Love Me Like That (4 page)

“The storm is too thick right now, and reception out here is spotty on a good day,” I tell her. “I have a satellite phone at the cabin you’re more than welcome to use.”

She sighs and looks out the window. “I just need to call a tow truck.”

Who wouldn’t need to call a friend or family member after sliding into a ditch?

“You can do that, but they won’t be able to get to you any sooner. I can pull you out when it clears up enough.”
The minute it’s even a possibility.

“Thank you,” she whispers softly and peers out the window again.

I wonder what she thinks because I know she does not see anything but a wall of white as we trudge slowly up the driveway
. Not your concern, Kadin.
I park with my side near the door.

“It’d probably be best if you slide over here and get out of my door.” She narrows her eyes at me skeptically. “So you don’t have to walk all the way around the truck.” She scoots a little closer to me but stops just short of our bodies touching. “Ready?” I ask as I turn off the ignition.

She nods her head, and I open the door against the frigid wind and icy snow that is raging in all directions. I move out of her way and point toward the front door telling her to head that way. She walks past me quickly. Closing the door to the truck, I stay close to her back as we fight our way to the front door.

The process is slow and arduous, and I’d like nothing more than to pick her up and carry her because it would cut our time out in the cold by at least half; I don’t, however, think she would appreciate a stranger putting his hands on her, especially with the way she looked at me when I suggested something as simple as climbing out of my side of the truck.

She steps aside for me to open the door as she crests the top of the stairs
. Is she trying to determine if I’m a gentleman or does she suspect the door is locked?
I stomp my boots on the mat to get the majority of the sludge sticking to them off and open the door, standing out of the way so she can enter first.

In the light of the foyer, I’m able to take her in. She has to be absolutely freezing. She’s wearing a thick coat and gloves, but her legs are only covered in a thin pair of running spandex.

As much as I want to bawl her out for dressing so scantily during a blizzard in Montana I keep my thoughts to myself. I have no business getting in her business.

I turn to the left and enter the small mudroom. I shrug my coat off and hang it on a hook just inside the door and kick off my boots.

“I’m going to light a fire,” I explain to her as she begins to shrug off her outer layer as well. Paired up with her thin pants she’s also wearing a thin Henley type workout top; that’s it.

I bite my tongue as I head to the den to make a fire. I stop by the thermostat on my way and crank up the heat another five degrees as well.

I throw several more logs into the already raging fire and jab at it with the poker, making sure all the logs will burn consistently. I feel her presence when she soundlessly enters the room. I frown at the sound of the crackling fire when my heart rate increases slightly in acknowledgment. I cut my eyes briefly to the drawer of the small table across the room that houses my demise, a bottle of pills and a glock; my mood being the only thing to determine which is used.

I turn to her and watch as she rubs her arms briskly with her hands. I push my tongue to the roof of my mouth to once again keep from chastising her for being out in the middle of a damn blizzard in what would easily be considered less than some people wear to bed.

“I’ve turned the heat up in the house. It seems you’re stuck here so let me show you where you can sleep.” I say instead. I need to get away from her. The sooner she gets settled, the sooner I can start in on the whiskey. I won’t allow her to derail my plans; this little hiccup is no more than a short postponement. She can sleep, and I can begin my nightly ritual of drinking myself stupid.

She nods and follows me up the stairs to the guest bedroom. I open the door to one of the rooms I actually haven’t made it in yet since arriving. The interior designer did a great job in here as well. She kept with neutral colors on the walls and gave it a modern feel without detracting from the rugged aspect of the home as a whole. The large bed is against the exposed logs which serve as the accent wall. Every room in the home that is on an outside wall has the same.

“Your room?” she mutters.

“Hardly,” I say with a huff. “This is the guest bedroom. The bathroom is right through there.” I point to a door on the far wall. “Should be fully stocked. If not? Well, we’re in the middle of a fucking blizzard.”
See, the asshole has arrived.

“I appreciate it,” she says and slides past me making sure she doesn’t touch me.

She doesn’t seem like the shy type but more uncomfortable with the situation she’s been tossed into with no control. She walks further into the room and the sinful shape of her luscious ass does not go unnoticed.

I clear my throat. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Like she gives a shit
. I pull the door close behind me and take the stairs down two at a time.

I scrub my face with my hands and then run them through my overly long hair. I know getting drunk with a stranger in the house is not the best game plan, but it’s going to happen none the less. I’m here with very strict instructions to ‘get over my bullshit and don’t come back until I do,’ and that’s my game-plan, well the first part at least... It starts with the whiskey.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I’m in this big ass house, in a room larger than most hotel suites. I’m more concerned about the man wearing flannel driving a beat up old clunker. I can’t keep my mind from wondering if he broke into this place and he plans to chop me into tiny pieces and burn me in the fire.

He’s been courteous and respectful if a little put out by my being here. I sit on the side of the enormous bed and look around the room. It’s like something out of a home décor or Crate and Barrel ad. The bed is made up of expensive covers and sheets, including a thick duvet I’d love nothing more than to snuggle up in.

Actually, that’s the best idea I’ve had for a while. I use alternating feet to kick my shoes off. A glance at the door confirms there is a lock, but it’s not engaged. I push myself off of the bed and walk to the door.

