Her First: A First Time Romance Box Set

by A. J. Wynter

  “I’m fine. I’m actually feeling a bit warm.” Along with the tingling sensation, the warmth had started to creep through my body. Mick eased back into the leather club chair and picked up his pottery mug of tea.

  “Where were you ladies going?” Mick asked.

  “We were headed to the Crystalid spa for a, um, a girls’ weekend.” I don’t know why I lied. I mean, I didn’t exactly lie, it was a girls’ weekend. I just omitted the part about it being my bachelorette party.

  “Who was driving? Mario Andretti?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Mick laughed. “He’s an Indy car driver. I’ve never seen anyone so far off the road before.”

  “It was my friend Tania.” Friend might have been a stretch, we were more like situational acquaintances. “How is she doing?”

  “Last I heard, one girl had been released from the hospital with a sprained ankle. The other two are still in the hospital for observation.”

  “I should call her. Let her know that I’m alive.” I realized that I didn’t have my cell phone and wondered if it had survived my ordeal.

  As if reading my mind, he said, “Your cell phone is on the counter, but it won’t do you any good out here. We would have to hike to the ridge to get service. I have a radio and SAR knows that I found you and that you’re alive.”

  “How did you find me?” I asked. My last memory was of the open clearing and the beauty of the snowflakes falling on my face.

  “I almost didn’t. Chopper here was able to sniff you out before you were totally covered in snow.”

  “I can’t believe I blacked out like that.”

  “I can,” Mick said. “Hypothermia does all kinds of crazy things to the brain. I don’t know if you realize how lucky you are.”

  “I’m starting to,” I said, meeting his gaze. I wondered what he looked like under his beard. His hair was dark brown, but his beard lighter. His face looked tanned and a little weathered, and he had friendly crinkles beside his eyes. At first, I guessed him to be about forty but realized his beard made him look older, and he was probably closer to thirty.

  “I’m actually surprised that you didn’t lose any fingers.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “Hypothermia makes you lose your fingers?”

  “Not hypothermia per se. Frostbite will take over and freeze off your fingers, toes, or nose first. Hypothermia is your body’s response to being cold. It diverts blood from your extremities to your heart and brain. It’s quite amazing actually. People actually report feeling warm and euphoric when they get hypothermia.”

  “That’s what I felt. I felt warm and comfortable as if the snow falling was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. “I just sat down. I can’t believe that I did that.”

  “It makes sense. I’ve heard stories of people taking off their clothes and folding them up before they freeze to death.”

  It was at that moment that I realized the gravity of the situation. I almost died. And this man saved me. I felt the tears well up in my eyes when I realized that I hadn’t even thanked him.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “For what?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea.

  “For saving me.”

  “Oh,” he chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

  “No, I mean it. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Well, I’m just glad that we got to you when we did, or else we’d be calling your fiancé with some very bad news.”

  Fiancé. Right. I had totally forgotten about Lawrence. I reached to touch my engagement ring and gasped when I realized that it wasn’t on my finger.

  “It’s on the counter with your phone,” Mick said, pointing to the kitchen sink. “I took it off when I was trying to warm up your hands.”

  I stood up and walked to the kitchen sink. The wind was whistling, and I could see the snowflakes swirling and battering the window. I picked up the ring and slid it onto my finger. The flashiness of the ring seemed so out of place in the rustic cabin. Like it was from another world.

  “I should get back,” I said as I returned to the fire.

  “I will take you back as soon as the storm clears,” he said. “Refill?” he asked, pointing to my empty mug.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You must be hungry,” he said, lighting the burner on the stove.

  I hadn’t thought about it, but he was right, I was starving. “Actually, I am.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to cook up these elk steaks.

  “Let me help,” I offered.

  He seemed to hesitate. “Ok. Why don’t you come and cut some veggies – and pick out some music,” he said, pointing to the record player.

  I smiled and went to peruse his vinyl collection, I hadn’t heard of most of the bands, but I spotted some old Van Morrison. I set the black disk on the record player and realized I had no idea how to work it.

  “How does this work?” I shouted.

  Mick came up behind me and reached over my shoulder to lift the player’s arm, it seemed so delicate in his masculine fingers. The player activated, and he gently set the needle down on the LP, the crack and hiss of the record coming through the speakers.

  “How old are you exactly?” he chuckled and returned to the kitchen, not waiting for my response.

  We spent the next hour chopping and laughing. Mick was funny, warm, and knew his way around a kitchen.

  I set the table and Mick lit some candles. I have seen a million chick flicks, and nothing in those films could compare to the romantic atmosphere that had just been created. I reminded myself that I was engaged. The candles were simply for illumination, the dinner was a necessity, but the music, well, the music was just plain romantic.

  When Mick passed me the checkered cloth napkins, his rough finger touched my hand and I felt a jolt of what felt like electricity pass through my body. I gasped and pulled my hand back.

  Mick cleared his throat. Wordlessly, he went to the record player and switched it to some old classic rock band I’d never heard before.

