by Jessica Sims
“Sara?” I said by way of greeting. “Is she here?”
“Not here,” Ramsey said in a gruff voice. “Safe.”
Disappointment crashed through me, but I hid it and pulled up a chair at the table. “All right,” I said, feeling rather awkward at the moment. “Savannah?”
“Still missing,” Beau said, his voice short.
Not the most cheerful of mornings, then. I managed a half smile. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, Ramsey, even if it’s under bad circumstances.”
Ramsey just stared at me.
Even Beau looked like something was sticking in his craw. Puzzled, I shoved my hair off my face and tried to finger-comb it a little. It was a puffy snarl around my face, a cloud of blond tangles. “Something wrong?”
Beau’s throat worked as he swallowed. Neither one of them said anything for a long moment, then Beau’s mouth turned tight-lipped. “Nothing. I was just briefing Ramsey on the situation last night.”
“Great,” I said, giving up on the finger-combing as my mind set to work. “Don’t mind me. I’m just going to hunt for some coffee.” It would be the perfect opportunity to listen in on their conversation and find out what they thought about things, all under the guise of being sleepy and careless.
I headed around the small island. There were several large boxes on the counter. I didn’t ask how Ramsey had gotten them here, though the mental image of a bear pushing a shopping cart through the forest was a funny one. I opened the first box, but Ramsey moved past me and pulled the box out of my hands, then shoved a different box in my direction.
“Thanks,” I said, giving him a faint smile, determined not to let him scare me off. “I think.”
Beau stiffened and turned abruptly. “I’ll be outside chopping wood.” He slammed the door behind him as he left.
What the hell? I blinked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Ramsey said, his voice curt.
I glanced out the window, then back at Ramsey, waiting for further explanation. None came. Well, all right then. “Are you … just going to stay here?”
He gave me a short nod.
I looked out the window again, back to Beau. “I’m guessing that he doesn’t want you leaving me alone?”
Another short nod, and Ramsey looked more and more uncomfortable, as if he hated having to converse. For some reason, that made me feel like laughing. Poor Sara, stuck with this surly man all week for company. “Well, if you’re here and you’re bored, you might as well help me unload.”
The big man moved across the kitchen and opened the box closest to him, setting to work without a word. It seemed odd that he would take orders from me. But if he considered me Beau’s woman, I guess it wasn’t that weird after all.
The sound of wood chopping rang outside. It sounded rather … frenzied. Obsessive. I frowned and glanced at the window again. “What’s bothering him?”
“Heat.”
I peeked out the window, watching Beau swing the axe with grim, relentless determination. “I realize you’re into the monosyllabic thing, but you’re going to have to give me a bit more than that.”
He continued to unload the boxes of goods, not looking at me as he responded. “You bother him. Your hair is messy with sleep. Your feet are bare. You wear his clothes. It … affects him.”
Oh. For some reason I hadn’t thought that the heat would do anything more than give him a boner. “Is he going to be like this all day?”
Ramsey gave me a level look. “You tell me.”
Oh. I blushed. Maybe I liked Ramsey better when he was silent. “Er, how long does this heat thing last?”
“ ’Bout twenty-four hours.”
Good Lord. I tried to imagine being in the bedroom with Beau for twenty-four hours, but my virgin-mind (despite all the dirty books and Cinemax I’d watched) couldn’t quite wrap around it. “Oh.”
He gave me a grave look. “Someone will be watching over the cabin while you are occupied.”
“I … oh. That’s nice,” I said faintly. So strangers were going to be wandering around outside, knowing that Beau and I were shagging like minks inside? Oh, the embarrassment. “And Sara?”
“She is fine.”
“She is,” I agreed. “But is someone going to be watching over her? At all times?” The whole situation felt very surreal, unloading groceries while scary things prowled the forests.
Ramsey’s eyes narrowed as he looked over at me. “I will keep her safe.”
Looking at the massive man, I had no doubts of that. I nodded.
