Page 15 of Snowed In With the Grizzly

“Kitchen’s over there.” I point to the little kitchenette in the corner. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff in the fridge and cupboards.”

“Nice place,” she exclaims, walking in and looking around. “It’s real cozy.”

“Thanks,” I say. Compared to her place, which has been unoccupied for four years, it is. But it’s not as perfect as I want it to be for her. If I’d known she was coming, I would have gone shopping for a bunch of soft furnishings and stuff. Nice feminine touches to make her feel at home.

Rowan unfastens her coat, and I hurry to slip it off her shoulders and hang it up for her. A waft of her scent fills the room, and a fresh burst of desire hits me like a missile. She smells like honeysuckle and cotton candy. So ripe. So ready for mating. She’s wearing a pair of tight black pants and a tight olive-green sweater, both of which show off her lush curves to perfection. And damn, my cock is getting even harder. And I’m still almost naked. I hurry towards the bedroom.

“Make yourself at home,” I tell her. “I’ll be right back.”

When I come back, she’s at the stove. I pause for a second, taking in the lovely round curves of her ass, the softness of her shoulders as she works away. Then I stride toward her, because I don’t want her to think I’ve been staring at her like a pervert.

There’s something beige and kind of round in the pan. I have no idea what it is.

“Looks good,” I say cautiously.

She bursts out laughing. “It looks terrible, doesn’t it? I thought it would be nice to make pancakes. But I’m not much of a cook. Oatmeal is my specialty.”

I break into a grin. She’s just too adorable. I love the way she tries her best, and doesn’t let setbacks bring her down.

“So happens I love oatmeal. It’s my favorite.” I reach up to a high shelf and grab an old bag of oatmeal. “Here we go.”

She mixes some milk into it, and before long, that wholesome, sweet smell rises.

I help her ladle it out into two bowls and put them on the table. It’s good. She cooked it just right. “This is the best oatmeal I’ve ever had,” I say.

She laughs. “I’m sure you’re only saying that.”

I go still. I want her to know—especially after that bullshit with the cops—that I’m a man of my word.

“Rowan, I’ll never tell you anything I don’t mean. I need you to know that,” I say.

Her big blue eyes widen and she blinks several times. Then a look of understanding comes into them. “I believe you, Jaxton,” she says.

“You can trust me,” I tell her.

She’s silent for a long beat. Finally, she says in a small voice, “—IthinkI can.”

My gut tightens.

She’s been through a lot. Far too much for her tender years. My instinct is to drag it out of her right now, but I know that’s wrong. I’ll make her clam up. I need to go slow, be gentle with this angel.

So, instead, I ask her about her life. I want to know every single thing about her. All her dreams for the future. She tells me about the college she attends, her studies. Her friends. When she mentions guys’ names, my beast frets and snarls inside me. I want to quiz her, discover whether they’re more than friends, but I don’t have the right.

“And after college, what do you want to do?” I ask.

“Oh…” She pushes her oatmeal around her bowl. “I don’t know. I…?” She trails off.

“Come on. You must have some dreams? Maybe something you don’t usually tell anyone about?”

“No, not really—” She blinks fast, and suddenly she’s one step away from tears. Dismay lurches through my gut. Whatever has happened to her has stolen any hope for the future? I grind my teeth. I swear, when she’s mine that’s the first thing I’m gonna fix.

She starts eating fast, and before long, she’s scraping her spoon against the side of the empty bowl.

“Seconds?” I say.

“No, I’m super full.” She groans and rubs her stomach. Then her face freezes and she bolts upright. “Gosh, I’m sorry! That wasn’t very ladylike.”

I can’t resist grinning, and I’m damned if my boner doesn’t return. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” I say. “I’m a bea—”

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