by Amber Burns
6
“Rowan?”
He jumped, jostling his teacup, nearly spilling the steaming contents of the painted cup across his lap. He steadied the cup just in the nick of time and, balancing it on his hand, turned and found Nina standing behind him. Her hair danced around her head in a messy bed head halo, framing her face in a radiant glow of flame. Her eyes looked rested, brighter now, and they shone at him with a mix of intrigue and tenderness. Her lips of rose twisted into a small, cute smile, painting her freckled face into a picture of light rosy restfulness. Rowan’s oversized, hand knit cardigan hung loosely from her narrow shoulders and gaped open as she walked, allowing him generous glances of her moon shaped breasts. He grinned and scratched at his dark beard, setting his teacup down upon the table.
“Hey there Nina,” he said quietly, admiring the way the moonlight fell through the window and tickled her thin body with a golden glow. “Sorry, you just startled me a bit right there. I was just lost in thought.”
Nina ran her eyes over his tan, muscular body. He sat on the couch now, shirtless, the dim light of the room casting shadows across his toned form, emphasizing the true beauty of his build. His dark hair fell in loose tangles down his neck, and his tattoos curled around his shoulders in a way that somehow sent goose bumps running up and down Nina’s bare arms. She swallowed and played with a strand of golden red hair that tickled her cheek.
“Sorry about that,” she blushed, tugging at the hair absentmindedly. “What were you thinking about, Rowan?”
Rowan’s face clouded over slightly, and Nina could not read the overcast expression that suddenly filled his eyes. He stared down into his china cup of warm liquid for a moment, as if seeing in the water the events of his past. Then he shook his head, smiled, and looked back up at Nina, running a hand through his hair in a way that made his biceps pop and Nina’s heart skip a beat.
“What was I thinking about? Ahhh, just old things. You know how memories are, they just catch you off guard sometimes. Nothing important at all, you know.”
He grinned, scratching at his beard, casting his eyes over Nina’s faerie form. God, she was beautiful. So innocent and sheltered, and yet so fierce, tongue like a whip, passion like a thunderstorm. He shook the cloudiness of his memories from his mind and focused his whole attention on the girl that stood before him. After all, she was so stunning, and truly so captivating, that giving her his undivided attention was not at all difficult. Simply looking at her, finding her standing there, gracing his cabin with her overwhelming attractiveness, brought a smile to Rowan’s face.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
Nina stared into the fireplace, her green eyes becoming transfixed, tangling with the mesmerizing dance of the flames. Rowan had stoked the fire for several long minutes while Nina slept far into the evening; so that when she awoke, it would be to a cabin that was warm and comfortable as her sleep had been. Nina watched the flames lap at the top of the brick fireplace, leap over each other, twirl around charred bits of twigs, crumple and then spring back to life in blue red light.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Rowan agreed, following Nina’s green-eyed gaze towards the leaping flames.
Nina nodded, her lips hanging open in a way that made Rowan’s heart flutter. He reached out and carefully grabbed his teacup of steaming hot beverage, brought it to his lips, and sipped, all the while his eyes dancing back and forth between the artful pictures of the raging fire and the girl with the fire hair.
Nina’s eyes fell at last from the flames and instead upon the glass from which Rowan sipped. She watched him slurp the steamy, cozy beverage from the cup and she stifled a laugh to see this large, lean, muscular man with the dark eyes and tattoos crawling all over his flesh, sipping delicately from a china tea cup. She choked while trying to swallow down her laughter, and caused the dark haired man to turn her way.
“What was that?” Rowan asked, mistaking her coughs for the beginnings of a sentence. Nina flushed and scrambled for words.
“Oh… I was just, uh… Um,” her eyes again fell upon the muscular man clutching at a china teacup, and the words snapped onto her tongue, ready to be shared, with ease. “I just wondered what you were drinking,” she said, sidling up to him and pointing to the teacup with steam swaying from its lip.
Rowan smiled up at her, waggling his eyebrows happily.
