by Jess Bentley
I twist around, coming face-to-face with an angry, wet-haired redhead. She’s laughably adorable in my flannel robe, cinched at the waist as she stands on one foot with her hands on her hips.
“Jake? What’s going on?” Carty asks urgently.
“Why can’t you let me go?” she asks again, her eyes flashing.
“Jake, you gotta get her up here,” I hear him say. “Carry her, drag her on a sled, or invent a transporter, I don’t care. We need to take care of this, do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I sigh, meeting her angry eyes as I disconnect the call. I raise my hands to show her that I mean her no harm. “Okay, listen. You’re not gonna like this. We need to take a little trip.”
Chapter 8
Lola
Slowly he puts the cell phone back in a drawer and closes it behind him. I look all around the room, taking it all in again. This isn’t just some mountain man, I suddenly realize. The LED lights, the security panels… Hell, even the upgraded plumbing mean this cabin is just made to look like it’s rustic. But really, it’s just some rich guy’s hideaway. It’s basically a blanket fort, in the forest.
“Okay, why don’t you try telling me what’s really going on here?” I say, trying to look aggressive. It’s pretty hard when I can only stand on one foot and I’m wearing the overly large robe I found behind the bathroom door. But whatever. I could probably claw his eyes out if I had to. At least one eye, for sure.
He shrugs. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Is your name Lola?”
The hairs stand up on my arms. “Who told you that?”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighs, shuffling over to the window and looking through it. I can see a wedge of blue sky from here and figure the snow must be over, just as he said.
“Yes, my name is Lola Grace. What about it? What’s your name?”
“Jake.”
“Jake what?”
“Just Jake.”
Great, another smart guy. Just another bullshit artist who almost had me fooled with his glorious beard and silver streaks in his hair. Man, are there any real men anymore? Does everybody have to be full of shit all the time?
“Fine, Jake,” I sneer. “If that’s even your name. What was all that about? On the phone?”
“I think it would be best if we just head up to the house, get everything in order. We can get you a pretty ironclad NDA… Maybe a settlement if that’s what you’re looking for… And then get you on your way.”
My mind reels. “A non-disclosure agreement? Are you kidding me? I’m not signing anything!”
“It’s a pretty generous settlement,” he shrugs, twisting his mouth into a frown.
“You think I came here for… Money? Dude, I don’t even know who you are. I don’t want to go to your house, and I don’t want your money, okay?”
“So what do you want?” he asks me softly. His eyes meet mine, curious and steady. As the question hangs in the air, I have to ask myself the same thing. What, exactly, do I want?
“Well… Why can’t I just stay here?”
He raises his bushy, unruly eyebrows. “Excuse me? I think there are people looking for you.”
I cross my arms in front of me and sit down hard in the easy chair. “Then I definitely want to stay here.”
“You can’t, I mean… There’s only supplies for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks. You can’t just… What are you even talking about?”
I just shrug, not entirely sure. But as I say the words, it sounds kind of wonderful. Like I just stumbled upon a fairytale cabin in the woods, away from all the pressure and all the Chads, so why would I want to leave? If this is where fate brought me, maybe I should just accept it.
Would it be so bad? I mean, it’s pretty luxurious as log cabins go. That shower was pretty terrific. And what do I really have to go back to? No fiancé. The dwindling prospect of a half-ass job. And a best friend who may or may not have just tried to set me up with a married man for reasons that I can’t even begin to surmise. To embarrass me? To get dirt she could use as leverage in her own career? Anything is possible with Nance.
“So, is this like your getaway cabin? Your secret hideout?”
He sighs, looking around. It’s amazing how when he takes a deep breath, he seems to occupy a substantially larger portion of the room.
“You could say that. Everybody needs a place to get away,” he explains.
“That’s totally true,” I answer pointedly.
He starts pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. His eyes flicker over to me every few seconds, and I notice how they linger around my bare knees, my toes, and my neck, still damp from the shower. I can sense the attraction between us, even through the beastly exterior of his shitty attitude.
