Chapter 2

I wake up cocooned in heavy blankets, their warmth comforting my chilled skin. Morning light filters through the curtains. As I shift, a sharp pine in my right foot makes me flinch. I ease it out and see it’s bandaged.

I vaguely recall yesterday and realize I’m at Grandpa’s cabin. I rub my eyes and see I’m still in old clothes, now layered with oversized sweaters.

As I look around, I see that my parents’ bedroom has changed. The thick bed frame with white drapes and handmade quilt on the rocking chair all feel far from my mother’s sense of décor. The room has a distinctly masculine simplicity.

As I struggle to recall a fuzzy memory, footsteps catch my attention. The man from last night enters, wearing a worn blue plaid shirt and jeans, moving with quiet confidence.

His emerald gaze holds mine as he greets me with a, “Good morning.” His voice is deep and rough, sending an unexpected shiver down my body.

I nod back. “Good morning. Where is Ken?” My voice sounds hoarse and weak, and I try to clear it.

“Ken?” the man asks, confusion lacing his tone.

“The caretaker of this cabin.”

“I am the caretaker of this cabin.”

“Oh, did Ken finally decide to retire? About time. First lesson on the new job—don’t aim a gun at the owner.”

He crinkles his brow in doubt, but then a smirk plays at his lips as he shrugs, “I heard glass shattering in the middle of a blizzard and found a stranger breaking into my home. I was a ranger. I call it instinct.”

“What do you mean that this is your home? This is my grandfather’s cabin.” I try to reason, my voice rising with anxiety.

“Maybe it used to be, but since I bought it two months ago, this has been my home.”

I sit up straight now, and the conclusion that I barged into a stranger’s house punches me in the gut. I feel an irrational urge to run out of here.

“Wait a second, bought it from whom?” I stare at him, dreading his answer.

“The process went through an agent, but the listed owner was Sarah King.”

I close my eyes as the ache in my heart overwhelms me. Mom sold the cabin. She’d been saying it for years, but I never believed she would actually sell it. Maybe I had been running from the truth.

“Let’s start with introductions. I’m Gideon Blackthorn,” he says, a deep baritone rumbling in his chest.

I open my eyes and look up at him. He has moved closer, leaning on the cupboard next to the bed. With his hands folded against his chest, his shirt stretches out across his broad shoulders and bulging forearms. He’s very tall, and his snug black jeans cling to his muscular thighs. I meet his gaze and find it focused on me. My cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I’m very sorry,” I say, feeling a mix of shame and regret. “I thought the cabin still belonged to my family.”

“Did no one tell you that it’s been sold?” Gideon asks, his gravelly voice betraying his pity.”

I just shake my head. Mom sends a birthday card each year—that’s the extent of her contact. I never expected her to be sentimental about the cabin, but I hoped she’d honor our deal. I sacrificed vacations and lived frugally to buy it from her, but she sold it to a stranger she never even met. Why am I surprised?

My heart feels heavy with misery and I can’t meet his eyes. Words catch in my throat, but I manage to mumble, “I apologize for troubling you so much. I will pay for the damages I caused and get out of your hair.” A sharp pain shoots through my right leg, and my knees buckle under the weight.

Before I can fall, Gideon catches me by the waist, pulling me against his solid chest. I gasp and instinctively wrap my arms around his neck. The pain pulses through me, but his brawny arm holds me steady, bringing us dangerously close.

“Easy there,” he murmurs, his voice a rumble that I feel vibrating in my chest. Our breaths mingle, and I smell a hint of coffee on him. The height difference between us becomes palpable when even pressed against him, my head barely reaches his shoulders. The sensation is heady, strumming a hint of desire deep within me.

“I should leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

His emerald green eyes seem to see right through me. He shakes his head slowly, his expression unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says. His tone leaves no room for argument.

My breath hitches at his commanding demeanor. It is infuriating and yet... intoxicating. His tone and words affect me more than I care to admit. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and wonder if he can feel it too. “You need to rest,” he continues, his voice softening slightly but still laced with authority. “You’re hurt, and I’m not letting you make it worse.”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. His words are reasonable, but the way he looks at me makes it hard to think straight. The scent of his aftershave, fresh and spicy, mingles with the natural scents of the cabin.