Just as my hand reaches the knob, a thunderous boom echoes into the house from outside and the lights go out, throwing the room into pitch black nothingness. I stand stock still, terrified as my other senses try to account for my loss of vision. Several minutes of standing in the pitch black of the room reveals nothing other than the sounds of the storm outside.

Shouldn’t a backup generator kick in?
It never does. The chill in the air from the heat not rolling through the vents is immediate, like icy fingers of death licking at the skin on my legs which are covered by only a thin layer of fabric. If I stay in here, it’s going to be just as bad as sitting in the damn car.

I turn the door knob and do my best to make it to the stairs from memory, praying I don’t tumble down them and snap my neck. Nothing says thank you for rescuing me from the car in the ditch like a snapped neck at the base of a flight of stairs. Keeping my hand on the banister and taking subtle, focused steps I make it to the bottom unscathed.

I want to call out to the man in the house, but I realize we never even told each other our names. Why wouldn’t he ask? Hell, why didn’t I ask?

I follow the faint glow of the fire through the house. A noise to my right catches my attention, and I turn my gaze just in time to see him coming back in the house and stripping out of his cold-weather gear. He’s grumbling and cussing, no doubt from the severe weather outside.

He walks back toward the fire and stops short when he notices me standing in the shadows.

“The damn generator isn’t kicking in,” he says as he rubs his hands together near the hearth.

No shit Captain Obvious.

“Can I…I mean is it okay for me to stay down here? The room upstairs was already getting cold again.” I give a weak smile because it’s the most I can manage after the day I’ve had. I shiver and rub my hands up and down my arms.

“Of course. Shit, let me get you a blanket.” He walks down the hall, and I hear a door open. Less than a minute later he walks back in and hands me a thick fleece blanket.

I wrap it around my back and settle on the couch in the spot closest to the fire. I should probably let him have his pick of places to sit seeing as this is his place, but he’s got at least fifty pounds or more on me so I figure he won’t get as cold as easily as I will.

He walks to a table just out of reach of the fire’s light, half of his apparently muscular body hidden in the shadows.

“You don’t need a blanket?” It’s the best I could come up with as far as conversation is concerned.

“Why? Do you plan on sharing with me?” I smirk at him and give him my best not-in-your-wildest-dreams look. He laughs. It’s deep and husky and even though I’ve had one of the worst days of my life I can still appreciate the sex appeal this man has rolling off of him in waves. “I have this to keep me warm anyways.”

I watch with wide eyes as he brings an exceptionally large bottle of whiskey to the small table in front of the couch and sets it, along with two tumblers, down on the wooden top.

I grin from ear to ear at his presumptuousness.

“Can you tell I’ve had a shit day?” I ask nodding toward the other glass.

“We’re stuck in a blizzard together, and we don’t even know each other’s names. Nothing says pleased to meet you like Jack Daniel’s.” I have to agree with him.

“London,” I tell him.

“No, I think this is made in the States,” he says turning the bottle at an angle so he can read the side.

I laugh.
Did I just giggle at him?
“No. My name is London.”

“Ah! Nice to meet you London. I’m Kadin.” He holds his hand out, and I shake it but pull away abruptly.

“Your hands are freezing,” I explain and tuck my hand back into the safety of the fleece blanket, pretending I didn’t feel more than just the cold of his fingers when we touched.

“Hence the whiskey. Would you like some?” He holds up a half-full tumbler.

I reach out and take it from him, making sure not to touch him again. “Thank you.”

He pours himself an equally full glass, and I’m sure the leaving off of the cap is an indication of his plans for the night. I take an overly large gulp of the golden liquid and close my eyes as it burns a path down my throat.

I hold the tumbler with both hands near the bottom of my chin, in close range for my next sip. I watch the fire crackle and burn. The flames are shooting up and finding no respite, endlessly burning with nothing further to take hold of and destroy.

Nothing left to destroy. A perfect example of my life right now.

Another sip out of my glass tells me I’ve been drinking without realizing it as my latest attempt leaves me with an empty mouth. I cut my eyes back to Kadin and find him smirking at me.

“More?” He holds up the bottle.

Without a word, I hold my glass closer to him and watch him fill it fuller than he did the first time around.

“I don’t usually drink. I’ve had a super shitty day.” I explain as to why I’m throwing back whiskey like a marathon runner does water after a race.

“No judgment here,” he says and tosses back the last of his own drink. He begins to pour himself another. “Story of my life these days.”

I’ve never been the type to talk about my problems. Well, with anyone other than Keira, but for some reason I want to speak to this man. The silence around us is not uncomfortable, but I have a craving for his voice.

I realize I’m buzzed from the alcohol when I almost ask him to say the Pledge of Allegiance, so I can close my eyes and listen to his deep, husky voice as he recites it. I laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

He smiles slyly at me even though I’m certain he has no idea what I laughed for.

I clear my throat as he continues to watch me. The firelight makes his eye color appear almost black, in a soothing dark chocolate kind of way and the shine reflecting off of his mahogany colored hair would make any woman jealous. It’s either tousled and messy from the hood of his jacket when he was outside earlier, or he’s accustomed to running his hands through it repeatedly.