by Molly Wens
The whole situation had him bewildered, marveling at all the different facets to the personality of the she-cat that glared at him. He had thought he could intimidate her into silence, but she continued to defy his attempts at control with her fiery temper and tiny bristling body. He was suddenly struck by the humor of the situation, guffawing loudly, his roaring laughter echoing about the cabin.
Carissa watched the play of emotions on his face—from rage to astonishment, and finally, mirth. She could not help but grin in return; it was easy to see that he was a man unused to laughter. Watching his gray eyes light up and the skin around them crinkle with delight held a certain appeal that had her pulse racing.
"Now that we have that out of the way,” she directed in a mockingly stern voice, “there's soup on the stove if you're hungry."
As she tried to brush past him on the way to the kitchen, Bryce impulsively grabbed her in a great bear hug, crushing her small form against his, still rocking with laughter. The movement caught Carissa by surprise, had her stiffening against him in defense until his warmth seeped through her body. She found herself snuggling against him, enjoying the affection he was displaying, a benign hug without obligation or lust that was born of the impetus of the moment. He released her as quickly as he had grabbed her, embarrassed at his spontaneity, seeming to search for a place to hide, or a way to draw her attention from the action.
"I knew you were part grizzly,” she said with a laugh. “I think you broke a couple of ribs.” Cuffing him on the arm, she told him to take off his wet boots and join her in the kitchen, ignoring the blush that crept up her own neck.
"Sorry about that,” he mumbled as he bent to do her bidding. The sound of her jangling laughter brought a ludicrous grin to his face, and caused him to feel like a young man again, full of the hope of the moment. “You're looking mighty fetching in my long johns,” he called out as she disappeared into the kitchen. Again, he heard the music of her laughter, her only response to his playful words.
Entering the kitchen, he noticed the tarp that had covered the doorway was now gone. He eyed her questioningly as the delicious aroma of the soup she had crafted filled his nostrils. He took the large bowl of the hearty fare that she offered and settled himself in a chair at the table.
"What happened to the tarp?” he asked before taking a bite of the steaming soup. The flavor of it hit his tongue and had him closing his eyes in pure enjoyment. “This is really good. What's in it? Aren't you having any?"
"I already ate. The tarp was blocking the air circulation in the cabin. It got too hot in here so I took it down,” she replied without looking up from scrubbing out the sink. “The soup is made with the stuff I found in your cupboards. I threw in a little of this and that, and hoped that it was good. Glad you like it."
She finished her task before removing the boiling water kettle from the stove to pour some into a large pitcher that was half-full of cold water. She turned to look at him then, fixing him with a direct gaze that he found disconcerting. “Let's get something straight, Bryce. I was worried about you today. I didn't know what had happened to you. All I could think about was that you might have been hurt and trapped out there in that storm. Don't do that to me again, okay?"
The spoon that was halfway to his mouth slowly dropped back to the bowl on the table. There was genuine concern and more than a little anger in her fathomless eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you care?"
"Of course I care!” her exasperated voice cried out. “What is it with you? You act like no one in the world ever showed you any kindness.” She turned her back on him then, not really expecting a response, as she reached for the pitcher, bending to flip her hair forward into the sink to pour the warm water over her head. She did not hear him come up behind her, only knew he was there, taking the pitcher from her hand.
"It's been a long time since anyone has shown me any kindness, Cari,” he said, setting the pitcher aside and reaching for the bar of homemade soap. Working lather into her silky tresses and taking pleasure in the way the strands curled through his fingers, he felt a deep need to make her understand. This was a new sensation for him, the man who thought he could live without ever encountering another human being. Somewhere in the depths of his soul was a small voice crying out to make her comprehend his loneliness and the reasons for it.
How could he tell her, however, the terrible thing he had done, the reason he had become an outcast from the world down below? It was too much for him to think that this tiny woman who reminded him of a mythical wood sprite would see him in that light. Would her smiling green eyes turn from him in disgust? Would she shudder in horror, demanding that he stay away from him in abject fear?
"That's because you hide yourself up here in this desolate cabin,” she replied into the sink, her voice made soft by the sensations of his sensual fingers working on her scalp. “I don't understand why you prefer this but I'm sure you have your reasons, however stupid they may be."
He chuckled softly, a dark sound with little humor in it. “The reasons aren't stupid, Cari. I'm up here because of what I am. The world is better off without me."
"What a ridiculous thing to say! You have no idea how incredible you are. The fact that I'm here standing over this sink having my hair washed should be enough to prove that. I would have died out there if not for you. You saved my life, and more than once. It's not everyone that has the patience and common sense necessary to nurse someone back to health the way you did, and you did it with such compassion and kindness."
He poured the remainder of the water over her head, silencing her voice that was putting tormenting pictures in his head. He imagined what it would be like to spend the rest of his life performing this ritual and others like it every day. Her bottom, nestled so softly against his thigh, had him dreaming of other things as well, as he tried to keep her from feeling the results of his obvious arousal.
"How do you know how much compassion and kindness I used? You were out of your head and delirious.” He refilled the pitcher, as she remained hovering over the sink.
