Over the next two days, I could have sworn the universe was trying to torture me. Well, that or Paolo. Although, he kept his distance doing work around the cabin, chopping wood (shirtless for God’s sake) or patrolling the property, every time we got anywhere near each other he looked like he wanted to devour me, which sent me into a spiral of unsanctioned lustful thoughts, which shut down all brain function. Then his gaze would run the whole gamut of aggressive expressions—irritation, anger, frustration, and disgust—leaving me feeling like a sad little puddle of unrequited lust. Then we’d both retreat to our corners.
When we ate, he avoided eye contact almost completely. When I asked him if he had any news, he simply answered “no” and then disappeared outside or upstairs.
I didn’t know what the hell was going on inside that man’s head, but I couldn’t spend another day, let alone another week, like this.
On the third evening, I sat on the couch, trying to look casual, curled up with a cup of tea and a book—don’t even know which damned book—waiting for his return from a perimeter sweep.
When he entered the front door, I immediately knew he’d been running or doing pull-ups on a tree branch or lifting boulders, because once again the goddamned man wore no shirt—only a pair of black drawstring shorts—and glistened with sweat. His biceps, abs, and forearms bulged with tension.
He stood in the doorway, his angry-as-fuck gaze drilling into me, his fists flexing.
I swallowed and felt the heat surge between my legs. I don’t know what it was about this man, but his smell, the sound of his breath, the mere deliciousness of being in his presence completely messed with my head.
I cleared my throat. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replied coldly.
“We need to talk.”
He cocked one brow and then slammed the door behind him. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” With my shaking hand, I set the book down next to my tea on the table in front of me.
“Like that,” he said with a tinge of disgust. “You’re driving me fucking crazy. It won’t work.”
“What?” I resisted standing up, and took a calming breath. “Paolo, I am not trying to do anything.”
“Do I look like a fucking idiot?” he seethed.
“I don’t know what you—”
“You’re beautiful, Dakota. Your body is a piece of fucking art, but that doesn’t mean you can use it to get what you want.”
Huh? “Which is?”
His gaze lowered to my chest and then elevated back to my eyes. “We both know you want to call your mother.”
“True, but…”
“I bet you’re used to getting what you want. But I’m not some fucking hard up college guy. I’m trying to do my job here. I’m trying to keep you safe, and every time you flirt with me or show off your body, you’re only distracting me.”
Holy shit. He thought I was trying to distract him with T-shirts and his loaner jogging shorts? Sure, I wasn’t wearing a bra and had to roll the waist down so the shorts would stay on, but…“I’m not the one prancing around shirtless and showing off my giant muscles, Paolo. Seriously. Do you ever stop working out? How fucking big is your ego if you need to pump iron every hour?”
He growled. “I’m only blowing off steam. Steam that would otherwise go toward taking you to that bed and fucking you senseless which would only get us both killed.” He turned and yanked open the front door, disappearing into the night.
I blew out a long, hot breath and then gripped the sides of my head. His stark, sexual words sent my entire body into a raging frenzy. Just hearing him say those things conjured images I’d never be able to dispel. Ever. And knowing that he’d been having his own lustful thoughts only made mine all the more potent.
“Holy shit, Dakota. What are you doing?”
Playing with fire. That’s what.
I didn’t think I’d been trying to seduce him. After all, we were talking about me. But maybe he was right; I wanted him to want me. And it didn’t matter what my brain said, the pull he had over my body was ten times more powerful.
I needed to get a grip.
The hot shower worked miracles on my mental composure. Having clean hair and freshly shaved legs—hoped he didn’t mind me borrowing his razor—almost made me feel new again. I toweled off, slipped on fresh panties and another of Paolo’s tee. It smelled like cedar and Tide. I tried to ignore how charming and domesticated that seemed.
I peeked out the bathroom door, and not seeing my ghost in question, I figured I could slip into bed without any issue. But when I entered the bedroom, he was there putting something in the closet.
“Oh, sorry,” I turned away to find something to cover myself with, leaving my ass on display. Fact: Dakota Dane only owned thongs. Fact: They weren’t nearly as comfortable as bikinis or boy shorts. Fiction: My ego was above wearing extra-large panties despite having no one to show my panties to.
“Dakota.”
“Are you looking at my ass?” I said jokingly, trying to hide behind humor when the reality was that having his eyes on me felt so good.
“Yes. Yes I am,” he replied. “And if you don’t want me to get killed, you’d do me a favor and put that thing away.”
I nodded slowly and then faced him. His hungry eyes met mine, and though my mind knew this would go nowhere, I couldn’t help but want it.
“You’re so,” he whispered, “beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman.”
I didn’t know what to say. His words were like fuel for that insane part of my head that wanted him despite the wrongness.
No. You’re reacting to the stress of the situation. Don’t do it, Dakota.
Shut up.
I slid the towel off my hair and walked over to him, leaving only inches between our bodies. “What you said earlier…about blowing off steam. I thought you said you didn’t want to sleep with me.”