“Ahhhh,” he said, taking the teacup gingerly in both his hands. “That, my dear, is a very good question indeed. This right here is the one and only, home made, and hand made, best you’ll ever drink in your entire life, Rowan apple cider brew.” Rowan winked, and Nina giggled.
“Okay,” she said. “But I will only believe it if I taste it for myself.”
Rowan nodded, his face a mask of mocking genuineness.
“Oh, but of course, my darling,” he said, waving his arms about in grotesque, over the top charades. “And I shall myself serve it to you, on a silver platter!”
He leaped up and scurried over dramatically across the room to fetch a tea cup from where it hung on the wall. Nina blushed and rolled her eyes at Rowan’s over the top charades.
“Oh my goshhhhh,” she said, fighting to ward the crimson away from her freckled cheeks. “It really must be pretty fucking like alcoholic, huh?” She asked, watching in amusement as Rowan spun in a circle and ran back to her, presenting her with the teacup.
“Oh, absolutely. Nothing but the best from Rowan’s best in the world apple cider brewery!”
Rowan laughed deeply, warmly. He crossed to the fire, still chuckling, grabbed an iron spit, and fished a kettle from the coals. Nina watched as he carefully brought the kettle over, balancing it carefully as it spewed steam and hung precariously from the iron spit. Then he tipped it forward, and it poured its contents into her china cup. As the freshly poured glass of cider steamed and sang, Rowan walked back to the fire, crouched carefully, and slid it again into the flames.
Nina sniffed at the steam wafting from her glass of hot cider and her eyes widened in appreciation.
“Oh, wow, Rowan,” she said honestly. “That smells truly incredible.”
Rowan grinned and bounded back to the couch, scooping up his own china cup of cider in his hands.
“Just wait til you see how it tastes!” He said. He took a small sip of his cider, then added, glancing at Nina. “Though I am betting it will not taste anywhere near as sweet as you do.”
Nina felt her cheeks burn as deeply red as the flames that danced before them. She looked up at Rowan and grinned bashfully.
“You think so, do you?” She teased, playing her finger along the rim of the china cup.
Rowan nodded, his face serious now.
“Yes, I really do,” he said sincerely.
He placed his china cup of cider back down upon the table before them and reached out a hand. He ran his fingers softly through Nina’s mane of electric red hair; traced the outline of her cheekbones, emphasized by the flickering light of the flames; ran his fingers fondly over her lips, down the side of her neck, and lightly over her collar bones. Nina’s heart beat rapidly in her chest as Rowan’s tattooed fingers danced over her pale skin. She found herself leaning forward, pressing her forehead into his chest, nuzzling up to him as they sat clutching mugs of homemade cider before the flames.
“Thank you,” she heard herself whispering, pressing her rose colored lips against his ear.
Rowan felt the shivering words resound within the pit of his stomach, and he trembled. She was so close, she smelled so sweet, she felt so warm, pressing up against him with such ease. He stretched an arm around her and held her closely, running his hand over the gentle curves of her body, feeling the swell of her breasts, the roundness of her hips, the gorgeous pale mountain range of Nina’s form beneath the drapery of the cotton bath robe.
He leaned forward and kissed her lightly upon her upper lip. Nina’s eyes blinked lazily, and she reached a hand down to fondly stroke his upper thigh. He held her head against his
chest and kissed her again, planting his dark face upon her mass of red tangled hair.
“Rowan?” she suddenly asked over the crackling and hissing of the fire. Rowan pulled back ever so slightly so that he could look her in the eyes. Staring into those stunning, vibrant green irises made his stomach flip.
“Yes.”
“How am I…” Nina squirmed slightly.
His touch felt so good, so right, but she could not allow herself to believe that he wanted this, that he wanted her. There was no way, Nina reasoned, that someone like Rowan would want to have anything to do with someone like her. This is probably just the kind of thing this guy does, Nina told herself. He finds strange girls, lost in the forest, takes them back to his cabin to rest up or whatever, fucks them, and then never talks to them again. That is obviously what this is, it has to be. There is no fucking way, Nina, that someone that beautiful is even remotely interested in someone like you.