"I wasn't out of my head the entire time, Bryce. I remember the gentle voice of a giant who told me that he would make me better, and the way his hands smoothed the pain away. I remember being held and feeling safe. I also remember a big, clumsy oaf, shoving me into a vat of icy water,” she said, peeking from beneath her dripping curls, a twinkle in her eye.
The next sound her voice made was a squeal of protest as he decided she could handle the cold water straight from the well, dumping it over her head with a mighty splash. She whipped her hair at him, spraying his laughing face with cold water before grabbing a towel to wrap around her dripping head.
"That was a dirty trick!” she yelled at him, trying not to laugh. “You know, you don't fool me, Bryce. You're just as human as anyone else, even though you want me to believe otherwise, for some reason. In fact, you may be more human than most."
"What's that supposed to mean?” His eyes took in every movement she made, watching her squeeze the towel around her heavy hair before pulling the cloth away to let the curls fall in an unruly veil around her face. Pushing the tresses from her face, she began dragging her fingers through it in an effort to remove the tangles.
"I wish I had a comb,” she said into the long snarls before looking up. “It means that you want to be loved, want someone to reach out to you but you've constructed such a wall around your heart that no one can get in."
"Do you always talk to so much?” he asked softly.
"Yep, one of my major failings. I always say what's on my mind."
The gray of his eyes smoldered, growing darker as she spoke, but his face remained expressionless, betraying no emotion as he watched her intently. She wondered if she had angered him again, so motionless he stood while surveying her face. Finally, without a word, he turned on his heel, exiting the room.
With a sigh she returned to trying to de-tangle the mess that was her hair. For a brief moment, she wished for the comfor
t of her cosmetologist's chair and the wonderful products that would soothe the mass of curls into a manageable style. More than that, she wanted to see the smiling faces of her children and hear their sweet young voices telling her how much they loved her.
She wondered what they were doing at this moment and if they were still safely in the care of her mother. Hopelessness burrowed into her heart, knowing that they would soon be at the mercy of the man who had fathered them, if they were not already living under his roof. She wondered if, when she was finally able to return to them, they would still be the impish, happy little boy and girl she had left behind. Would they still be full of wonder and the joy of life?
Carissa's hands dropped into her lap, her head bent forward in sorrow. The lump in her throat threatened to choke the air from her body, suffocate her with the weight of the sadness in her heart. The storm that howled around the cabin was a grim reminder that she was trapped in the wilderness and there was nothing she could do to help her babies. She said a silent prayer that they would remain safe and the monster would not get his hands on them.
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Chapter 10
A few minutes later, Bryce stepped back through the door of the kitchen carrying an ancient wooden box, a gift to make her time spent in his cabin a little more bearable. Despite his current isolation from civilization he did know what a woman's basic needs were; he had not always lived in the wilderness.
Coming to a halt in front of her, he observed everything about her and missed nothing. He saw the way her head was bowed over her slumped shoulders and the way her hands, still red and raw looking from the injuries sustained during her brush with death, clenched together as if trying to restrain them. When she raised her eyes to look at him, he saw the flash of misery that she quickly disguised with a bright smile that did not twinkle in her eyes. He wondered if she were pining for her family, or if she simply wanted to be free of him.
"I ... uh...” He cleared his throat. Looking into her eyes could make a man forget where he was, or the thoughts that traveled through his head. “I had this. It belonged to my grandparents. I should've given it to you before, but I guess I wasn't thinking."
Carissa thought his expression was that of a little boy, hopeful that the little girl who took his fancy would appreciated his gift of a dead frog. She glanced at the box in his hand, reaching out to take it, wondering what could be so precious that he would be so nervous presenting her with it.
"Thank you, Bryce,” she sweetly replied, determined to love the gift even if a real frog actually jumped out of it.
What she found inside, upon lifting the hinged lid, had her squealing with delight. The items inside were very old, but every one of them was welcome. The box contained a complete toiletry kit. Inside were two polished wooden combs, one silver-handled hairbrush—its bristles still pristine, and another brush with a wooden handle that looked to have seen some use. There was a straight razor with a mother of pearl handle, a cup with lathering brush, a pair of barber's scissors, a tin of talc and a dusting brush, as well as a myriad of other items.
Bryce watched as Carissa ran the tips of her fingers over some of the items in a gentle caress until she touched one of the combs. Carefully picking it up and clutching it to her breast, she gazed up at him with shining eyes. He became caught up in the sweet smile on her delectable lips and the joyous glow to her face, an entrancing sight to behold. Without warning, she launched herself at him, hugging him about the middle tightly; causing his heart to soar as he cautiously wrapped his arms around her shoulders and inhaled her fragrance.
With a giggle of pure delight, she reclaimed her seat, immediately gathering a handful of the dark curls and working at the tenacious knots. “Now, if only I had a mirror so I can see what I'm doing,” she voiced hopefully.
"I can't help you with that,” he chuckled, watching her struggle. After a few moments, he decided to throw caution to the wind and took the ancient comb from her hand. “Let me see if I can do anything with it."
