“Yes, that’s right,” she huffs.
“What kind of books?” My eyes edge down, soaking in the way her coat clings to her breakneck curves. Her tits are so round, the expensive fabric of her too-fancy coat is barely being held together by her big wood buttons. My gaze slides further down, shamelessly sliding over her plump bubble butt peeking out from under the edge of her jacket. I can’t help but lick my lips.
“I write romances. Mostly about Christmas. And couples who meet at cabins, and, well that’s why I rented this place. I guess I needed some inspiration.” She deflates a bit. “I have a deadline that I have to meet or my editor is going to kill me.”
I run my free hand over my beard, trying to hide my smirk. “Romance, is that so? Are you writing that cheesy stuff my mother used to read with Fabio on all the covers? Or are you writing that porny stuff like that Fifty Shades shit?” My eyes narrow and I imagine her sprawled out across my bed with her hands tied to the headboard with a blindfold on. I don’t know much about those books, but I know they get women more horned up than if they got drunk on champagne and watched an entire marathon of Magic Mike movies eating nothing but green M&Ms.
She blushes and looks down at her furry boots. My smile grows wider as her cheeks grow redder. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Oh, so you are writing the good stuff then.” I press her. I like watching her get so squirmy. It’s easy to push her buttons. I like giving Owen a hard time too, it passes the day, but what can I say? When he gets all flustered, it just doesn’t do anything for me.
“I will have you know that I have written twenty-two novels and they are wholesome and sweet, unlike you. I have never written a sex scene let alone porn.” She meets my eyes and I can see the flames growing behind hers. Looks like I hit a nerve.
“Pfft, that garbage ain’t the truth. You’re just writing fairy tales then.” I step closer to her, looking down at her.
She lifts her face to mine and doesn’t bat an eye. “Excuse me?”
“If you’re writing romances without any sex in them, that’s not real life, is it? In real life,” I edge a bit closer to her, “when a couple meets, when they have that instant tension between them, they find ways to release it… naked,” I murmur.
“Well, that’s true.” Her voice softens and her eyes grow wider. “But that’s not…” She trails off as she seems to really look at me for the first time. “That’s not what proper women want. We crave romance, the thrill of the chase, we want to be treated like queens. Not that you’d know the first thing about that, I’m sure.”
“Ha! She’s got ya there.” Owen finally stops working on the tree and jumps into our conversation. He bursts the bubble this woman and I were surrounded in. We both jump and I suddenly feel like I’m standing too close to her. We both take a step back and turn our attention to him.
“Whatever.” I shake my head.
“Hi, I’m Owen.” He pulls his glove off with his teeth and holds out his hand.
“Mary.” She keeps her mitten on and shakes it.
“You must be the lady renting our cabin.” He’s smiling too wide. It looks painful. Clearly, he’s very happy with how this is all working out.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Mary visibly relaxes a little. The tension eases from her face. I liked it better when she was worked up. I bet, with inspiration, that she’s wild in bed. Those uptight women always just need the right man to unleash their feral side.
“Your renter wants us to keep the noise down.” I interrupt the little tea party these two seem to be having. All smiles and niceties. Makes me want to gag. “She’d appreciate it if we could chop these trees down a little quieter,” I mock her.
She gives me a sharp look from the corner of her eye but doesn’t turn toward me. Instead, she pretends she didn’t hear me and focuses on Owen. “It’s just that, when my agent rented this cabin, she specifically asked for a quiet place so I could concentrate on my job,” she explains.
“Yeah, she needs silence to write those filthy romance books that women read with one hand under the covers,” I chime in.
Mary’s cheeks burn bright. Her hands fly to her hips and she turns toward me, apparently unable to ignore me anymore. “I already told you that I don’t write sex scenes, now will you please stop being so crude.” She talks to me like a teacher scolding a student.
I can’t help but chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” she demands.
