The scent of her arousal grows stronger. "Okay, probably you'd better stop before it gets worse," she warns and I'm surprised to feel my lips quirk at the edges.
My cock lengthens down the leg of my jeans.
"Who are you?" she demands suddenly, like she senses my differences. That I'm an entirely different species from her.
I turn back to the stove, pouring three neat circles of batter on the frying pan and dropping frozen blueberries onto them. "I'm no one."
Of course that sounds entirely suspicious. The scent of her arousal disappears, replaced the metallic scent of fear.
She's probably been warned about that missing women up here. Does she think I'm the killer?
I rack my brain to think of something to say that will put her at ease, but nothing occurs to me. All I can think to do is to make breakfast and keep my mouth shut. I put a coffee pot onto brew, then scoop the first package of bacon out of the frying pan and put in another. "Here," I grunt, dropping the plate piled high with pancakes and a plate with bacon onto the small table that sits by the window. The window which is halfway covered by a snowdrift. Her dog follows closely, pleading eyes on me.
"You must be hungry." I slide the plate of butter onto the table, along with the jug of honey.
She stands over the table while I pour some coffee, her nervous energy making me want to go back into hibernation. It's my default response to anything that requires emotion. Or effort. Or any spark of living.
I hand her a plate and fork and lift my chin to the chair at the table. She takes them wordlessly and sits down. I toss a piece of bacon to the dog, sit down across from her and slather my pile of pancakes with honey.
She watches me dubiously. "Sweet tooth, eh?"
I look down at the amount of honey on the cakes as I take a huge bite. I suppose it is a lot. I shrug. "I guess," I say with my mouth full. "I like honey."
I think I detect amusement in her expression, but we eat without speaking. I shouldn't care whether she likes the food or not, but my bear is stupidly pleased when she cleans her plate and reaches for seconds.
"Well, what now? I don't suppose you have a snowmobile here? Or some other way for me to get back to the research cabin?"
I get up and retrieve the second batch of bacon and set it on the table. "Doctor M, you're not going anywhere."
Miranda
TWO THOUGHT WHEELS turn at once. One-he called me doctor, which shows respect, even admiration. Except two-he just implied I have no choice in the matter of whether I'm leaving or not.
It's the second thought I get hitched up on. "Excuse me?" The feminist in me rears her head, ready to defend myself against yet another man who thinks he can control me.
Caleb-the surly mountain man with twelve-pack abs arches a brow right back at me. "You heard me." He takes a bite of bacon. By bite I mean he crunches off half of three slices at once and chews them slowly while giving me the stink eye.
I try to interpret his words. I mean, I suppose it's obvious I can't leave. That's probably what he's saying. But I don't like the way he said it. Because he's either being a controlling asshole or he's the psychopathic killer who plans to keep me here and bury me in the basement.
Okay, I don't think the cabin actually has a basement, but in the backyard, then.
"You're saying I can't leave?"
"Yep. That's what I'm saying."
I narrow my eyes. "Are you going try and stop me?"
"Sure am. You know why? Cause even if you can hike more than ten feet from this cabin in drifts that are already up to your chest-which I seriously doubt you can-the trail's covered and you don't know your way back. You'll likely fall into a drift and this time end up with frostbite. Then I'll have to go out in the cold and drag you back." He finishes his epic speech by taking a gulp of coffee.
I fold my arms across my chest. He isn't wrong. I just don't want to be stuck in a remote cabin with Mr. Grumpy for days. Even if Mr. Grumpy also happens to be Mr. Tall, Dark, Tattooed and Bearded with a sexy mountain man vibe. Especially because of that.
"Fine. I'm not going anywhere. But for the record, I didn't choose to be stuck up here with you."
"Makes two of us." He glowers at me behind his coffee mug. "What the hell made you come all the way up here in this weather anyway?"
didn't think it was going to be this bad," I say through a clenched jaw. "And it wasn't snowing when I left the research cabin yesterday. The storm came up suddenly, and I got disoriented. I'm not stupid." I get up and take our dishes to the sink.
"Didn't think you were, Doctor M." He emphasizes doctor. Is he mocking me?
"I am under a deadline. I need this data., it's important." There's no dishwasher, so I start washing the dishes by hand and put them in the drying rack.
"Not worth your life," he mutters. I steal a look over my shoulder. Something in his expression reminds me of Dr. Alogore and my smirking colleagues.
"You know what? Forget it. You wouldn't understand."
"What's that supposed to mean?" His black eyes flash with a glint of yellow. Great, I've antagonized him. Probably not the best idea, but riling him up gives me a shot of satisfaction. I get the feeling he hasn't talked to, much less verbally sparred with anyone in awhile. Well, he said as much already, didn't he? "I'm not stupid either, sweetheart."
"Please do not call me sweetheart." I point a finger at him.