“Why don’t you just let me stay?” I venture. “Nobody knows I’m here, right?”
“My brother knows you’re here,” he answers. “I just told him on the phone. You heard me.”
“Tell him I left,” I shrug. “Tell him my friends came and got me or something. I don’t care what you tell him. Just let me stay.”
He winces, almost looking pained. As he stares at me, I can see that he really wants to do the thing I’m asking him to, just because I asked it. That makes me soften toward him. He is soft-hearted, I can tell. Underneath all that gruff demeanor and masculine hair, he’s got a tender space for me.
“Why should I do that?” he murmurs.
Moving over on the leather armchair, I pat the seat next to me. “Come on, sit down next to me,” I suggest.
He looks around for a few seconds like a confused animal. Like this instruction does not compute for him. But then, grudgingly, he does it. He tries to fit his mass between me and the other arm of the chair. But he’s too big, and I wriggle to get over him, ending up sitting across his lap as he tries to relax into the easy chair.
“I’m not too heavy for you am I?” I ask coyly, dangling my ankles over the arm of the chair.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. “You don’t weigh anything. You’re like a doll.”
I love that he feels uncomfortable. Instead of being slick, trying to flirt with me, trying to trick me, he acts as though he hasn’t been near a woman in years. Like he doesn’t realize I’m throwing myself at him. Like he doesn’t have any idea how to act now.
It’s completely adorable.
And it might be wrong, but I like it. I like the way he stiffens when I sigh and rest my head against his shoulder. But lying here across his large body, this is the safest I have felt in forever. It might be wrong since I seem to have the upper hand, but what’s the harm? Can’t I just pretend for just a little while that everything is okay in the world? Can’t I just lay my head on a lumberjack’s chest and feel safe for a minute?
“You can put your arms around me if you want to,” I whisper, shifting slightly. If I raise my chin, I can inhale the musky scent of his chest from under his beard. It’s earthy and spicy, smelling like a combination of pine and beef jerky.
He doesn’t answer me, so I take his large, heavy arm and drape it over my hip. With my eyes closed, I try to get a little smaller, to nestle more securely against him. After a few seconds, I’m fairly certain I can feel something hard against the back of my thigh. Something hard, and massive.
“See? This isn’t so bad, is it?” I whisper. “You could just leave me here in the cabin. You could go back to wherever it is that you came from, and it will be our little secret. I won’t make a fuss, I promise. I can even reimburse you for any supplies that I use. I just need a little break, is all.”
“I really wish I could,” he sighs.
“But why can’t you?” I pout. I look up into his eyes, locking my hands behind his head. He presses his lips together hard but doesn’t pull away.
“There are people looking for you, Lola. If they’re looking for you, they’re going to find you. Sooner or later, everybody gets found.”
“Maybe it will be later? Much, much later?
” I whisper hopefully.
I can feel his breath drifting over his beard, landing on my lips. I drink in the smell of him, suddenly feeling kind of tipsy. Maybe I’m still tired, but this is all like a dream. Here is this gruff, frightening woodsman who took me in and healed me. He’s been a perfect gentleman, too. Almost too perfect.
“How’s your ankle?” he asks suddenly.
“It hurts,” I answer honestly.
“Then I suppose I will have to carry you,” he shrugs.
From the tone in his voice, I can see there’s no arguing with him. This isn’t a man who is accustomed to debate, I can tell. He’s not going to let me stay here. Not at all.
But something flickers deep inside me. Carry me? He says it as though it’s no trouble at all. As though whatever it takes, he’s prepared to do it. Something about that determination sends a thrill to my core.
I just fell off a cliff and landed in the middle of nowhere. Is it possible I found a real man by mistake? Do they still exist?
“I feel like this is all some kind of dream,” I confess, watching his eyes lingering on my lips as I talk.
