by S. E. Hall
I've never heard the sound before, and if this pans out in my favor, I will give anything to ensure I never do again—but it's unmistakable and I'm instantly paralyzed in a fear worse than actual death.
Ice just splintered beneath me.
Why or how I think of this now, I don't know…maybe hopeless abandon of all rationale? What runs through my head is terminal patients and their doctor telling them, "You have a month, at most, so live it up."
No. Don't tell me. Because I would spend the last month miserable and searching down whatever black market organ needs replaced. I'm not the go into the light without a fight sort of girl.
"Paige?" he yells, but I don't, can't, answer. Any loud noise could crack the not-so-frozen impending death waiting under my feet.
Shit, he'll probably assume I'm back to ignoring him and won't come looking. Or what if I fall through and he never knows it, just assumes I went back inside the cabin? Sweat beads at my neck, my knees—hell, every sweat gland in my body is like an overactive geyser.
How wrong they all were—my smart mouth isn't gonna catch up with me—the exact opposite, really. I'm gonna die without saying a word.
"Paige? Answer me! This isn't funny!" His tone is livid, and I detect this because he's getting closer. Thank God!
No, wait, I have to stop him before he's too close, so I slowly raise my trembling arm and hold my hand up and out to say "halt," then freeze.
"Goddammit, why'd you come out here, yelling, if you were just gonna clam up again? If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were—"
That's when I see him, stomping toward me on an irritated mission. "Vaughn, stop!" I brace for Mother Nature's consequences, but I had to say it, he was mumbling to the ground and wouldn't have seen my hand.
"What, why?" He looks up and when he finds the morbid dread on my sure to be pasty white face, his brows dent to one long worry line and his eyes darken. "Paige?"
I speak quietly, deliberately, while remaining as still as possible. "I'm standing on ice, and it cracked." Oh God, this is really happening. Harsh certainty sets in, tears welling up and clouding my vision. Defeated, I let my extended arm drop to my side. "Don't come any closer," I whisper, but he hears me. I see it written all over his desolate expression. "No reason for you to die too."
"Maybe it's just a puddle," he finally replies.
If he wants to sell me optimism, he should've gulped less visibly and kept his voice from shaking. He lifts his foot and taps in front of him once, then again to the left, right, and finally stops, looking into my eyes, his skin now ashen as well.
"Babe, don't worry, you're gonna be fine. I won't let anything happen to you. But I can't come out there, so I need to go grab a branch. Can you stay right there? Do not move!"
Umm, yeah, I think I can handle that. I don't answer. I don't even raise a brow, telling him to think about what he just said.
"Two minutes," he whispers. "I'll be right back." I watch as he whips around and darts in the opposite direction and sure as taxes and death, he's back in about two minutes, lugging a huge branch on his good shoulder.
Well, I have to speak now. "Too heavy," I gasp, terrified at that thing smacking down on the ice. Is he insane? "That will break it."
He shakes his head, gently placing the branch on the ground. "No, I'll slide it out to you, slow and careful. You grab it with everything you got and no matter what happens, do. Not. Let. Go. I'll pull you to me or die with you, Paige. I swear."
"It won't work," I squeak, the scalding heat of tears rolling down my cheeks. "I'll jump. Three leaps and I'm to you."
"One jump and you're dead. Worst thing you can do."
"No, I can make it," I respond, hoping like hell I'm right.
"We're running out of time. Quit arguing." He tugs his hands through his hair, frustrated, then squats, ready to slide the branch my way.
"I'll run. I'm really fast when I need to be, Vaughn. I can—oh, shit!" I scream, the gut-wrenching crackle of ice fracturing further pounding in my ears. "I can do it, I'll run."
Of course this is how it goes!
When I escape outside like an immature brat, everything's fine. When I come to help carry wood, I die. Such is the Book of Paige, an ironic tragedy.
"Listen to me," he says determinedly. "You're out of time. I need you to trust me, Paige. Just this once, baby, please." It's the absolute terror in his voice that wins me over, claiming me fully before I even notice the fear in his watery eyes as well. "Very, very slowly, bend your knees, and get down on your stomach. All your weight, flat and even, gentle, but at once. Got it?"