Chop chop chopchopchop—Beau was attacking that wood. I imagined his body covered in sweat, muscles rippling, and felt the sudden urge to fan myself. Instead, I kept unpacking, reaching for the next box and pulling out the contents.
He’d bought enough groceries to feed a small army. In with the staples—rice, beans, canned meat, peanut butter—I found … lubricant? I dropped it as if stung and stared down into the box. Accompanying the industrial-sized bottle of lube were three extra-large boxes of condoms and what seemed to be a gallon of massage oil. Good Lord. How much sex did Ramsey think we were going to have?
I shut the box hastily and pushed it aside.
By the time everything else had been unpacked, I figured our woodpile was the size of a beaver dam.
The coffee had finished brewing and I poured myself a cup, dousing it with enough sugar and cream to make a cake. “You sure Beau is all right?” I looked out the window. “He just seems very …” Angry? Jealous? Miserable? “Unhappy,” I finished.
Ramsey shoved a baseball cap on his head, as if he was preparing to leave. “Heat,” he said again, his expression not concerned in the slightest.
“Ah.” Well, if it was normal for him to be this hormonal, I’d stop worrying. “Thank you, Ramsey. I appreciate it.”
Ramsey paused at the door, as if warring between the idea of staying and going. After a moment, he sighed, then glanced back at me. “Beau is our leader … similar to a wolf alpha. His natural instinct at the moment is to compete and dominate. Right now he is trying very hard not to come in here and attack me for being near you.”
I wasn’t sure which was more disturbing—the fact that Ramsey had used so many words at once, or what he was actually saying. I forced a tight smile to my face. “Thanks for the advice. And you’re positive I’m safe with him?”
Ramsey gave a jerky nod, then sighed again when I continued to stare at him expectantly, as if it was bothersome to humor a human. “You are safer with him than anyone else, Bathsheba. He will not let you come to harm from anyone—certainly not himself.”
Swell.
I gave him a wary thumbs-up. Ramsey nodded at me and quickly exited, as if he couldn’t wait to get away. Not a chatter, that Ramsey. I heard the chopping stop, heard the two men converse, their voices low. I yearned for supernatural hearing so I could hear what they were saying. But then the chopping began again, and I peeked out the window to see Ramsey strolling away into the cold woods, his hands tucked in his jacket.
I stayed in the kitchen, making eggs, hash browns, and toast. I cooked an enormous amount of food—Beau ate a lot, thanks to his shifter metabolism. He eventually came inside, his body gleaming with sweat, his shirt stuck to his chest, his hair a damp, curling mess on his forehead.
We ate a silent, awkward meal. The heat stood between us. I remained silent, not wanting to antagonize the already touchy Beau, and he seemed content to slap his cutlery around as he ate. He thanked me for cooking, but other than that, we said little. I ate fast so I wouldn’t have to linger at the table, and Beau seemed determined to do the same.
So much for romance.
After breakfast, he disappeared back outside and I showered, then dressed in the clothes that Ramsey had brought for me. Jeans and long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, and the like. Cute bras and underwear. I suspected that Sara had had something to do with that, because everything fit.
I picked the laciest, sexiest bra and underwear
and put them on under my jeans and sweater. Lingerie was ammunition in the war of the sexes, and I planned on loading my guns.
Chapter Twelve
Beau slinked into the living room a short while later, clothing changed. “Get your coat on. We’re going out.”
I looked up from my book and blinked from my corner of the couch. Then I looked out the window. The unusual snow continued, coming down outside in big, fat flakes. Like any Texan face-to-face with snow, my instinct was to burrow indoors. “We’re going out? Why?”
“We’re going to do something romantic. To make today special. I told you I’d make this special for you, and I plan on keeping my word.” He sounded irritated. Well, gee, this was an auspicious beginning.
“Sure,” I said, tucking the book aside and slipping on my new sneakers. “We can go out.”
He was there in moments, handing me a brandnew jacket and jamming a knit cap over my head. I’d fixed my hair in two pigtailed braids to keep it off my neck, and I probably looked thirteen under the cap. But I allowed him to help me dress—in his mood it probably wasn’t wise to stop him—and followed him as he headed into the front of the house.