“It’s not a dream,” he says inscrutably.
“You should let me stay,” I say yet again, still hopeful that there’s some way. “It is a dream, and I don’t want to wake up. Is that so wrong?”
He shifts beneath me, gently moving my hips so they’re not resting against his cock. I can feel how rock hard he is through the fabric.
But I don’t want him to move me; I like that feeling. I like knowing that I turn him on, and knowing that he’s trying to hold back. It’s a challenge, one I can’t resist.
I nestle down further, grinding my hips against his, forcing him to look at me when he tries to move away.
“Really, is it? Is it so wrong?” I ask again.
“Lola, I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he says in a low voice. Again he tries to lift me off his lap, and again I wriggle back into place.
“What if I do? What if I know exactly what I’m doing?” I ask, pulling myself closer to him. My lips are only an inch away from his. The robe has loosened and fallen from one of my shoulders and I see his eyes darting between mine and my exposed skin.
Suddenly, I push myself up and kiss his bearded, weathered face. At first he seems to pull away, and I chase him, finding his lips again and again. He resists for a few more seconds but then he begins kissing me back, immediately passionate, biting at my lips and holding me tight to him.
His passion takes me by surprise, takes my breath away. I hold on tight as he suddenly changes, becoming an animal underneath me. Before I know what’s happening, we slide to the floor where he tears the robe from my body, leaving me exposed on the bare wooden planks. We’re both heaving with breath, desperately connecting.
His beard tickles me as he lavishes my shoulders in kisses, his moans cutting through the dusty air. His tongue is hot, tracing circles over my breasts, nipping and sucking at my nipples, forcing my flesh into hard peaks. I weave my fingers into his hair, slide them down to his impossibly broad shoulders, feeling the thick cords of muscle move underneath the soft skin.
I expect him to dive for my pussy, but he doesn’t. His hands push my breasts together and this tongue plows the furrow he’s created over and over again, bathing me with his tenderness. He takes the occasional trip over my nipples as he squeezes my breasts and I want to shiver in delight. Though I have never been treated this way before, I find it unbelievably sensual. He doesn’t seem to even want anything for himself. He just continues massaging my flesh against his palms, suckling and nipping at my tits until they’re so sensitive, I begin to shudder.
I’m as helpless as a ragdoll in his hands as he manipulates my body into totally new realms of sensation. His tongue swirls around my nipple, battering it back and forth while he pinches my other nipple lightly between his fingers. Knotting my fingers in his hair, I pull him to me, urging him to suck harder, almost to the point of pain.
To my surprise, I feel my pussy begin to explode, begin to spasm as I realize I’m coming, shuddering in bliss under his hands and mouth. He groans and pulls me tighter to him, relentlessly suckling me until I lurch in his hands, crying out and wrapping my legs around him, shuddering and heaving until I am spent.
As if he understands exactly what I need, he slows, stroking my skin from my shoulders all the way down to my knees. He does it over and over again, lulling me into a peaceful, blissful state. Not quite awake and not quite asleep, I simply drift on this warm pool of satisfaction, wondering exactly what I thought I was ever doing before this, before that perfect orgasm. And how will anything ever compare to it again?
Chapter 9
Lola
I can barely believe that this is the world I left just two days ago. The sky is bright blue again, without a single cloud in it. Now the whole world seems to be covered in a deep, plush blanket of brilliantly white snow.
Jake helped me back into my skiing outfit, which now seems charmingly unfit. But it’s all I’ve got. In my ski boots, I lean against the porch rail and watch as he slides a sled from the rafters. After piling blankets on top of it, he stands waist-deep in the snow and holds his arms out triumphantly.
“There you go, Princess,” he calls out. “Climb aboard!”
“What? Are you serious?” I gasp. “I can’t just ride on that thing!”
But he’s grinning. He likes the idea. I can see his white teeth beneath the frosty icicles that have already formed in his beard.
