Page 5 of Protected By the Ranger

But my stomach answers by growling loudly, breaking the tension. “I guess I am a little hungry.”

“Just a little?” he says suggestively, bending to tuck a part of the blanket under my arm. His firm grasp on my arm makes me breathe deeply. Clearing my throat, I mumble a thanks, averting my eyes away from him before he can see the blush creeping up my cheeks. He chuckles to himself as he walks out of the room, making me think my effort went in vain.

The aroma of a hearty stew mingling with the woodsy scent of the cabin reaches me. The last meal I remember eating was lunch yesterday. I deliberately try to not think of everything that happened after that. Instead, I choose to focus on my breathing.

“I am here. I am safe. He can’t find me here,” I repeat to myself.

“Who can’t find you here?” Gideon asks, returning with two steaming bowls. His tone is relaxed, but I can tell that he is waiting intently for my answer.

Clearing my throat, I mutter, “No one.”

Gideon gives me a look, but doesn’t challenge me. Sitting down on the rocking chair next to my bed, he hands me a bowl and says, “I’m not a wonderful cook, but this will warm you up.”

“I really appreciate your kindness.” I tell him, taking the bowl from him. Our fingers touch briefly, but I ignore the sensation. I remind myself that I have a tough situation waiting for me back home, and I need to gather the strength and wits to deal with it. I definitely won’t find the solution in Gideon’s arms. Or maybe you will, my mind whispers to me. I suppress that voice deep down.

“Eat before it goes cold,” he says, his voice kind but authoritative.

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. The aroma makes my mouth water. I take a spoonful of the stew, moaning in relief as earthy flavors burst into my mouth. I turn to praise his cooking, only to find Gideon staring at me. His intense gaze ignites every fiber of my being. I hold my breath, unsure if it’s from dread or anticipation.

Gideon holds my gaze as he tastes the stew, his tongue flicking the spoon. My mouth goes dry. “You like it,” he says with a hint of a smile.

I don’t know what he is referring to and I don’t think I can handle the answer, so I just say, “This is really good. You are a splendid cook.”

Amusement plays on his lips as he nods. “It’s my aunt’s recipe.”

Hunger takes over then, and I focus only on the hearty stew for the next few minutes. I don’t leave a drop of food in the bowl. If it was acceptable, I would lick it clean. When I hand over the empty bowl to Gideon, I receive a reassuring smile that makes my heart flutter.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

Shrugging it off, he brings his hand to my face and caresses my cheek with his thumb. The feel of his rough skin rubbing against me sends a shiver down my spine. “Tell me your name,” he breathes. My eyes widen in realization. I damage his property and eat his food, yet I haven’t told him my name. Magnificent display of your manners, you idiot!

“I’m sorry. Hi, I am Ariel King. It’s nice to meet you,” I offer with a shy smile.

“Ariel,” he breathes my name so sensually that I press my thighs together. The unbidden image of him thrusting in my pussy as he chants my name pushes its way into my mind. My lips part in response as I exhale harshly.

Gripping my chin, he holds my gaze as he purrs, “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Ariel.”

Smiling mischievously, he suggests I rest before leaving with the empty bowls. I stay put, still reeling from his intense presence. Why does his rugged touch affect me like that?

I lie down on the comfortable bed, fighting the urge to slip my fingers into my panties. The thought that he might hear me only makes me crazier. Slapping myself on the head, I remind myself that he is essentially a stranger and I don’t jump in bed with just anyone.

What’s happening to me? Maybe I hit my head when I fell last night. I chuckle bitterly, my senses attuned to him even through the walls. His touch, especially when he held my face with such strength, keeps replaying in my mind.

The wind bangs against the window, and despite the sweater and blankets, I shiver occasionally. The pain in my foot is dull, so I try not to move it. As thoughts of Gideon crowd my mind, I count backwards from one hundred. Eventually, the familiar routine pulls me under and I drift off to sleep.

∞∞∞

The sound of hammering wakes me up. I sit up, stretching slightly. The snow is piling up against the bedroom window, partially blocking the view, but I can see that it is still dark. Even though the storm rages outside, the cabin feels like a warm haven.

The noise resumes, and I try to locate its source. It’s coming from the living room, but I can’t walk on my injured foot yet. I stay put, knowing Gideon will come in when he’s done. The thought of seeing him again makes me restless.

I glance at the rocking chair and see a blanket draped over it. The bed beside me is untouched—Gideon must have slept in the chair to keep an eye on me. It’s easy to ignore the simmering tension between us during the day, but what about tonight? Will he stay close, watching me with those intense eyes?

I know he’d respect a request to sleep in the next room. Nothing he’s done so far has made me uncomfortable, but the real question is whether I want him near or away. I wish there was a simple answer.

Just then, Gideon walks into the room. A few snowflakes are stuck in his trimmed beard. When he shakes the snow out of his hair, his arm muscles flex in tandem, somehow increasing the temperature of the room.

He catches me watching him and halts his actions. It seems like he’s going to say something, but then he looks away and the spell breaks.

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