“Let’s start with introductions. I’m Gideon Blackthorn,” he says, a deep baritone rumbling in his chest.
I open my eyes and look up at him. He has moved closer, leaning on the cupboard next to the bed. With his hands folded against his chest, his shirt stretches out across his broad shoulders and bulging forearms. He’s very tall, and his snug black jeans cling to his muscular thighs. I meet his gaze and find it focused on me. My cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“I’m very sorry,” I say, feeling a mix of shame and regret. “I thought the cabin still belonged to my family.”
“Did no one tell you that it’s been sold?” Gideon asks, his gravelly voice betraying his pity.”
I just shake my head. Mom sends a birthday card each year—that’s the extent of her contact. I never expected her to be sentimental about the cabin, but I hoped she’d honor our deal. I sacrificed vacations and lived frugally to buy it from her, but she sold it to a stranger she never even met. Why am I surprised?
My heart feels heavy with misery and I can’t meet his eyes. Words catch in my throat, but I manage to mumble, “I apologize for troubling you so much. I will pay for the damages I caused and get out of your hair.” A sharp pain shoots through my right leg, and my knees buckle under the weight.
Before I can fall, Gideon catches me by the waist, pulling me against his solid chest. I gasp and instinctively wrap my arms around his neck. The pain pulses through me, but his brawny arm holds me steady, bringing us dangerously close.
“Easy there,” he murmurs, his voice a rumble that I feel vibrating in my chest. Our breaths mingle, and I smell a hint of coffee on him. The height difference between us becomes palpable when even pressed against him, my head barely reaches his shoulders. The sensation is heady, strumming a hint of desire deep within me.
“I should leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.
His emerald green eyes seem to see right through me. He shakes his head slowly, his expression unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says. His tone leaves no room for argument.
My breath hitches at his commanding demeanor. It is infuriating and yet... intoxicating. His tone and words affect me more than I care to admit. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and wonder if he can feel it too. “You need to rest,” he continues, his voice softening slightly but still laced with authority. “You’re hurt, and I’m not letting you make it worse.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. His words are reasonable, but the way he looks at me makes it hard to think straight. The scent of his aftershave, fresh and spicy, mingles with the natural scents of the cabin.
His hand moves to the small of my back, steadying me, and his fingers graze against my back where the sweater has ridden up. My skin tingles at his touch, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
“Listen, I…” I begin to protest, but the words trail off when his gaze falls on my lips. The proximity and the intimacy of our position make it difficult to form coherent thoughts.
He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “Trust me,” he whispers, his voice husky with assurance. The heat of his breath and the promise in his voice make me want to trust him with a lot more than I should.
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. The rise and fall of his chest against mine is a grounding rhythm, and I find myself leaning into his embrace despite my better judgment.
“Why do you want me to stay?” I ask, confusion peeking through the rush of heat and desire within me.
“I know you are in trouble.”
“Who said I’m in trouble?” I ask, gulping in fear. Oh, I am in so much trouble.
“A woman doesn’t break into a secluded cabin late at night during a snowstorm—in a pantsuit and Tweety slippers with no luggage—unless she is in trouble,” he answers, his eyes brimming with concern.
His words hit too close to home, and I feel the walls closing in. The memory of my apartment, the lurking dark shadow, and the feeling of being watched wash over me. I shudder involuntarily.
“Are you not?” he asks, his tone soft but insistent, his palm stroking my back.
Turning away, I shake my head, unable to say it. Gideon holds my chin firmly in his grasp, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. His touch is unyielding, his fingers gently grazing the curve of my jaw. His eyes bore into mine with a raw intensity that leaves me breathless, vulnerable.
Gideon’s expression hardens slightly. He bends closer, his breath warm against my skin. “Tell me,” he urges, his voice a seductive whisper yet carrying a subtle command. His proximity, the heat of his body, and the intensity of his gaze all make me want to spill my secrets. That scares me almost as much as the danger from which I am running.
But I can’t. The fear is too raw, too real. “Will you let it go, please?” I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. “Fine,” he says finally, a note of reluctance in his voice. “But you have to stay until your wound heals. The snowstorm has everything shut down. You can’t go anywhere right now, anyway.”
I nod reluctantly. I know I have no choice but to agree. Even if I come up with a place to go to, the howling storm that’s making the cabin creak is unforgiving, and my wound will make driving impossible. Gideon’s expression softens slightly, a mix of relief and resolve.
“Good,” he murmurs, lifting me effortlessly into his arms and gently placing me back on the bed. His touch lingers, each brush of his fingers sending a jolt of electricity through me. I bite my lip, trying to suppress the shiver that reveals how deeply he affects me.
He asks, “Are you hungry?”
I laugh nervously. How do I tell him that I am ravenous... but not for food?