“Nothing, hey, it’s all good.” I wink at her. I force myself not to laugh when the red splashed on her face deepens and she haughtily looks away.
“Well, the thing is,” Owen runs his hand down the back of his neck, “uh, your agent or whoever booked the cabin, they didn’t say anything about needing quiet out here. And we’ve got our own work to get done too,” he tries to explain.
“Are you saying you won’t keep it down then?” she answers so coldly I’m surprised ice crystals didn’t form on her cherry lips.
“It’s not like we really can,” he answers with a shrug. “We’ve got our own deadline and there’s no quiet way to chop down trees.”
“Fine, I can see coming here was a huge mistake. I won’t bother unpacking then, I’ll just go. But you better believe that my agent will be demanding a full refund and you will be getting a stinging review from me!”
Mary turns on her toe and stomps off through the snow as Owen and I watch her go. I know she’s not doing it on purpose, but her big, beautiful ass sways back and forth as she marches back up the hill. She starts to slip on some ice and Owen tries to rush to her side and help her, but she waves him off angrily and keeps on trucking up the snowy path.
He comes back down by me and punches my arm.
“What the hell, man?” I push his shoulder.
“Why do you gotta be like that, man? You can see that she’s all tense and worked up, why you making it worse?” He squints at me.
“Oh, so some city girl prude throws a tantrum and I’m supposed to tiptoe around my own damned property so she doesn’t get upset? Come on. Owen, I told you renting the cabin was a bad idea. Now look what you dragged in here.” I toss my hand up toward the yellow coat nearing the top of the hill.
“Listen, man, if you treat our renters like that, you’ll destroy my vacation rental empire,” he moans.
“Empire? Renters? Dude, she’s the first person to ever rent from you and we’ve only got that one property. What kind of sad empire is that?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of passive income, man? It’s called diversifying. Do you want to be doing back-breaking labor when you’re seventy? Or do you want to build up some properties and let the money come to us? It’s called having a vision, Hardy. And you’re gonna ruin it with your shitty attitude.”
“Fine, whatever. If you want to deal with Miss Priss, then that’s on you.” I hold up my hands. “But how are we gonna get any work done around here without offending her sensitive ears.” I cross my arms and watch the wheels spin in his head.
“I’ve got it,” he snaps his fingers, “we’ll chop the trees old school.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, man. We always talk about how we want to run this company like it was back in our great-grandfather’s day, right? We’ll dig out the axes and knock these trees down with hard work and muscle power.” Owen smiles.
“First of all, that’s gonna take forever. Second of all, axes still probably make too much noise for that one. Why don’t you let this go? She can go back to the city and we can get back to real work.”
“This is important to me, Hardy. Let me talk to her, at least let me put out the offer. If she still wants to go, then at least I tried, right? Besides, I don’t think you mind a sexy little firecracker living next door for a while, would ya?”
He’s got me there.
“Fine.” I sigh. “You go talk to her and see if her delicate ears can deal with axes. In the meantime, I’m gonna start loading these lengths on the trail
er.”
“You got it.” Owen breaks out into a grin.
He rushes off to the other cabin before little Miss Huffy can drive away. I mean, another income would be good this time of year. And, if Owen really can build this into a rental empire, I shouldn’t interfere. Besides, it’s been a long damned time since there’s been anything but testosterone and sawdust around these woods. She might be a pain in the ass, but she’s a sexy pain in the ass, so I wouldn’t mind if he managed to get her to stay.
3
Owen
Hurrying up the hill, I expect Mary to be revving her engine and squealing her tires to get out of the driveway, but her car is empty. I walk up the steps to the deck and see that the snowy roof has a big bald patch right over the door. Looking down at the floorboards, it’s easy to see that the big blob of snow landed right on Mary.
Well, that’s two strikes. Hopefully, I can turn this thing around before we completely strike out and our first ever renter shuts down my vacation property with a scathing one-star review.