His hand moves to the small of my back, steadying me, and his fingers graze against my back where the sweater has ridden up. My skin tingles at his touch, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

“Listen, I…” I begin to protest, but the words trail off when his gaze falls on my lips. The proximity and the intimacy of our position make it difficult to form coherent thoughts.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “Trust me,” he whispers, his voice husky with assurance. The heat of his breath and the promise in his voice make me want to trust him with a lot more than I should.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. The rise and fall of his chest against mine is a grounding rhythm, and I find myself leaning into his embrace despite my better judgment.

“Why do you want me to stay?” I ask, confusion peeking through the rush of heat and desire within me.

“I know you are in trouble.”

“Who said I’m in trouble?” I ask, gulping in fear. Oh, I am in so much trouble.

“A woman doesn’t break into a secluded cabin late at night during a snowstorm—in a pantsuit and Tweety slippers with no luggage—unless she is in trouble,” he answers, his eyes brimming with concern.

His words hit too close to home, and I feel the walls closing in. The memory of my apartment, the lurking dark shadow, and the feeling of being watched wash over me. I shudder involuntarily.

“Are you not?” he asks, his tone soft but insistent, his palm stroking my back.

Turning away, I shake my head, unable to say it. Gideon holds my chin firmly in his grasp, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. His touch is unyielding, his fingers gently grazing the curve of my jaw. His eyes bore into mine with a raw intensity that leaves me breathless, vulnerable.

Gideon’s expression hardens slightly. He bends closer, his breath warm against my skin. “Tell me,” he urges, his voice a seductive whisper yet carrying a subtle command. His proximity, the heat of his body, and the intensity of his gaze all make me want to spill my secrets. That scares me almost as much as the danger from which I am running.

But I can’t. The fear is too raw, too real. “Will you let it go, please?” I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. “Fine,” he says finally, a note of reluctance in his voice. “But you have to stay until your wound heals. The snowstorm has everything shut down. You can’t go anywhere right now, anyway.”

I nod reluctantly. I know I have no choice but to agree. Even if I come up with a place to go to, the howling storm that’s making the cabin creak is unforgiving, and my wound will make driving impossible. Gideon’s expression softens slightly, a mix of relief and resolve.

“Good,” he murmurs, lifting me effortlessly into his arms and gently placing me back on the bed. His touch lingers, each brush of his fingers sending a jolt of electricity through me. I bite my lip, trying to suppress the shiver that reveals how deeply he affects me.

He asks, “Are you hungry?”

I laugh nervously. How do I tell him that I am ravenous... but not for food?

But my stomach answers by growling loudly, breaking the tension. “I guess I am a little hungry.”

“Just a little?” he says suggestively, bending to tuck a part of the blanket under my arm. His firm grasp on my arm makes me breathe deeply. Clearing my throat, I mumble a thanks, averting my eyes away from him before he can see the blush creeping up my cheeks. He chuckles to himself as he walks out of the room, making me think my effort went in vain.

The aroma of a hearty stew mingling with the woodsy scent of the cabin reaches me. The last meal I remember eating was lunch yesterday. I deliberately try to not think of everything that happened after that. Instead, I choose to focus on my breathing.

“I am here. I am safe. He can’t find me here,” I repeat to myself.

“Who can’t find you here?” Gideon asks, returning with two steaming bowls. His tone is relaxed, but I can tell that he is waiting intently for my answer.

Clearing my throat, I mutter, “No one.”

Gideon gives me a look, but doesn’t challenge me. Sitting down on the rocking chair next to my bed, he hands me a bowl and says, “I’m not a wonderful cook, but this will warm you up.”

“I really appreciate your kindness.” I tell him, taking the bowl from him. Our fingers touch briefly, but I ignore the sensation. I remind myself that I have a tough situation waiting for me back home, and I need to gather the strength and wits to deal with it. I definitely won’t find the solution in Gideon’s arms. Or maybe you will, my mind whispers to me. I suppress that voice deep down.

“Eat before it goes cold,” he says, his voice kind but authoritative.