"Yeah," I croak, trembling uncontrollably as I follow his exact directions. Wow, so this is what it feels like to hand control over to another person, sharing your load, risking disappointment and hurt on the off chance of gaining better, greatness even? It's new and not completely unbearable.
"Good job, babe. Just like that; steady and smooth." He pushes the branch out and when I'm finally on my stomach, it's right there waiting for me, him on his stomach too at the other end. I won't ask why. If it works, I don't care. If it doesn't…
"All right, Paige, lock your hands on that bad boy and hang on, but don't help me. Keep your weight evenly distributed and flat, no pulling or squirming. I'll do all the work. Trust me and go weightless, babe."
I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I'm a feather. "Ready."
My hands are so painfully numb from the cold and fright, I'm not even sure if my grip will hold, but it must be working because I feel myself sliding across the solid surface. I open my eyes and Vaughn's are zeroed in on mine…he winks, then tugs with only his arms twice more and I'm there.
I hear his rush of relieved breath as he leaps to his feet, grabbing me up under my arms and clutching me to him in a suffocating, glorious hug.
"You're safe. I got you. I got you." The repeat is a reverent husk, as though he's convincing himself. "Babe, Paige…" He kisses my head, then leans back, unburying my face from his chest with one hand, kissing my lips, nose, then lips again. "So scared, baby."
"Me too." I try to smile, but I'm not there yet. My knees are knocking, my body quaking from near hypothermia and shock. "Thank you. God, thank you, Vaughn." I cling to him tighter, burying my face in his chest.
"Let's get you back to the cabin," he grunts, tossing me up in his cradle hold. "I'll come back for the wood. And I swear to God, Paige, you so much as peek out the fucking window while I do, I will test your fine ass 'til my hand hurts. You hear me?"
Facing your mortality takes a lot out of you, because I don't have the energy to even think "did he just say that?" Let alone argue.
"I hear you."
Chapter 6
I burrow deep into the sleeping bag, waiting for Vaughn to return with the wood and get a healthy fire going again. Lying on the floor no longer feels hard and uncomfortable like before—it's a helluva lot better than a sheet of ice underneath me.
But I still have to wonder—hunting cabin—guys—where the hell's the couch? Or beds? Surely they don't all hunker together in bags on the floor too? I'd go searching for the air mattresses I bet are stored somewhere, but we've been over how I feel about surprises.
The burst of cold air seizes my attention, preceding Vaughn through the door, his arms stacked full of logs.
"Don't move, babe, I got it." He kicks back a foot to slam out the chill then walks my way, somehow able to see over the pile he's toting.
Once he places the load in a corner, he stares down at me, assessing how I'm holding up, if I had to guess. The smile he's fabricating is trimmed with worry.
"Let me get a good fire going and then we can heat up some water. I think a hot bath might help you relax. Sound good?" he asks without one ounce of seduction.
A bath? Hell no, it doesn't sound good. Just imagining what's growing and/or simultaneously hibernating in the tub gives me the heebie jeebies, but he's being so sweet…and I'm pretty sure the odor I'm getting whiffs of is
partly my own.
We'll play it by ear. So I nod.
"Great." His smile now genuine, he rubs his hands together then snaps his fingers, crossing back across the room and digging through his duffle bag. If he has soap in there, well, I don't even know how I'll properly thank him. He searches longer than usual, a barely audible sigh escaping him before he turns back to me, eyes clouded with something almost disheartening.
"Here." Vaughn crouches down, water and a Slim Jim in his extended hands. "You have these. I'll start on the fire."
"Where's yours?" Huh, I didn't realize I hadn't spoken in a while until I was speaking. Not a situation I usually find myself in. Ever. My own words are louder than I remember to my ears.
"I'm fine. Eat up."
Eat up? No way do I buy that crap, especially not with the concerned expression on his somber face he can't seem to hide. It's like a flashing sign that something's wrong.
I sit up and cross my legs together. "Vaughn…" I shoot him a glare, but he's already turned to grab some logs. "Vaughn, is this the last of the food?"
"Didn't really check," he mumbles, concentrating on his task.