I lightly rap my knuckles on the door and wait, but she doesn’t answer. Maybe I should leave. She could want privacy. Instead, I push the door open and cautiously search the open concept space for her.
“Knock-knock.” I kick the snow off my boots and step inside.
Mary is crumpled on the floor; her suitcase is toppled beside her and she’s crying. In her hand, she’s gripping a handle that looks like it’s supposed to be attached to her luggage, but instead, she’s waving it around like a little white flag.
“Hey now, what’s wrong?” I quickly cross the floor and sit next to her. “Aww, c’mon don’t cry.”
Mary lifts her steamed up glasses and wipes her mittened hand across her eyes. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“You’re clearly upset. It’s not stupid if you’re crying. Is this still about the noise? ’Cause I’ve got a solution for ya…” I can’t stand to see her broken like this. I wrap my arm around her gently and, to my surprise, she leans in against me.
“No, it’s not just the noise. It’s everything,” she wails. “I was supposed to come up here and write my best book yet. But then the snow fell on me, and that jackass friend of yours, well, you heard him.” She sniffles searching my face for understanding.
“Yeah, that’s exactly the right word for Hardy. Honestly, he just thinks he’s a grizzly bear. He’s pretty growly most days, but just between you, me, and the walls, deep inside he’s a big teddy bear.” I smile down at her.
She doesn’t look convinced.
“And then, when I went to leave,” her chin trembles and more tears fall down her face, “I ripped the handle off my suitcase. I drove two hours to get here and now I’ve gotta turn around and drive another two hours back. This wasn’t supposed to go this way,” she mumbles.
“You’re right. We didn’t do a good job here, and I’m sorry about that. In hindsight, I should’ve shoveled off the roof before you showed up. And, I know the noise isn’t ideal, but I worked it out with Hardy and we can cut down the trees we need with axes instead. And, here,” I pluck the handle from her hand and pull the suitcase over to my lap, snapping it back in place, “see? Good as new. Nothing to cry about.”
I stand up and set the suitcase back upright then hold out my hand to help her up. Mary looks up at me, a mixture of hope and uncertainty dance across her face. I guess hope must have won because she takes my hand and I easily tug her up.
For a moment, we stand close. Our faces are only inches apart. Her crimson lips are tempting me to lean in and softly cover them with mine. An ache I thought I buried long ago rises up inside me. She smells like cinnamon and sin and I’m dying to feel her pressed into me. I want so badly to carry her up to the loft and roll around on that bed together until you can’t tell where I end and she begins. I want to push my tongue in past her red lips. I want to push my cock into her tight pussy.
“You guys will seriously cut the trees with axes instead?” Her brown eyes are wide as she looks for the truth on my face.
“We will, cross my heart.” I sign an X over my coat.
“That’s really sweet,” she muses.
“Well, don’t tell Hardy that. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s capable of sweet.” I laugh.
“It’s hard to believe he is.” She looks away.
Hardy has already razzed her enough so I won’t bother telling her that “sweet” men are few and far between. The truth is, when you’ve got sexy, full curves, and a pretty face, all the men you think are so sweet are probably trying for the same thing. And it ain’t conversation.
I imagine easing my cock between her full lips. Watching it disappear into her mouth, inch by inch… Fuck, I need to get my mind out of the gutter. I came up here to save my cabin rental business, not mess it up by trying to get in my first customer’s pants. Even if those pants do seductively hug her perfect ass.
“How about this, I’ll get a fire crackling for you. Did you look in the fridge yet? There’s a nice bottle of white wine in there. You can just relax, enjoy the bottle by yourself and get settled in. Tomorrow is a new day, right? We won’t be bothering you with the chainsaws now, so you can have your writer retreat and still meet your deadline. What do ya say? Sound like a deal?”