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. The aroma makes my mouth water. I take a spoonful of the stew, moaning in relief as earthy flavors burst into my mouth. I turn to praise his cooking, only to find Gideon staring at me. His intense gaze ignites every fiber of my being. I hold my breath, unsure if it’s from dread or anticipation.

Gideon holds my gaze as he tastes the stew, his tongue flicking the spoon. My mouth goes dry. “You like it,” he says with a hint of a smile.

I don’t know what he is referring to and I don’t think I can handle the answer, so I just say, “This is really good. You are a splendid cook.”

Amusement plays on his lips as he nods. “It’s my aunt’s recipe.”

Hunger takes over then, and I focus only on the hearty stew for the next few minutes. I don’t leave a drop of food in the bowl. If it was acceptable, I would lick it clean. When I hand over the empty bowl to Gideon, I receive a reassuring smile that makes my heart flutter.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

Shrugging it off, he brings his hand to my face and caresses my cheek with his thumb. The feel of his rough skin rubbing against me sends a shiver down my spine. “Tell me your name,” he breathes. My eyes widen in realization. I damage his property and eat his food, yet I haven’t told him my name. Magnificent display of your manners, you idiot!

“I’m sorry. Hi, I am Ariel King. It’s nice to meet you,” I offer with a shy smile.

“Ariel,” he breathes my name so sensually that I press my thighs together. The unbidden image of him thrusting in my pussy as he chants my name pushes its way into my mind. My lips part in response as I exhale harshly.

Gripping my chin, he holds my gaze as he purrs, “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Ariel.”

Smiling mischievously, he suggests I rest before leaving with the empty bowls. I stay put, still reeling from his intense presence. Why does his rugged touch affect me like that?

I lie down on the comfortable bed, fighting the urge to slip my fingers into my panties. The thought that he might hear me only makes me crazier. Slapping myself on the head, I remind myself that he is essentially a stranger and I don’t jump in bed with just anyone.

What’s happening to me? Maybe I hit my head when I fell last night. I chuckle bitterly, my senses attuned to him even through the walls. His touch, especially when he held my face with such strength, keeps replaying in my mind.

The wind bangs against the window, and despite the sweater and blankets, I shiver occasionally. The pain in my foot is dull, so I try not to move it. As thoughts of Gideon crowd my mind, I count backwards from one hundred. Eventually, the familiar routine pulls me under and I drift off to sleep.

∞∞∞

The sound of hammering wakes me up. I sit up, stretching slightly. The snow is piling up against the bedroom window, partially blocking the view, but I can see that it is still dark. Even though the storm rages outside, the cabin feels like a warm haven.

The noise resumes, and I try to locate its source. It’s coming from the living room, but I can’t walk on my injured foot yet. I stay put, knowing Gideon will come in when he’s done. The thought of seeing him again makes me restless.

I glance at the rocking chair and see a blanket draped over it. The bed beside me is untouched—Gideon must have slept in the chair to keep an eye on me. It’s easy to ignore the simmering tension between us during the day, but what about tonight? Will he stay close, watching me with those intense eyes?

I know he’d respect a request to sleep in the next room. Nothing he’s done so far has made me uncomfortable, but the real question is whether I want him near or away. I wish there was a simple answer.

Just then, Gideon walks into the room. A few snowflakes are stuck in his trimmed beard. When he shakes the snow out of his hair, his arm muscles flex in tandem, somehow increasing the temperature of the room.

He catches me watching him and halts his actions. It seems like he’s going to say something, but then he looks away and the spell breaks.

“Sorry if I woke you up, but I had to hammer shut the window. The temperature would have plummeted during the night,” he explains, shrugging out of his puffy winter jacket. I see the toned muscles of his abdomen when he pulls off the sweater underneath the jacket and gulp. My mouth has suddenly watered.

“Mh-hm,” is all the answer I can manage to mumble.

“Listen,” Gideon begins, running his hand through his hair. He looks lost in thought. “The storm is getting worse. There is a strong possibility it might knock out the power. I have a backup generator, but I prefer to keep it for emergencies since the roads are not accessible at the moment. I only have one emergency heater which I will keep in this room. In my opinion, hypothermia symptoms had already set in when you came here. You need to stay warm.”

He walked to the bed and sat on the edge near my feet. If I lean forward, I can touch him. I crush the thought immediately and push my hands under my thighs.