"Liar. You're not the only one with a read on the other one, you know. See, what I heard was, 'yes, it is, but I won't outright lie so I'll give my answer, which is technically true, in an unclear voice!' How'd I do?"
"Busy here," he throws out quickly.
"I'll eat and drink half, since you're busy, and just hold on to yours until you're done."
He doesn't see fit to respond, hurrying back outside with two buckets when he's got the flames glowing brightly, instantly smothering the chill in the room. I've long wolfed down exactly half of our so-called meal by the time he comes back in, setting the pails of snow close to the hearth.
"Those will be a hot bath soon," he says, still refusing to look at me.
"Thank you." I nudge him. "Here ya go. Dinner."
Finally I have his attention, his eyes locked on mine. "I. Want. You. To have it, Paige."
"And I want you to cooperate, saving me the trouble of tackling you to the ground and shoving it down your fucking throat."
A smirk finally wins the battle with his stubborn mouth. "Promising to tackle me hurts your cause, Firecracker. Come on." He gives me a hand to help me up and wiggles his eyebrows. "We'll fight about it in the bath."
While the ring around the tub's not actually moving, even Vaughn agrees—it's damn close. No way in hell we're gonna soak in a pool of…it. So we decide to stand and take turns pouring a bucket over each other. Thank Christ! I know he thought a bath would be more relaxing, sweet, but no way in hell.
There's no towels, but Vaughn had one extra shirt and pair of socks in his bag we can use, plus a travel-size shampoo and toothpaste. No brush, but who cares? My finger's dying to help out! Had he not already seen me naked plenty of times, the shampoo alone would've earned him a show. We're both stripped and anxious to feel somewhat clean in a blink.
"You first," I tell him, standing face to face, completely naked, in the porcelain home of what may very well be Ebola…and yet I can't keep my eyes from appreciating his magnificent body.
It doesn't seem quite fair that every piece of him be even better than the last. Kinda like the lottery. Don't give one person $385 million, no one needs all that. Give 385 people $1 million and spread that shit around! And Vaughn? At least level the playing field with a funky toenail or something.
Too late now though, the gene pool has spoken. Might as well enjoy the view. He takes one of the socks, dipping it in the bucket of water, then squirts some shampoo on it and starts scrubbing. The Peeping Tom shower thing is all kinds of better up close. His hand glides across the hard planes of his chest, arms, and neck, then he stops for another dip in the pail.
I use this re-dip to swallow, trying to conjure up some moisture in my bone dry mouth and assume an unaffected mask. Smart move on my part cause he commences the show by cleaning his long, engorged dick and surrounding area with mostly languid strokes up and down himself, the corner of his mouth curling while his eyes are trained on my reaction.
"All right, front's done!" I say loud enough to be awkward, then clear my throat. "Rinse!" I shout and rear back, drenching him with a blast from the bucket.
He sputters, wiping a hand down his face and winking. "Thanks. Any left in there for the other side?"
The other side! Where his Powerball ass—oh yeah, if the rest of him is like the whole $385 mil, then that high, firm ass of his is the fucking Powerball that sealed the deal. Like taking a big, crisp mouthful outta the ripest apple in the bag. Give me strength.
"Yep, get to it and hurry up. I'm freezing…and still dirty, Mr. Clean," I grump.
Well, can't say I didn't ask for it. He turns and there it is—the apple ass of dreams. He reaches behind him to hand me his washsock. "Can you do it? I can't reach."
"How do you manage when you don't have a shower buddy then?"
"Detachable shower head or," he sighs dramatically, "I settle for a subpar job. It's fine, I'll—"
"Gimme the damn thing." I rip the sock from his hand amidst his chuckle, rinse it, add shampoo, and get to work.
I have to brace my left hand on his wet shoulder to stand on my tiptoes and reach the top of his back, methodically cleaning every inch of skin and stunning tattoo. "It gets more beautiful every time I see it," I murmur.
"Yeah?" he questions, carrying a trace of doubt.
"Definitely."
"Take all the time you need." His octave drops into that carnal my-legs-fly-open place and I shake my head to clear it before swiping across his ass quickly.
