Page 20 of Snowed In with Three Mountain Men

DAX

I grimacewhen I hear the slight gasp of pain from behind me. I don’t know why she’s so fucking certain that she needs to make herself useful around here, when the most helpful thing she could do is rest up, heal, and get out of here again.

I glance over my shoulder toward the kitchen where Charli is standing on tiptoe to put a couple of plates back in the cupboard. Her shirt has ridden up slightly at her waist, displaying a few inches of her soft stomach, and I hate that my eyes linger there for a moment before I go over to take care of it for her.

“Here, let me do it,” I demand, brushing her aside and lifting the plates from her hand. She shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye as she drops back onto her bare heels.

“I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

“You’re not. You should be in bed.”

She sighs heavily. “Look, I’ve been there all week,” she points out. “And I’m going crazy. Not like I can catch up on any TV shows while I’m flopping around here, is it?”

“We have books.”

“And I can’t hold my hands up for long enough without my shoulders getting tired,” she counters. “I’m just trying to be helpful, Dax. Let me do something. I don’t like feeling useless.”

Once I’ve put the plates into the cupboard and closed the door, I turn around to face her. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her mouth is set into a hard line as she glares up at me. I’m not exactly pleased that she’s looking at me like that, but then, with the way I’ve been treating her, I guess it’s to be expected.

Seven days. Seven days since she got here, and she still shows no signs of getting out. More to the point, neither of my damn brothers seem interested in getting rid of her either. Callum might have talked a big game about just letting her stay here until she got back on her feet and was able to go back to her life, but even now that she’s starting to get better, he hasn’t mentioned the possibility of it again once.

Which is starting to worry me. Seriously worry me. Because I’m not going to let my little slice of paradise get all fucked up by an intruder. She might not have meant to turn up on our doorstep like that—though, truth be told, I’m still not entirely certain I believe it—but she’s here, and she’s not leaving anytime soon, and that isn’t sitting right with me.

“Go back to bed,” I order her, turning my back on her, about to head over to my seat again so I can pick up where I left off with my book. Callum and Chuck are out collecting firewood, but my hip’s been playing up, and I know I’m not going to do it any good by stomping around out there in the cold. I hoped that she would keep to her room to avoid running into me, but seems like I’m not getting so lucky.

Before I can push past her, she steps out in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes not moving from mine.

“Go back to bed,” I repeat, through gritted teeth, a little sharper this time.

She shakes her head. “No, Dax, we need to talk,” she replies. “I don’t know what your problem is with me, but you’re clearly not happy with me being here, and?—”

“You don’t know what myproblemis with you?” I laugh. “You really can’t figure it out?”

Her cheeks flush slightly. I hate to admit it, but when she’s pissed, she’s even cuter.

“No, you’re going to have to tell me,” she fires back. “Because I didn’t ask to be brought here. I didn’t?—”

“No, you didn’t ask, but you haven’t exactly made a point of leaving now that you’re doing better, have you?” I snap back pointedly. “You could have cleared off already. Get the hell out of here, hitchhike your way to the nearest town, get out of our damn hair and be done with it.”

“They said it wasn’t safe?—”

“Neither was driving around these roads in a blizzard, but that didn’t seem to stop you.”

Her jaw clenches. “I didn’t do that because I wanted to,” she argues. “I did it because I had no choice.”

“And why not?” I push. “You still haven’t told us that part. Why exactly was it so important for you to be driving out there like an idiot in the middle of a blizzard?”

Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t understand,” she mutters, drawing her gaze away from me. I know I should leave it there—that she’s done with this, and I should get back to my book and forget this conversation ever happened—but something about her defiance has sparked a response in me. I want an answer. I want it now.

“Try me,” I grit out, grabbing her arm and pulling her to face me. She wrenches herself free at once.

“Don’t touch me,” she spits. “You’re the one telling me to heal up. How can I do that if you’re manhandling me all over the place?—”

“You think that was manhandling?” I laugh.

Her cheeks darken. “I think you need to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Oh, really?” I remark, taking a step toward her. She’s backed against the counter now, just a few inches between us, and I can’t help but catch the scent of her skin in the air—the soft, warm musk of it, so tempting it almost takes me over.

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