“I can sleep in the living room, but I am a sound sleeper and if you need me for anything, I might not hear it. So if it’s alright with you, I would like to spend the night in the chair near you.” He points to the rocking chair and watches me closely.

Despite my best efforts to resist it, I feel the strange need to stay close to him. Maybe it’s the thought of sleeping alone that scares me, but I know I will feel a lot safer with him in the room.

“Of course. It’s your home, Gideon. I am the unwanted visitor. Please don’t put yourself in an uncomfortable position for my sake—” Before I can finish, Gideon clasps my hand between his and says, “You are anything but unwanted. Do not say such things about yourself, Ariel. Do you understand?”

His words halt my thought and all I can do is nod in response. The heat of his hands seeps into mine, making my body bask in its warmth.

Indicating that my response isn’t enough with a frown, he orders, “Answer me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I croak the word out of my dry throat. His thumb is caressing the back of my hand. The sensation is overwhelming enough that I almost miss his next words. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

For some reason, I know it’s true with every fiber of my being. The knowledge envelops me in a loving cocoon. All he has done since I stumbled into his home is take care of me. I wonder how I can repay him for his kindness. There are many ways, I think, but then order my brain to shush.

He nods to himself, helps me out of bed, and carries me to the living room. The fireplace roars with fire, painting a warm glow in the room. We eat dinner in comfortable silence, the occasional popping of the wood the only sound in the room.

As I eat, steal glances at Gideon. He has changed into comfortable pants and a sweatshirt. I feel the absurd urge to trace his bulging veins with my tongue. Shaking my head, I force myself to focus on the grilled chicken.

But then I look up and nearly choke. Gideon, sitting on the other end of the sofa, licks his fingers clean. The thought of him doing that to me makes my palm clammy. When he catches me staring, I quickly look away, telling myself I must be going insane from the head injury.

“Do you want some?” he asks, offering the salad, but his tone is so sinful that I almost blurt out yes please .

“Nuh-uh, I am done,” I answer, keeping my eyes fixed on the plate.

“Are you sure?” he prompts, waiting for my reply as he stands up. Not meeting his eyes, I bob my head as a yes. The floral pattern on the plate is fascinating.

Gideon takes the empty plate from my hand and keeps it on the coffee table. Then, he bends and pushes his hands under my waist and thighs, picking me up. I feel a difference in his demeanor. He holds me a little tighter, a little closer. Being this close to him, it’s impossible to ignore how he makes me feel. His firm hands under me press against my waist, and I let out a gasp.

I feel his chest rumbling from laughter under my palm, and I resist the impulse to hit him and tell him to knock it off. How can he look at me like that, say all those things, and then laugh at my reaction?

As Gideon lays me down on the bed, he hovers over me, his knee resting on the edge, effectively caging me under him. Despite his imposing presence, his touch is unexpectedly gentle as he tucks the blanket around me, cocooning me in warmth.

When I think he’s about to move away, he leans in closer, his face inches from mine. My heart pounds erratically in my chest. He brushes a stray hair behind my ear, his fingers tracing a path to my throat. His dark, intense eyes follow his fingers, filled with an unreadable emotion.

I don’t want him to stop there. I wildly wish for him to hold my throat, even choke me, but I force the thought away. Gideon meets my gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sleep well, Ariel,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. I can hardly sleep, my mind racing and body thrumming with desire.

Gideon settles into the chair next to the bed, propping his feet up and covering himself with a blanket. His presence is a constant, magnetic force. I try to calm my thoughts, but his proximity—so close yet out of reach—drives me mad. Each rustle of his clothes sends waves of awareness through me.

With his eyes closed, I take the chance to study his features in the soft warm light. His jaw is firm and set, his lips slightly parted as he relaxes. He looks peaceful, yet there’s an undercurrent of raw power and control. I imagine the intensity of his full attention as I explore every inch of him.

“Go to sleep, you” he mumbles, his voice drowsy but with a teasing smile. Embarrassed at being caught, I mumble a quick “good night” and turn my back on the tempting man. Exhaustion eventually overcomes me, and I drift off, my thoughts a tangled mix of desire, fear, and longing.