"All done. Here comes the water." Not as heavy now, I lift it as high as I can and let it cascade down the back of him for a more thorough rinsing…thoroughly mesmerized.
Thank God that's over. It was the most drawn-out test of wills I've ever endured. If I said I wasn't noticeably tingling in certain spots, I'd be a split-tongued liar.
Vaughn spins to face me, a naughty twinkle in his eyes. "My—I mean your—turn." He reaches over and grabs the dry sock, getting it wet and lathered up, then wiggles a finger for me to step closer. "Come to Daddy, dirty girl."
It's not unsexy, but far from a phrase I want to encourage or ever hear again, so an over-the-top eye roll is half my reply. "Daddy? No, not working for me. But I am a dirty girl." I turn on the appeal, toying back and moving closer. "Do your thing."
His tongue takes its signature swipe across his bottom lip while those smoky blue eyes roam the length of me, beckoning my nipples to perk up and beg.
At the speed of seduction, he keeps his touch gentle, taking painstaking measures to ensure no part of me is neglected. I know he feels the throbbing of my pulse as he washes my neck, the pounding as he rubs across my chest. Each breast is cared for long after it's clean, his hand's descent down my midriff torturously gradual.
I try to rein in my staggered breathing and the flutter of my stomach muscles, but the tenderness and serenity in his touch, his gaze, call out to—although deeply buried—the woman in me who shamefully longs to be coveted.
"Vaughn, I—"
"Shhhh, turn 'em off, Firecracker. Your mind, your mouth. Let me."
I surrender, absolutely spent from fighting "us." Two near death experiences and being cooped up in solitude with the hottest man I've ever been close enough to touch have exhausted me. And when he adds in the protective, kind but subtly in charge vibe—I'm only human, after all. I let my head fall back and my lids droop, immersed in the feel of his large hands exploring me.
When his palm slides between my legs, I widen my stance, welcoming his attention. His rough breaths grow as loud as my own, in time with the strokes in every crevice.
"Vaughn," I breathe, anticipation rolling through me in heated waves.
"Almost done, baby, turn around for me."
I hear him wring new water from the cloth and then it's back, moving at a much faster
pace along my shoulders and spine, slowing to a teasing rhythm over and between my ass cheeks.
"Here comes water on your head. Tip it back more."
I expect a rush of the bucket pouring over me, but it's a light trickle, barely dampening my hair. I peer back over my shoulder, catching him pouring shampoo into his palm. "Never washed a girl's hair before," he confesses, his fingers kneading into my scalp as he begins.
I close my eyes, relishing the unfamiliar but surprisingly enjoyable attention he gives to every last strand. "Never had a man wash mine before," I reply, my entire body alive.
"Good," is all I hear him say when his hands leave me. "Do what you gotta to do to get that soap out while I rinse this gorgeous body and then we're done. With the shower…" He growls a welcomed promise and pours slowly to rinse my hair.
I scrub like a maniac, my scalp tingling with refreshment as I feel the suds lessen. "Done," I pant, ready and eager to get filthy.
He wastes no time, making sure to remove every last trace of soap from my body, then steps out and gives me his hand. The shirt does little to dry us both off, forget about my thick, shoulder length hair, and I'm swept into his arms and deposited in front of the fire in an instant.
"Get in here." He holds open the sleeping bag. "And scoot over. This'll warm us up in no time." He climbs in with me, smelling fresh yet still manly, and bundles me deep against his chest, solid arms clutched tight around my naked body, which trembles for more of his touch.
His chest is right there, my nose brushing it, my lips now doing the same. I use the tip of my tongue to circle one nipple, kissing across then licking around the other.
"Mmmm," he moans, erection immediate, poking at my stomach. "Paige, baby, better be looking to finish what you start, cause if I think for one second you want me inside you, that's exactly where the fuck I'm going. And I'll stay all goddamn night in that sweetness, babe. All night."
"Promise?" I blow out hotly against his skin.
A primal growl is my answer, and then I'm on my back, his damp body on top of mine.
"Kiss the shit out of me, woman." He smirks and I grab both sides of his face, though for some reason it's not an attack that I deliver but a long, pining kiss to his mouth, groaning into it.