A picnic basket was parked by the door. I glanced out the window again. Still snowing, quite heavily.
I looked back at the picnic basket and frowned. Did Beau really expect to have a picnic outside? But I jerked on my gloves and followed him out as he picked up the basket.
Beau wasn’t wearing a jacket—I guess the cold didn’t affect him like it did me. He wore a light flannel shirt and raked his hand through his hair, staring at his surroundings.
I paused behind him. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing,” he said tersely and began to plow through the fresh snow, heading to the woods.
This was going to be so much fun. I shut the door behind me and followed after him, zipping up my jacket.
We trudged through the snow in silence. If it hadn’t been so windy, it might have actually been quite pretty outside. The snow was falling and the woods were blanketed in white, mixed with the evergreens in the distance. I was also cheered to see that we were sticking to the clear, open areas.
If my companion hadn’t been so tightly wound, it might have been a bit of an adventure. If you ignored the blood and the finger from last night, of course. I couldn’t help but be a bit nervous today, even in broad daylight.
“Just ahead,” Beau barked at me, and I trotted after him. My sneakers didn’t exactly keep out the snow, and my socks were getting wet. More fun by the minute.
I nearly ran into Beau’s broad back when he slammed to a halt, and I placed my hands on his waist to steady myself.
He jumped away as if burned. “I’ll get set up.”
I eyed him with frustration, then gave up. We’d stopped at the banks of a creek that cut through the trees. Frost and snow lined the muddy banks, and the icy water trickled delicately over rocks. It was very pretty.
I turned to look at Beau, who had thrown a red blanket onto the snow. A red, heart-shaped blanket, and now he was unloading the rest of the picnic basket.
What. The. Heck.
“Come sit down,” he said. He must have realized how grumpy that sounded, because a grudging “Please” followed it.
I sat down on one side of the heart, trying to ignore how cold I was. A picnic on a heart-shaped blanket was very sweet. Judging from the jagged edges of the fabric, he’d cut the blanket himself. Though, at the moment, I wished I could wrap it around me.
Beau pulled out chocolate-covered strawberries, champagne, and a pair of flutes. He popped the cork and began to pour the liquid with the grim, methodical look of a man on a mission.
Operation: Romance.
I gave him a bright smile when he handed me a glass, then I took a small sip. It tasted lovely, but it was really cold. My teeth chattered against the lip of the glass, so I opted to just hold the drink instead.
He picked up one of the strawberries with a determined look. “Shall I feed this to you?”
Was he serious? But resolute Beau was far more palatable than sulky Beau, so I ignored my discomfort. “Sure. Why are we doing this again?”
“I’m romancing you,” he half-snarled. “Don’t you want to be romanced?”
“No, this is fine,” I hastily agreed.
He moved to my side and leaned over me. His body was radiating heat, and I immediately wanted to crawl under his shirt. My body was starting to feel like it had stopped giving off heat about ten minutes earlier. Still, he was trying hard to give me the “romance” he thought I wanted, so I smiled gamely and opened my mouth.
The strawberries were a mistake. They were like blocks of ice. Tasty blocks, but I had no desire for more. After one bite I declined the rest. “I must not be that hungry.”
He lifted my champagne glass. “More to drink?”
The bitter wind seemed to bite right through my clothing. I could see little flakes of ice forming in the glass, and my jaw began to chatter again. “No thanks.”
He put the glasses aside, leaning them in the snow, and moved toward me. His hands slid over my coat and I recognized the hot look in his eyes. “Your mouth is so red,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
Not blue yet? Impressive. I tilted my face toward his and his lips captured mine. Hot, warm, wet—delicious. He tasted like I wanted the champagne to be. Beau made a low noise of satisfaction in his throat, and the kiss became demanding, devouring. I loved the feeling of his mouth on mine, and I sank into the sensation. My gloves wrapped around his shoulders and I leaned into the embrace, not protesting when he pushed me backward.
