5. Zara

5

ZARA

I t's as if I've woken up in either a dark romance story or a fucking horror story, and I'm not sure which yet. I watch my host as he prowls back and forth on the porch. His eyes are intense and unfocused like he's battling some inner demon that I can't begin to understand.

Part of me longs to escape, to put as much distance as possible between myself and this isolated cabin and its unhinged owner. But the scientist in me knows that fleeing into the storm would be suicide. I'm trapped here, at least until the weather clears up a bit. The very thought makes my chest tighten with fear.

Aksel stops pacing and turns his piercing gaze toward the window, catching me watching him. I freeze, feeling like a mouse watched by a hungry cat. His full lips curl into a wicked smile, revealing straight white teeth. He knows I'm afraid of him. And I think he likes it.

With a few long strides, he crosses the porch and throws the cabin door open, the icy rain gusting behind him. "See something you like?" he rumbles, his voice as deep and rough as grinding boulders.

I try to keep my voice from shaking. "I was just wondering what you were doing out there," I say.

"Getting some air." He runs a hand through his dark hair, slicking it back from his chiseled face. "Didn't mean to make you nervous."

The way his eyes rake over my body tells me he's lying through his teeth. I tug self-consciously at the oversized shirt he gave me, struggling not to squirm under his intense stare.

"You're safe here with me," he says, crossing the room until he's looming over me. "As long as you do exactly what I say."

I nod, my throat too tight with fear to speak. Aksel's eyes bore into mine, daring me to disobey. His proximity is overwhelming—I can smell sweat, motor oil, and some deep, musky scent that must be purely him. It makes my head swim.

"Good girl," he rumbles, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face. His calloused fingers trail along my jawline, and I can't suppress a shudder. "We're going to get along just fine here, you and I."

I want to ask him what he means by that, but I'm still trying to figure out the answer. Aksel seems to sense my unease, and his full lips twist into that predatory smile again.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up and dressed into your own clothes?" he suggests, nodding toward my case he must have retrieved from the Jeep this morning. "I'll get the fire going again. Wouldn't want you catching a chill."

It's not really a suggestion, and we both know it. Still, I'm grateful for the chance to escape from under his scorching gaze. I grab my case and hurry into the bathroom, closing the door and leaning against it with a shuddering exhale.

Get a grip, Zara, I tell myself sternly. He's just a little intense, that's all. You're a grown woman and a respected scientist. Don't let some weird, super-hot Norwegian guy intimidate you.

But even as I try to bolster my courage, I can't shake the feeling that I'm prey. Aksel moves with a dangerous, almost feral grace. And those eyes—I've never seen a man look at me with such blatant possession before.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as I look at my reflection in the steamy mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my green eyes wide with fear and desire? No, that can't be it—not for a man like Aksel.

But even as I try to push the thought away, my gaze is drawn to his oversized shirt. It hangs off one shoulder, the worn fabric soft against my skin. I can't help wondering what it would be like to have his strong hands on me instead of the cotton.

Stop it, I scold myself firmly. He's not just intense. He's dangerous. The way he looks at me like he wants to devour me whole. A shiver runs down my spine, not entirely from fear this time.

This is absurd. I'm a trainee scientist. I've never let a man rattle me before. Hell, I'm a virgin, for God's sake. But then, I've also never met a man like Aksel.

The sheer size of him is enough to make my knees go weak. He has to be at least six foot four with a powerful, muscular frame covered in ink. And those eyes—a gray-blue that bores holes straight through me.

When he touched me, trailing those rough fingertips along my skin, I felt like lightning struck me. The memory of it makes me shiver, my nipples tightening beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

What is wrong with me? This man is clearly unhinged, probably a psychopath. I should be terrified, not aroused. But I can't seem to help myself.

He moves with a predatory grace, like a great jungle cat studying its prey. And I have the sinking feeling that I'm the prey being stalked. The thought should frighten me. It does, in a way —that tight, anxious knot in my stomach that screams at me to run. But there's another part of me, a darker part, that wants to see what he's capable of.

What would it be like to be possessed by a man like that? To have all that raw power and intensity focused solely on me? A tremor runs through me at the thought, my thighs clenching instinctively.

Outside the bathroom door, I hear the fire crackle and the rain hissing against the roof and windows. Any sane person would be trying to formulate an escape plan right now, considering how he's acted. We're trapped in here with nothing to do. But all I can think about is the dangerous, beautiful beast waiting for me on the other side of that door.