his butt-reddening smacks could give her and he had loved watching as she would pull down her pants and drape herself over his lap without words.
Swiveling his head, he watched Lillian eat with her brows dipped in a frown. This woman didn’t possess a submissive bone in her slender body, that he could detect anyway. It wouldn’t do to fantasize about pulling answers from her the old-fashioned way. The storm had abated early this morning and street crews would head out later today and into tomorrow. After assuring Grayson they were both fine, the sheriff put digging out her car as low priority and would let him know when they could get to it in a day or two. After that, he and his attractive but annoying houseguest would go their separate ways and the concerns he harbored for her would go away as fast as she’d interrupted his solitude.
Until then, all Mitchell had to do was ignore the odd itch to erase the sadness lurking in her extraordinary eyes that mimicked his sorrow when he thought of Abbie. As much as he disliked seeing those bruises marring her face, the fleeting idea of replacing her bad memories with one fucking good one before they parted company wouldn’t come to pass. Since losing his wife, he only indulged his dominant sexual preferences with submissive women at the club, ones who didn’t expect anything other than his undivided attention for a scene or two.