Towering over me, he placed his hands on my waist and gazed down with that magnificent, masculine face. Jaw, cheekbones, nose…every inch of him was perfect. And in the short period of time we’d spent together, I was beginning to see he was more than just a pretty picture. There was a deep sense of loyalty and dedication lurking in there. The question was, did he feel those things for me or for my father?
“I never said I didn’t want to,” he responded in a gravelly voice. “I said I wouldn’t.”
“That’s very disappointing,” I said. “Because I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have for my first time.”
I can’t believe I said that! How…cheesy! And where had my sudden burst of “seductressness” come from?
His eyes flickered. Was he shocked? Disgusted? Turned on? “How much wine did you drink?” he asked.
“Not nearly enough.” Especially if he took me up on my offer. I’d touched him this morning and now felt his penis pressing firmly against my stomach. He wasn’t small.
“Dakota,” he lowered his forehead to mine and cupped the back of my head. “You don’t want this. I don’t do relationships. And there’s a reason for that. It’s too…dangerous.”
I pulled back. “You’re really that frightened of my father?”
He shook his head slowly, not breaking our eye contact. “No. He doesn’t frighten me.”
“Then what?”
His eyes flashed to the dresser, and my mind connected another dot.
Christ. “Who is she?” I asked.
“She died a year before I met you.”
I stepped back. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s in the past. But we are bound to repeat it if we don’t learn from our mistakes.” His hands dropped to his side.
What mistake did he mean? “You can’t think that loving someone is a mistake.”
Again, he seemed surprised. “No. I…I don’t think loving her was a mistake. But I won’t watch someone die because she loved me back.”
So he’d had something to do with her death? I was about to a
sk, but the despair in his eyes was too much to bear. I could tell he wasn’t even close to getting over whatever had happened. Perhaps, it was the sort of thing no one ever got over. I didn’t know, and I never wanted to find out.
“I’m sure she didn’t regret a moment of it,” I offered. “I know I wouldn’t.”
His eyes went from hard to soft to hard again. “Good night, Dakota.”
He went to the couch, and I slipped into his flannel sheets, wondering how this man I barely knew suddenly felt like the center of my universe and the path to my destruction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Dakota.” Paolo’s deep masculine voice stretched into my dreams, grabbed me by the collar, and yanked me violently into the here and now. “Wake the hell up,” he whispered.
My eyes opened to Paolo’s face inches from mine, the warm glow of flames behind him, the smell of a fire filling my nose.
Crap. I sat up and looked toward the curtained window. The blaze was outside.
“Look at me, Dakota.”
I did.
“We can’t run outside. It’s a trap. They’ll be waiting to pick us off.”
Oh my God. “They found us? But how?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He reached and grabbed something from the nightstand and put it on his head—some sort of visor. He already had a rifle strapped to his back.
“The cabin is on fire. We’ll burn alive,” I shrieked.
“No we won’t.” He opened that middle drawer—the one with that woman’s clothes—and threw a pair of jeans at me. “Put those on.” I was in no position to complain about wearing his deceased lover’s clothes, so I did as he said, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it. He handed me my flip-flops next. “I wish you’d brought tennis shoes, but they’ll have to do.”
“I thought you said we weren’t running.”
“Not yet.” He grabbed my hand, pulled me to the bathroom, and shoved me under the showerhead. “Wet yourself down.” He turned the handle, and cold water torpedoed my face.
“Shit!” I said as I saw him dart into the other room. “Wait. Don’t go!” Panicked, I stepped out onto the floor, but he came right back.
He turned off the shower and then gripped me hard by the shoulders. “Dakota, I know this is going to be difficult, but I want you to lie inside the tub. Cover you head with a towel. Wait here—do not move until I come back for you. Got it?”
He shoved me back inside the bathtub and pushed me down.
“Where are you going?”
“To the roof.” He grabbed something from his waistband and placed it in my hands. “If anyone, besides me—key word besides—comes in here, shoot. Don’t stop to ask any questions. Just shoot. The safety is already off. ” I looked at the weapon. It was a small black handgun. I’d never touched a gun in my life, let alone fired one, but I got the gist of how it worked. How different could it be from a video arcade? But would I really be able to shoot another person?
If your life depends on it? Absolutely.
“You’ll be back, right?” The cabin continued to fill with smoke and orange light poured in from the windows through the living room. We couldn’t have more than just a few minutes before the entire place burned down with us inside.
He looked at me and brushed the wet hair from my face. “I’ll be back. I promise.” He kissed my forehead and disappeared. I heard his footsteps thump up the stairs. And then the waiting started. I tried to calm my breathing, but the air was thickening. I lowered myself down a little farther in the tub, hoping the extra few inches would provide more breathable air. It did. But damn it, what if he didn’t come back? What if the fire got so bad that there was no way to get out? All of the exits would be blocked, if they weren’t already.
Shit. I can’t believe this is happening.
I heard a loud pop, pop, pop.
I held my breath, listening for the sound of Paolo’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Instead, I heard the sound of glass shattering in the living room, and then another pop.
Oh God. Please let him be okay. Please.
I suddenly realized how much I didn’t want to lose him. It had to be just because we were in a life-and-death situation. Right? I didn’t truly know, but the only thing that seemed to matter was his not dying.
