Page 60 of Stitched Up in You
“It won’t open,” I say, feeling sluggish, confusion mounting because I know why it won’t open, its locked. I hold my hands in front of me as I tremble and realize I’m shaking too hard for me to pick it, if I had a good hairpin to even try.
“Move.”
Frank tightens his hand and the door gives way. My gaze widens at the mutilated metal knob I touched only moments ago, as he practically shoves me inside before slamming the door close behind us.
I look up at the high cream-colored ceilings and wooden beams that crisscross overhead and a frown crease between my brows at how decorated the place is, with big floor to ceiling hunting portraits on the wood walls in between the large glass windows, the opposite of the mansion.
Glancing down at the parquet wooden pattern beneath my shoes I wince, not liking how I’m dripping wet all over what I’msure is original flooring, but unable to move. “So cold,” I mutter and huddle in place, my extremities refusing to function.
“Foolish woman,” Frank says, suddenly standing before me, and bends to scoop me into his arms easily.
I wrap my arms around his neck and just go with it, liking how I don’t have to wonder if he can hold my weight, the man is ginormous.
My teeth chatter, my skin lined with goosebumps so pebbled it feels as if I’ll never be warm again. The cold is biting into my very bones. “You know, the last time I was this cold I’d fallen under the ice on a lake. Aubrey saved me,” I stammer out, unsure why I’m telling him, my brain fogging and turning to mush.
He walks through more than a couple open doorways, but I don’t get a chance to look around with how my eyelids keep closing, my head lolling on his big shoulder as he carries me like an infant.
A sound of distress escapes my lips when he plants me on my feet, and my legs buckle a bit as I’m forced awake. He holds me to him easily as I get my bearings enough to stand, and I realize I’m still shaking.
“Stand still while I get the clothes off you. You’re hypothermic,” he says matter-of-factly and steps back.
Is that what I am? Fatigue lines my bones like weighted lead as he starts tugging at the bottom of my sweater and I shut my eyes for the barest second.
“No sleep for you,” he calls out, peeling the sweater over my head.
Pain stings at my bottom next as his palm connects with a resounding wet slap.
“Stop it,” I grumble, deciding I’ll have to deal with his strange manhandling later.So tired. A frown puckers between my brow when Frank says something that sounds suspiciouslylikestubborn femaleas he removes my clothes, tugging the wet things off me.
I shiver in place, trying and failing to stop my teeth from chattering as he peels the pants off my thick thighs, expletives and curses falling from his mouth under his breath.
As soon as I’m naked, a thick, soft blanket goes around me, and I’m shuffled and moved to a couch in front of a cozy and crackling fireplace. I fall back onto the cushions to rest my gaze a moment, the soft sounds of Frank bustling around the room as my skin warms.
“Wake up,” I hear as if from afar, and awaken to find Frank’s face far too close to mine.
His eyes glow. Orange and bright, but with a reddish tinge not unlike a particular sunset I watched at the beach once on vacation. I poke an arm from my cocoon long enough to reach out and smooth the deep groove etched between his big blonde eyebrows, feeling my arm go heavy as my gaze flutters closed.
“Oww,” I mumble a moment later, pain registering as I glare up at Frank, who just stabbed me in the eye with his big finger.
“Stay awake,” he says, blinding me with a tiny flashlight and burning my pupils.
Just like a doctor. The idea comes to mind and floats away just as easily as I scowl up at him.
The wind howls against the nearby window, and my brow furrows. I’ll find Edgar hiding under the bed I bet. He hates storms.
I gasp and sit up on the couch, ignoring how the blanket falls, the thought of him being alone all night more important. “We can’t stay here all night,” I say, readying for a fight if Frank even suggests it. It’s alright to be gone a few hours, but no way is Edgar going without food.
“As soon as the storm lets up, we’re leaving,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.
I glance up at him and watch the firelight dance across his face, noticing his new outfit, casual brown pants and a gray t-shirt that would normally have me salivating when the irony hits me. I’m in a hunting lodge, wearing my birthday suit, and Frank is backing away from me, a full-blown cockfest pushing at the seam of his wet pants.
“Okay,” I say, relaxing into the couch again as I let my thoughts wonder.
This is not the secret fantasy romance I wanted.
A cozy hunting lodge, at least what I’ve seen of it anyway seems pretty cozy. The one bed trope is in play and so is a beautiful monster, yet here I am borderline hypothermic with one who’d much rather play doctor for real than play with my pussy.
I know full well he’s not as immune to me as he wishes he was.