Until the snow hit my lower back. I jerked and the champagne glasses flipped over, splashing onto the backside of my jeans. “Cold,” I shrieked against his mouth.
He jerked away from me in surprise, glancing at the champagne flutes as I scrambled away from the wetness seeping onto my end of the blanket. My entire backside was wet, and so was the blanket—the part that wasn’t covered with the drifting snow.
“Are you okay, Bathsheba?” His brow furrowed.
My teeth clattered.
“Your mouth is turning purple. Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?”
“Because y-you didn’t seem l-like you were open t-to f-feedback—”
He swore. “Bathsheba, don’t be stupid. I have a different body temperature than you. You’re going to have to tell me when you’re cold.”
“Fine,” I gritted. “I’m cold. It’s very sweet, but I think it’s the wrong time of year for this.”
His mouth tightened. “I’ll take you back to the house.”
His tone didn’t make that sound like something we’d be doing together. “Are you going to stay with me?”
He shook his head. “I think I need some time away. I’m losing control and this just isn’t working.” He ran a hand down his face roughly. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re home safe first.”
Frustrated and too cold to argue, I stood up and flexed my fingers as he packed up the food. As he stood up with the basket, the blanket lifted off the ground with the wind and slid past me, heading for the creek bank.
I was closer to it. “I’ll grab that.” I moved toward the bank, my shoes sinking into the mud.
Beau was at my side within moments, trying to move past me. “You’re cold and weak. Let me.”
I shoved at him, irritated. “I’m human, you jerk not crippled.” The blanket was just out of reach, so I took another step forward into the mud, angling my body on the steep bank to keep my balance.
I grabbed at the blanket at the same time as Beau did, and the stubborn ass jerked it out of my hands.
I lost my footing and slid down the steep bank toward the icy creek. Mud slid up my pant leg and sucked at my shoes, and I had a moment to cringe before my legs slid into the icy water.
I yelped.
Beau called my name just before my shoulder smacked against a branch, stopping my fall when I was three-quarters
submerged.
Strong hands were on me before my brain could process anything besides coldcoldcoldcold. Beau lifted me out of the water, ripping off my sodden coat. “This is why you need to let me do things, Bathsheba,” he said in a frustrated voice.
I wanted to punch him, but my entire body was quaking so hard that I couldn’t even glare. “Fuck. You,” I chattered. My feet were freezing, my socks icy weapons of torture. “If you had let me get it, I wouldn’t be a popsicle right now.”
He took off his shirt and wrapped me in it. It was warmer, but the rest of my wet clothing still clung to me like an icy skin, and my jaw chattered so hard that I thought it would fall off.
“I’m sorry, sweet thing,” he said, scooping me up in his arms and tucking me against his bare chest. I burrowed close, pressing my lips against the warmth of his neck.
I was sooo going to kill him when I warmed up.
The walk back to the house felt unbearably long, with the snow coming down and my legs numbing up and my teeth clacking as if they’d been trying to escape my mouth. Beau was a blazing hot furnace and I curled into his heat as much as possible, pushing my wet chest against his, wrapping my arms around his torso and basically trying to crawl into his skin. I heard a low growl in his throat, but I didn’t care. I simply wanted the bitter cold to go away.
Finally, Beau pulled his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the front door, and then we were enveloped with warmth. I could have cried in relief, but I feared the tears would freeze on my face.
Beau set me down at the doorstep and turned to look me in the eye. His eyes gleamed greenish for a moment. “I’m going to check the house to make sure nothing is amiss, and then I’m going to come back here and build a fire. I want you to strip off your clothing and jump in the shower.”
As he raced off, I hesitated, my mind dull with cold. Strip off my clothing? In front of a man—a were-cougar—obsessed with having sex with me? Cold and modesty warred for a brief moment, and then I uncurled my slow, icy fingers and peeled off Beau’s borrowed shirt, worn over my wet clothing. It was now as damp as everything else.
