by Amber Burns
Rowan dropped the grin from his face and executed a half turn in his wheely leather chair. He grabbed his coffee cup and swiveled back around smoothly. “Hmm,” he said, arching a single eyebrow up his forehead, pursing his lips in mock contemplation. “Well, actually, I would say that we are a little provocatively clad today, are we not?” He tilted back his coffee cup and sipped, never taking his eyes from Ilsa’s own eyes.
Ilsa blushed deeply, crimson filling her round cheeks. She squeezed her manicured fingers together and rolled her eyes at the man wheeling around in the oversized leather desk chair. Then she cleared her throat again, flattened down her hair, and adjusted the top button of her blouse. Rowan watched, captivated by the slow, deliberate movement of Ilsa’s fingers around the top button of her impossibly tight dress shirt. Staring him down, she slowly slid the top button of her blouse free, revealing the tops of her large breasts, pressing hard and full and round against the tops of her lacy bra. Rowan swallowed, swiveled his chair back around, and placed his coffee cup back on his desk.
“It does not, in fact, matter how I am or am not dressed,” Ilsa began, slowly walking across the room towards his desk, her high heels dragging teasingly across the floor. “What does matter, Mr. Rowan Davis, is that you. Are. Late.” She dragged a painted nail across his desk and flicked him against the arm. “And I figured,” she said, her voice dropping several octaves and falling into that deep, gruff tenor voice she reserved specifically for workplace propositions. “That you might want to, you know… make it up to me.”
Rowan glanced at his boss from the sides of his eyes, filling his gaze with a tantalizing view of her perfectly shaped breasts rising and falling against the lacy bra. He felt his crotch begin to harden and he drummed his fingers against the sides of the empty take-out coffee cup, trying to focus. Finally, he let out his breath in a rush, knocked over the coffee cup, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dress pants.
“Alright. Fine,” he agreed, standing up carefully and walking out of the cubicle. “I’ll help you out with that special project you want me to help you with.”
Ilsa quickly snapped the top button of her blouse back together and followed closely behind him as they wound their way through the maze of cubicles.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Davis,” she said loudly, so that everyone they passed could hear her. “Yes, you really are the very best when it comes to the work I require. It demands a very particular type of expertise, and I dare say you that, in this special department, you are truly the best we have.”
Rowan snorted and rolled his eyes at her words, which succeeded in winning him a sharp slap against the lower back, courtesy of Ilsa. They arrived at the heavy steel door that guarded her office, and he stepped aside to allow her wide hips to sidle past him. She pressed her key card to the door’s keypad and it chirped in mechanical approval. The door slid open, and she strutted into the room, her hips swaying hypnotically back and forth.
Rowan stepped through the entrance way, and the steel door immediately slid shut behind him. Without thinking, he began to slide his arms free from his suit jacket, and loosen the tie that hung around his neck. Ilsa turned and stared at him, a single laugh dropping from between her thin lips, her face curling with amusement.
“Alright,” she said, nodding his way, her eyes gleaming with power and devilish joy. “Let’s get started.”
***
Ilsa leaned over a mirror, reapplying deep maroon lipstick to her skinny lips. Rowan, his back turned to her, adjusted his tie so that it hung more neatly down his freshly buttoned up shirt. He slipped his arms back into his finely pressed suit jacket and snapped the lapels. Finally, Ilsa turned, finding her gaze falling upon Rowan, the image of professionalism but for a few scraggly hairs peeking out from behind his ears.
“Thank you again for your help with the project,” she said, standing before the door.
“Absolutely,” Rowan returned, fixing his tie more tightly around his neck. “Do let me know if you require any further assistance.”
Ilsa nodded, her face straight, but her eyes electric with icy humor. “Oh, of course,” she said. “I’m sure I will not hesitate.”
Rowan nodded, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and began to make for the door. He approached the steel entranceway, but Ilsa still stood in his way. She held her key card aloft, several inches away from the computerized pad.
“And, Mr. Davis,” she added, her voice returning to its boss like assertiveness once again. “That snake you have got curling around your middle is absolutely atrocious. Do see that you don’t make a habit out of this wild man and tattoo thing. It will not do so well for your professional image,” she said. Her face was smiling, but her eyes had clouded over with a wintry warning.
Rowan’s eyes darkened, and he forced a grin across his face.
“Right,” he said. “Of course.”
Ilsa stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded, apparently satisfied and pressed her key card against the computerized recognition pad. The chirp sounded with a flash of green light, and the door slid open again.
“Have a good day, Mr. Davis,” she called as he walked past her. “And remember your professional image.”
“Absolutely,” Rowan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, and Ilsa,” he added, turning back around suddenly. “Don’t fret about me turning all no-pro on you. The upkeep of my professional image is precisely why I was late this morning. The new Harley I purchased before work certainly does wonders for my image, wouldn’t you say?”
Ilsa’s jaw dropped open, and her eyes burned with anger. She made as if to run after him but stopped herself when she realized the eyes of half of the office were trained upon her. Instead, she swallowed her words and, over the burning of her rage, cried out,
“Mr. Davis! Mr. Davis!”
Rowan was already tucked back safely inside his cubicle, toying with the keys for his new ride, laughing to himself.
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.”
“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.