Yet even as the words crossed her mind, she felt that they were not true, did not accurately depict the man that sat before her. For although she barely knew him, she felt sure, in her heart, that Rowan was gentle yet strong, smart and savvy, caring and creative, protective and loyal. She did not see him as the type to sleep with strangers he found lingering around his property, she saw him, rather, as a sort of hero, a sort of superhero of the forest, someone always there to guard the lost and provide a wandering traveler with a warm fire and a bite to eat.
Still, Nina thought, he does not want you to stick around forever. And you need to get home. Concussion or not. She nodded quickly to herself and continued.
“How am I supposed to get home?” She finished, eyeing Rowan carefully. He swallowed his mouthful of tea and stared into the fire, looking thoughtful.
“Well,” he began slowly, his eyes still hanging upon every dance step the flames executed so brilliantly. “It will require a trip. A long trip. A trip we definitely plan for. And I will go with you, of course, to guide you along your way, to make sure you reach your destination safely and protected.” He nodded, as if mulling it over in his mind and finding this to indeed be the best course of action. “But of course,” he added, turning to Nina, his lips curling slightly in joy as he again found his eyes sparking as they bounced off of her own. “That will not be able to happen for a while. At least not until you are no longer concussed. We cannot risk taking you out for days of strenuous journeying through this beast of a forest when you are too sick to even stay awake for more than three hours at a time.”
Nina glared at him accusingly.
“I can stay awake…” she began, but she was cut off by a giant yawn crashing down upon the sentence.
Rowan began to laugh aloud, slapping at his knees in amusement. Nina recovered from the yawn, blinking her eyes, and looked irritated, but after a few moments, she, too, burst into laughter.
“Okay, okay,” she said, waving his laughter away. “We will wait until I am better. But only if I’m not bothering you by staying here, you know,” she added quickly, looking at him dangerously.
Rowan fixed Nina with a loving gaze.
“Bothering me? Oh, I could think of a couple of ways you could bother me more,” he winked, his voice, as ever, a low, rumbling, comfortable growl.
Nina grinned and flopped back against his arm.
“Careful,” she warned, her eyes beginning to slide closed again. “You play with fire, you might just get burned.”
***
Nina woke to the hiss of the flames and the sound of light rain pattering against the glassy window panes. She stirred, knocking her empty cup of cider over on the table, rustling free from the quilted blankets of the couch. Rowan must have tucked her in, safe and sound, when she nodded off. She smiled to herself at the thought of the dark, toned man curling the blankets safely around her sleeping form, perhaps delivering a gentle kiss to the bridge of her nose. She folded the blanket and placed it upon the couch again, and stood up, adjusting the bathrobe, tying it about her lithe waist. The fabric tugged as it stretched over her perfectly round breasts, emphasizing her pointed nipples.
She began to walk to the kitchen when a sound stopped her. It was the whirring of a motor, and its sound oscillated, as if the motor was somehow circling the small cabin in the woods. Nina stood very still, her hands pressing against her curved hips, her head cocked forward, her ears on alert, listening, listening. The motor revved loudly to the west of the cabin, then faded to a low rumble towards the north. It grew to a mewling purr as it neared the east of the cabin, then again dipped down to a threatening muffled growl as it seemingly drove onwards to the south.
Nina’s face scrunched up in confusion. There seems to be very little electricity out here, if any, she thought, glancing around and suddenly realizing that Rowan’s humble cabin did not seem to include any outlets, any light switches, or any phones, computers, or television systems, for that matter.
Something not unlike queasiness pitched in the pit of her stomach. The roaring sound continued outside, circling and circling the cabin, and it was then, for the first time, that the reality of the situation really sunk in for Nina.
Shit, she thought, the thought cracking like an egg yolk and splattering across her consciousness. I am like, completely cut off from the outside world. I am completely alone.