“You got a better idea? Think you can handle a pair of snowshoes on that ankle?”
Tentatively, I test it, wincing as the pain twangs through me.
“Yeah… I’ve got a better idea! I said we should just stay here! Like, together! Can we try that instead?”
He wades through the snow as he drags the sled back toward the porch stairs. Stomping toward me, he shakes his head and smiles.
“We already talked about this,” he explains, brushing his bristly beard against my forehead as he kisses the top of my hair. It seems like he is no longer shy, like he has already claimed me for his own. He has transformed from gruff mountain man into affectionate boyfriend, just like that.
“It is safest for you at the main house. It is safest for both of us.”
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get rid of me?” I pout. “Are the police going to be there when I arrive? Did you call my friends or something?”
He shrugs. “At first… Yes. I was trying to get rid of you. But you made a good point. Everybody deserves an escape every once in a while, Lola. Let’s just hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew.”
He holds out his arms and I have to fall forward, allowing him to catch me and swing me around before dropping me in the middle of the sled. It tips from side to side as though on water, but seems quite solid, really.
“More than I can chew?” I ask as he straps his snowshoes on and takes the ropes of the sled over his shoulder. “What is that supposed to mean?”
But he doesn’t answer, just grins as he begins hauling me over the snow. I get the feeling he’s really enjoying this: acting like a draft horse in a fairytale.
And I have to admit, I am breathlessly impressed. His coat heaves, bits of snow flying here and there as his powerful muscles churn relentlessly forward, dragging us through the pristine, beautiful snowbanks that wind through the trees.
I don’t know how far it is, but it seems to be completely uphill and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Far above me, I can see birds circling, and the thin white line of an airplane far above that. Other than that, we seem almost to be the only two people in the world.
The mountain air is refreshing and bracing, cleansing me from the inside out. I can barely remember my injury as I sit in the lap of luxury behind my fairytale hero.
Eventually I get used to the undulating rhythm of our trek. Just as we round a corner, an enormous house appears as if by magic. It’s set back among
the trees, nestled against the mountain itself. I get the feeling that if we weren’t directly facing it, it would be all but invisible. Towering timbers line either side, with just a narrow path winding up to a outcropping of stone. I can see the rotors of a helicopter outlined against the sky, and the dark shapes of half-buried buildings of some kind.
“Is that it?” I ask pointlessly, because what else could it be? A fairytale castle?
I get the feeling I’m not far off.
Soon I hear the whine of a motor, and shapes moving quickly back and forth across the steepest part of the hill. In a couple of minutes the snowmobiles reach us, circling us as the drivers whoop and wave maniacally at Jake, who seems to practically ignore them.
One pulls up next to me, the engine almost idling as it matches our pace. He pushes the visor away from his eyes, revealing the same sort of silvery-gray eyes Jake has.
“Carty said you were bringing a stranger to the house,” the man says breathlessly, a lopsided grin curling one cheek into a set of dimpled ridges. “Is this her?”
The other snowmobile pulls along the other side of me and when he pulls his scarf down, I see the exact same lopsided grin on his face.
“I’m Liam!” he announces, grinning, before speeding off again.
“I’m Kill!” says the first one. “Jake, why don’t you give me that rope? I can tow her back to the house.”
“Yeah, why don’t you do something useful?” Jake snarls, holding the tow rope out. He loops it over the back of the snowmobile as Liam circles back, then climbs behind Liam on the snowmobile.
“Not too fast now!” he calls out.
Kill looks back at me, grinning. “Oh, I promise not to dump her in the snow, Jake! Not yet, anyway!”
Despite their rowdy nature, we set off at a very calm and safe-seeming pace. The snowmobiles sound like they could go a lot faster, but we just head toward the house, not too fast.
When we reach the stone outcropping, Jake dismounts the vehicle and comes back to me, lifting me off the sled before Kill even cuts the motor. It’s as though he didn’t want to give the other guys a chance.