  The warmth of our conversation and banter we had while cooking was gone. Mick didn’t look at me at all through dinner. The conversation was polite, I guess. Actually, ‘polite’ might have been a stretch. It was cordial bordering on awkward. He focused on his plate and grunted when I asked him questions.

  After dinner, Mick stood up and scraped our leftovers into Chopper’s bowl.

  “Let me help you with the dish--,” I offered.

  “No,” Mick interrupted.

  I was taken aback. Where was the kind man from a few hours ago? He was gone and had been replaced with a cold, rude, jerk.

  Chapter 12 – Mick

  My whole cabin smelled like her. Not in an overly perfumed high maintenance kind of way, but in a breath of fresh air kind of way.

  I fired up the generator and primed the water pump so that she could have a shower. I warned her that the warm water wouldn’t last very long, and she managed to shower in less than five minutes.

  I was impressed. The women I brought to my penthouse always lingered in the shower for what seemed like hours.

  I had been a total jerk the night before, but after that touch with the napkins, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I knew that she must have thought that I was a total asshole, but I’d rather she think that I’m a dick because I was a little cold, rather than taking her to bed and then never speaking to her again.

  She opened the bathroom door a crack and I could see that she was hiding behind the slatted door.

  “Mick, are my clothes dry?” she asked.

  I went over to the drying rack beside the woodstove and felt her jeans. The fire had been piping hot all night as our defense against the blustery wind of the storm, and it had made short work of drying her clothes.

  “They’re dry as a bone,” I said and walked over to the door with them clenched in my hand.

  She reached her ar
m out the door and looked down at the ground shyly as I passed them to her, equally trying to avert my eyes and extend my arm as long as I could. As if keeping more than an arm’s distance away from her would stop me from, well, unleashing the wild man that was growling in my cock.

  She came out of the bathroom in jeans, a white t-shirt and a coral colored hooded sweatshirt, toweling off her dark brown hair.

  She looked radiant. I couldn’t tell that she had almost died of hypothermia the day before.

  “How are your fingers feeling?” I asked.

  She reached her arms out and spread her fingers wide as if examining each one of them. “They feel good. They’re not tingly today.”

  “That’s great. It looks like you’ve come out unscathed.”

  “When are we leaving?” she asked.

  “As soon as this wind dies down we should be able to get out of here,” I replied, looking out the window. The storm hadn’t let up, and even in the light of the early dawn, the snow continued to accumulate, and the wind actually seemed to be increasing in strength.

  “When do you think that will be?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  I can only imagine what it must have felt like for her – to be trapped in a cabin with a surly stranger.

  “Let me tune into the National Weather Service on the radio. Yesterday, they had predicted that the front was going to pass within twenty-four hours, so it should clear around noon.” I opened the fridge and pulled out some eggs. “Are you hungry for some breakfast? I don’t have much, but we could do some eggs and toast, and there are some venison sausages I can pull out of the freezer.”

  “Just toast is good for me,” she said. She sat down on the couch and pulled a quilt around her shoulders. She seemed sad.

  “Are you ok?” I asked.

  “I’d like to call Lawrence,” she said.

  “Lawrence?”

  “My fiancé,” she said, holding up her hand, the giant diamond ring a sparkling reminder of her attachment.

  She was pissed at me. I could tell. Oh well, the sooner I got her out of here, the better it would be for both of us.

  “As far as I know, your fiancé has been notified. There’s no cell service here, but I can radio the hotel where your friends are staying and see if they can get him to a radio.”

  She sighed. “I hate to be a pain, but I’d really like to talk to him.”

  “Ok. I’ll call them now,” I sliced up some sourdough bread and dropped it in the toaster.

  She was going to see the guy in a couple of hours. Why was she so adamant about talking to him? I called out to the Crystalid Hotel concierge and they were able to get one of Lucy’s friend on the other end.

  “Here,” I said, passing the radio to her.

  “Tania?” she spoke into the hand-held device.

  “Lucy!” the voice screeched through the static. “Oh, my God. It’s so good to hear your voice!”

  “Can I talk to Lawrence?” she asked.

  “He’s not here.”

  “When is he going to get there?” she asked.

  The girls had no radio etiquette, but I let it slide – they seemed to be getting by just fine.

  “Um. Like, I’m not sure if he’s coming.”

  “What do you mean? I was just lost in a blizzard.”

  “Listen, Lucy. I can’t get in touch with Lawrence. No one can.”

  Lucy pulled the radio back and stared at it as if it would suddenly explain what was happening with her fiancé.

  There was silence – a very uncomfortably long silence.

  The screechy voice came back through the radio, “When are you coming out of the woods?”

  “As soon as the storm is over,” Lucy said quietly.

  There was no response.

  I noticed that she was still holding down the talk button.

  I reached out and tried to take the radio from her hand. She looked like she was in shock. Women. She almost dies the day before and walked away like it was nothing, now her boyfriend disappears for a day and she turns into a zombie.

  I put my hand around her fingers and eased the radio out of her hand. I pressed the talk button and told the concierge that I would be in touch with a drop off time once the storm had passed. We finished our conversation and I noticed Lucy’s hand shaking in mine. I subconsciously kept her small fingers wrapped in mine.