The revving of the motor growing closer again made Nina jump and startled her out of her panicked thoughts. She ran to the window and pressed her hands upon the glass, pulling her nose so close to the cool pane that she could see her breath beginning to fog bits of the glass with her every exhalation. She waited, her heart racing, her fingers nearly trembling, for the motor sound to again circle around to the west side of the cabin. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she heard the growling growing louder again, and then, VRRRRRRRRRR! She could even feel the purring of the motor in her bones; the glass shivered under her touch, the sound was so loud. She pushed her face right up against the glass and squinted into the darkness of the forest night. And she saw it: a set of headlights, high beams, blazing a whirring trail right next to the house, a dark figure, gleaming black helmet reflecting moonlight, leather jacket tails flying out in the wind behind him as he carved a dangerous path, sharp turns, wheelies, screeching speed, around and around the cabin.
Nina dropped her hands from the glass of the window pane and took several very quick steps back. She secured Rowan’s bathrobe more tightly around her, covering her chest, yanking the hem to hide more of her body from this predatory stranger. Her heart leaped into her mouth and stayed there, and she stood panting with panic, trying to decide what it was that she should do. She ran to Rowan’s bedroom and through open the door, nothing. She checked the bathroom, tearing back the shower curtain, rifling through his linen closet. Nothing. She sprinted back to the kitchen as the motorcycle again revved past the west side of the house. Nothing. She glanced back and forth, frantic now, and her jumping eyes fell upon the mounting on the wall.
The gun. She remembered. Rowan’s rifle.
Nina rushed forward and hopped up and down. Her fingers latched around the gun’s butt, and she pulled. The rifle came tumbling down into her hands, and she caught it in a careful embrace. Hands shaking, she ran her fingers over its slender body, praying that she could somehow do the right thing if it came time to pull the machine’s trigger.
Mounting the gun against her shoulder, drawing it with a trembling finger, peering forward with uneasy eyes, Nina kicked open the front door of the cabin and staggered out into the night on her bare feet. The grass was cool against her naked toes, and the moon was full and hung heavy in the sky, illuminating the property in a ghostly glow. At any other time Nina would have found the moon’s light romantic, but now she saw something threatening in the way the white light painted the lawn half in light, half in shadow. She swallowed and walked forward. Then the motor sound approached again, and she threw her body against the ground, her breath heaving audibly in her throat, her eyes shooting open so wide they mat
ched the roundness of the moon, the gun still held at the ready as she peered forward, her cheek pressed to the grass.
The motorcyclist edged dangerously close to Nina, so close that she could smell the scent of the tire rubber creating friction as it ground against the dusty grass. She held her breath, the sound of the motor screaming at a deafening volume into her ears, the dust kicked up by the speeding of the motorcycle wafting over her and choking her breath. Her mouth felt as if it had been rubbed with sand and her eyes burned from the sprays of dirt. She wound her fingers even more tightly around the butt of the gun, her hands no longer trembling, though they were now so sweaty she feared they might slip off the gun altogether. All she could think as the man sped past her and widened his path, again dipping into the shadow, muffling the sound of the motor, concealing his figure in darkness, was: WHERE ARE YOU, ROWAN!
Sure that she was out of the sight line of the predatory biker, Nina pushed herself off of the ground and ran to the side of the house. She kept her back against the wall and skittered sideways, holding the gun against her chest, the butt upright, her hand still hovering shakily over the trigger, forever at the ready. She closed her eyes hard as the sound of the motorcycle rounding the corner and growing closer again bounced off of her ears. She saw him turn the corner, slamming himself into the turn at such a high speed and at such last minute that his body arched dangerously close to the ground, and she heard him cry out, in joy or in fear, she did not know, and she did not care to find out. When he was no more than twenty feet from her she took a huge breath and sprinted, screaming, out into the darkness, the rifle raised high above her head, her voice cracking and her dry throat burning from the charring of dust against her vocal chords, tears pricking her eyes. She stopped when she was certain she stood in his trail, raised the gun, and aimed it.