I hold out my hand, hoping she’ll shake on it. Hoping we can put this awkwardness all behind us. Mary furrows her brow and then pulls off her mittens, placing her palm in mine. Now, I know it’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman, but there’s no girl on this earth who has made my hand all tingly when they touched it. From the look of surprise on her face, I guess she feels it too. We both just keep shaking hands, looking into each other’s eyes, silently imagining all the other ways we’d like to be touching each other.
I mean, at least that’s what I’m thinking.
Finally, she drops her hand and clears her throat, looking away. “Deal.” She puts space between us. “Thank you so much for the wine,” she adds.
“Not a problem at all.” I smile.
I busy myself with getting a roaring fire crackling and try not to steal too many glances as she strips off her coat. I try not to notice the way her silky shirt clings to her big tits. I do my best to ignore how she stretches out on the sofa; her curves practically begging me to slide up on top of her. Her lips practically begging to be kissed.
Instead, I get the fire going and do my best to ignore the flames burning up inside me. I linger a bit, hoping she’ll ask me to stay for a drink, hoping that one drink will lead to two and that two drinks will lead to dessert. But she doesn’t try to keep me and I don’t want to impose.
“Well, good luck with the writing.” I finally head toward the door.
“Thank you.” Maybe it’s the heat from the fire, maybe it’s the wine, but she’s absolutely glowing. It’s hard to look away from her. “I’ve gotta admit.” She bites her lip. Did she just check me out? “I’m feeling really inspired to get started.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” I take one last look at her, the way her hips curve around to her thick thighs. The way her little belly hides under the shade of her big breasts. The way her brown eyes twinkle under her thick, black lashes. I take a mental snapshot for later. Hell, she’s got me so worked up I’m gonna call it an early day and go remember every single detail about her while I jerk off.
4
Mary
My clothes are strewn all over the bed as I rummage through my suitcase. Finally, my hand clasps around the cool metal of my laptop, yanking it out, I waste no time climbing back down the loft ladder into the living space below. Flopping down on the comfy couch, I sip a long drink from my wine glass and let the fruity flavor linger on my tongue before cracking the computer open and getting to work. My fingers furiously blaze across the keyboard as words that have been locked inside me for months pour out onto the screen.
I was starting to think my career was over. That these words would never come. It turns out, I just needed the right inspiration.
A muse, if you will. Gazing out the window, toward the cabin down the hill, I smile. My cheeks burn bright with the heat of the fire mixed with the warmth spreading inside me from the alcohol.
Owen is like one of my hunky heroes walked right off the page and into my life. He’s everything my readers swoon over. Handsome with his blond hair slicked back from his crystal blue eyes. The way his scruff gives him a rough around the edges look, but his boyish dimples in each cheek just melt your heart whenever he grins. Both of the men tower over me, but where Hardy looks like an untamable beast come to life, Owen’s broad shoulders fit snugly inside his plaid coat and would also look amazing in any suit.
For a moment I’m lost in imagining Owen taking me out for a night on the town. Of course, it would have to be in the city. I can easily picture him in a custom-fitted suit, probably gunmetal gray, that would make his eyes just pop. I picture us dancing, like that scene in LaLa Land when Emma Stone twirls around in her yellow dress and Ryan Gosling guides her on his arm.
Of course, that’s not exactly a scene I can use in my book. I’ll have to stick to true life inspiration on this one. My new hero will definitely be a lumberjack with a heart of gold. I snap back from my imaginary date with Owen and scan the words I’ve typed out so far. I don’t even remember what I wrote, that feeling of being possessed has returned and it’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to my readers to actually soak in the story.
After reaching the end of the third page, I realize that I haven’t done anything except describe my hero. I stare at the flashing cursor on my computer screen and try to imagine the woman in my book. Who is she? What is she running from? Why does she need a magical Christmas cottage getaway to get things back on track?
I’ve got nothing.
My mind is completely blank. Well, that’s no good. I can’t write a best-selling holiday romance without a female lead. Scrunching up my nose and squeezing my eyes shut tight, I do my best to conjure her up, to bring this sassy city woman to life.
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