Bryce, with meticulous care, separated a handful of the unruly curls, gently tugging at the tangled mess with the comb. Her fragrance, soft and womanly, mixed with the clean woodsy scent of the soap, and assailed his senses. He stepped a little farther behind her to hide the burgeoning hardness pressing against the fly of his jeans. Once he had her hair free of tangles, he reached for the silver brush with shaking hands, listening to her breath that sounded like the purr of a cat.
"I think you've done this before,” she sighed.
"I have,” was all he said as he continued to brush her hair until it glistened.
After realizing that he was not going to stop, Carissa turned and reached for the brush. “Your turn,” she said as she pointed at the sink. “Let's wash that mess on your head."
Bryce tried to resist but she would have none of it; giving him no choice but to wash his hair and beard, as she directed. “Hey, I helped you. The least you could do is lend me a hand in return,” he grumbled
"I would if you weren't tall as this damned mountain. I can barely reach your shoulders. Now wash,” she ordered.
Once he had toweled the wild growth on his head, she attempted to work on the knots in his hair with a comb, finding it necessary to stand on a crate to reach him. “Jesus,” she spat. “When was the last time you ran a comb through this? You have mats in the back of your head!"
He shrugged his big shoulders, somewhat embarrassed as he remembered dining in fine restaurants and going to parties dressed in fine suits with a beautiful blond woman on his arm. “Just never seemed to be any reason to,” he offered. “I figured that washing regularly was enough."
Hearing the finish on the old comb crackling under the strain and the grumbling complaints of her victim, she realized that there was nothing for it but to take a whack at it with the scissors. Grabbing a clump of matted hair, she reached for the scissors and made the first cut before he had a chance to protest. The more of his hair she cut the louder his objections became, until she cuffed him on the shoulder and told him to be quiet. Standing behind him as she was, she did not see the grin of amusement on his face or the pure enjoyment in his eyes.
When at last she finished, there was more hair on the floor than on his head, but she was satisfied with her handy-work. “You have nice hair,” she said appraisingly. “I don't know why you don't take better care of it."
She walked around to his front then and positioned herself between his long legs. With scissors and comb clutched in her left hand, she ran the fingers of her right through his hair, brushing it back from his eyes. It was still long enough to keep his head and neck warm, but it had a style that framed his face, allowing his gray eyes to stand out. It occurred to her that he was truly a handsome man, with the beauty of his unusual eyes, his aquiline nose and the shining black of his hair. She was curious to see what he looked like without the thick growth of fur that hid the rest of his face.
It was almost too much for him to bear, having her so close that he could feel her warmth suffusing the front of his body, hoping she would not notice the way his trousers bulged outward. Seeing the look in her eye and the way she raised the scissors, however, he grabbed her by the waist and set her away from him, a protest on his lips. There was a panic gripping his mind at the thought of her cutting away the beard that hid his face.
"Don't even think about it,” he growled sharply.
Carissa's eyebrows shot upward before drawing together is a slight frown. “What are you afraid of?"
He stood abruptly, stepping away from her and the wicked-looking scissors that gleamed in her hand. “The haircut is enough. Thanks, I appreciate it."
Undaunted by the warning that smoldered in his eyes, she tossed the scissors and comb onto the table. “We've already established that you no longer scare me so you may as well get that scowl off your face,” she ordered, folding her arms across her chest. They stood, their eyes locked, ready to do battle until her face softened. Reaching out wi
th one hand to touch his arm, she spoke again. “Bryce,” her soft voice cajoled. “I know you have scars. We all do. Some of us carry our scars on the inside where no one can see them, but if you look hard enough you can see the damage that's been done. You took care of me when I was sick. You took my clothes off and saw everything I have, including, I'm sure, the scars on my body. I'm not ashamed of them. Why are you ashamed of yours?"
"Drop it, Carissa,” his voice growled out in a low, menacing tone, his smoky eyes clouding.
She stepped closer, her body just inches from his, tormenting him with her nearness as she looked up into his face. His head began to swim as he looked into the endless depths of her olive eyes, causing his mouth to go dry and his hands to itch just to touch her. The womanly scent of her was enough to drive him mad as he struggled to control the urge that was so much more than mere lust.
"Don't you know that you're beautiful to me?” she whispered up to him as she touched her fingers to the scar near his eye. “I don't care what's under the beard."
His pulse raced at her touch and her words, nudging him closer to the edge of his ability to restrain himself. The warmth of her fingertips on that scar, that souvenir of a moment in time when he gave his soul over to darkness, spread heat through his body and threatened to undermine his determination. He grasped her fingers in his, an effort to still the throbbing in his groin and the images of her nude body in his mind.
"Then why do you want to cut it off?” he asked, his voice husky with the emotions that set his blood to boiling.
A wicked gleam came to her eyes as a playful grin spread across her face. “In case you decide to make good your threat to rape me, of course."
His free hand came up to stroke her face, his eyes darkening farther, turning almost black. “Careful, Cari. Don't go too far."