  She looked up at me as if I could offer some kind of explanation.

  What a fucking idiot that guy was. His future wife had been at death’s door, and her first priority was talking to him and he was nowhere to be found.

  I stared into her eyes, wishing that I could comfort her. But, I know that there are only two reasons a man goes MIA like that, and she wasn’t going to like either of them.

  He was either dead. Or he was with another woman.

  Chapter 13– Lucy

  I stared at the radio in my hand. What did Tania mean they couldn’t find Lawrence? Could he be hurt? He practically lived with his cell phone glued to his hand, so unless he was unconscious there was no reason that he wouldn’t respond.

  “I need to talk to him,” I said to no one in particular.

  Instead of responding, Mick took the radio from my hand, then he jumped up and ran to the toaster. I could see the smoke curling up from the appliance – burnt toast.

  “I need to get out of here,” I said, trying to stay calm.

  “Look, Lucy. As soon as the storm breaks you’re out of here. I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here.”

  Why was he so kind and caring one minute and then an absolute fucking asshole the next?

  “It can’t be soon enough,” I muttered and set my coffee mug down on the rough-hewn table. I started to pace the room like a caged lioness, my mind racing about where Lawrence could be – each imaginary scenario worse than the last.

  I felt trapped in the tiny cabin like its walls were closing in on me. I’m not claustrophobic, but my chest started to feel tight and it was getting harder and harder for me to breathe. I bent over the kitchen counter and started gulping and gasping for air.

  I felt Mick come up behind me. He placed his huge heavy hand between my heaving shoulder blades and just held it there. I could feel the heat from his hand radiate across my back.

  “Breathe,” he said calmly.

  If only it were that easy. At his prompt I tried to calm my breaths, I tried to channel the breathing that I used when I was racing, but my chest was betraying me, and my heart started racing even faster.

  “I…I-can’t…” I said through heaving breaths.

  Mick pulled me upright by my shoulder and turned me to face him.

  “Stand up straight and look at me,” he ordered gently.

  I straightened my body and had to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. It was the first time I noticed just how blue they were, like ice. He put his hand on my belly, “do it with me, breathe into my hand.”

  I breathed in all the air that I could, filling up my lungs and exhaling. “Do it again,” Mick ordered, “this time force my hand out with your breath”. I nodded and inhaled again, this time willing the air to continue past my chest and into my stomach.

  Mick released his breath, “Good, now breathe out slowly,” he said.

  I did.

  “Now do it again,” he said inhaling.

  We synched our breathing together and held eye contact as I pulled the breath into my body, filling up my lungs and then my belly, it, in turn, pressing against his hand.

  It started to work, and my heart rate began to slow, but with my slowing heart came the tears. Mick’s blue eyes seemed farther away as my vision blurred and the tears breached my eyelids, streaming down my cheeks. I pulled my gaze away from his, embarrassed. With the focus of my breath, I became acutely aware of his hand on my stomach. It didn’t need to be there anymore, I gripped his wrist to move his hand from my body but paused and held my hand over his. I looked back up at him and thought I saw compassion flicker in h
is eyes.

  He pulled his hand away from my body, but instead of turning from me like he did the night before, he wrapped his arms around me tightly. I breathed in his scent, he smelled like cedar, musk, and woodstove. I let the tears fall freely and breathed into his wool sweater, burying my face into his broad chest. He stroked my hair and held me tightly.

  His bear hug was the most comforting, cozy, and blissful place I had ever been. My tears paused temporarily only to return again even stronger. This time, I wasn’t crying about Lawrence’s disappearing act, I realized that I was devastated that I had never had a moment like this with Lawrence, ever. I wanted to stop time and live right there in that mountain man’s arms.

  I felt Mick nuzzle his face into my neck and breathe in deeply.

  I don’t know how long we stayed in our embrace, it could’ve been one minute or three hours – time seemed to stand still.

  Mick pulled back and brushed my hair from my face.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  “And go where?” I looked out the window and saw that the snow was still falling heavily, curtains of cotton balls descending from the sky.

  “Anywhere. Anywhere but here,” Mick said pushing me away by my hips. “I can see that you’re getting a bit of cabin fever.”

  “Ok, let’s get out of here,” I smiled at him, sure that my eyes were puffy from crying. When I looked back to him I thought I saw him nonchalantly wipe a tear from his eye. He turned and started rustling through the sea of Gore-Tex and fur-trimmed coats hanging by the door and held out a red coat and some orange snow pants for me.

  It didn’t seem wise to be going anywhere in the weather, but with Mick, I felt safe – safe in a way that I’d never felt with another man.

  I would follow him anywhere.

  Chapter 14 - Mick

  A curtain of dark brown hair hid Lucy’s face from mine, but I’m not an idiot. It was clear that she needed comforting, but I had no idea what to say. Thankfully, I was saved by the smell of burnt toast.

  “Shit!” I spun around and jogged over to the toaster, tendrils of smoke curling from its slots.