“Please, please, please live. I’ll do anything you want, just let him live.” I’d never been the praying type, but I guessed it was human nature to roll the dice when all other avenues of salvation were null and void.
“Are you actually praying for me? I have to say, that’s very sweet.” Paolo’s large, recognizable silhouette appeared in the doorway.
The air whooshed from my lungs. “Thank God.” I put the gun down, and he grabbed my hand, plucking me out of the tub like a tiny doll. “What happened?”
“I only saw one person. He was positioned out front.”
“Did you shoot him?” I asked
“Yeah. But I didn’t kill him. He ran off.”
Paolo dragged me through the kitchen. The fire blazed around the exterior of the cabin, including the back porch where a four-foot wall of flames greeted us when he opened the backdoor.
“We have to jump through it,” he said.
Was he nuts? “You want me to run through that?” We’d be burned alive.
He grabbed the teakettle from the stove and emptied it down the front of his body. Then he shoved his head under the sink and wet down his hair.
Yes. Please save the hair. It was, after all, very, very nice hair.
He then grabbed a quilt from the couch, shoved as much as he could under the sink and dampened it.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “I saw from the roof.”
He pulled me to come with him.
“I can’t.”
He stopped and looked down at me with his dark eyes. “I promise, I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”
I nodded like a fool, knowing that the word “ever” was a lie. But I appreciated the conviction in his voice. He was asking me to trust him. Really, truly trust him. The ironic part was that he didn’t have to ask. I already did.
“Okay.” I glanced at the counter and saw my small bag of clothes lying there. My notebook. I grabbed it and shoved it into the back of my jeans right before he threw the quilt over the flames, grabbed my hand, and pulled me outside.
I yelped when I felt the heat, but as he’d promised, nothing happened. We came out on the other side within a split second. We ran into the forest and kept going. I stumbled my way behind him, tripping on rocks and branches. My toes felt like ground beef—whatever that feels like.
After about twenty minutes, panting hard, we ducked behind a thick tree trunk. He pressed me against it with his body and held his hand over my mouth.
“Let me listen,” he whispered in my ear.
The feel of his hard frame pinning me to the tree, his chest and hips pushing against mine, unexpectedly sparked an odd, physical reaction. It was like all that adrenaline coursing through my blood had ignited, sending a blaze of sexual need right through me. I remembered reading about that kind of stuff happening to men, that when they were in the heat of battle, their testosterone levels shot through the roof and made them hornier than hell. But I didn’t know that happened to women.
Paolo squeezed my shoulder, warning me not to squirm, only furthering the sensation of impending combustion despite the dampness of my cold clothes.
All too aware of what his touch was doing, I tried to wriggle to the side just a little.
“Hold still. I’m trying to listen for footsteps,” he said.
Did he realize he was doing so much, much more than that? And did he realize that I wasn’t the only person feeling a little frisky?
I clamped my eyes shut and tried not think about his thick, hard erection pushing against me. With the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I wanted him so badly that nothing else seemed to matter—not that someone had just tried to kill us, or that I was wet and freezing—j
ust our bodies pressed together.
“Paolo. You need to let me go.”
“I’m shielding you with my body,” he argued.
“I realize that, but—”
“I don’t hear anything, but I need to be sure no one is following.”
“Okay, but when you’re done making sure, I’d like it noted that I would prefer to lose my virginity lying down. Something soft against my back might be good, too,” I lied. Christ, I’d let him have me over a heap of broken branches.
“What the hell are you—?” his head snapped down, and then he realized just what I’d meant, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he simply stared. The faint light of the moon, filtering through the treetops, allowed me to see the contours of his face, but not his eyes.
Was he embarrassed? Annoyed?
He leaned his head down and kissed me. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was forceful and demanding. His mouth moved over mine, and his tongue slipped inside, stroking me, heating me. I moved my arms around his neck and angled my head to the side, allowing him to deepen the kiss, to fit our bodies more snugly together. Blood rushed between my legs and to my nipples. The blaze of sensual need charged through my veins and consumed every rational thought I had.
A tiny groan escaped his lips as he pushed his hips more tightly against mine.
Oh God, I’d never felt anything so good.
One hand reached for my leg and lifted it as his hot mouth moved to a frantic pace, his tongue lapping away at my own. He angled himself and pushed forward again, the ridge of his hard shaft hitting me right where the tension was building. The breath whooshed from my lungs as the sensation of him thrusting against me drove the tension higher, and the need to release it to a point I could no longer bear.
His other hand moved up inside my damp shirt and cupped my breast, while he continued the erotic rhythm of his pumping hips, his tongue moving in time.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Dakota,” he panted, massaging and squeezing my bare breast.
Oh my God. I’d never wanted anything more in my life. I’d never needed anything more than I did him at that exact moment. I slid my hand between our bodies and reached for the top button of his jeans. I worked it open, and then undid the next one. The tip of my finger grazed the velvety tip of his erection, causing him to release a groan. I slid my hand inside just a bit farther, wanting to wrap my fingers around the fullness of him.