The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe (11 page)

Light glinted off the scalpel. He swiped at the air above her as if he wielded a sword. No matter how brave she tried to be earlier, she couldn't stop her limbs from shaking harder and her stomach from twisting. She squealed behind the tape.

The sound of slicing material had her arching away from his touch
. Please don't cut me. Oh, please, God, help.
In seconds, he peeled away her clothes. He rubbed his groin and a lascivious grin marred his youthful face.

“Not bad, though I find the scars a shame, yet rather interesting. It looks like someone used a belt or whip on you. Have you been a bad girl?” He slid his hand down her bare thigh and over a long, thin white scar. “There are clients who would love to add to them.”

She turned her head. Swallowing several times to keep from choking on vomit, she concentrated on the number of blocks in the basement wall. She could get through this. It wouldn't be the first time her body had been used. Eventually, she'd find a way out.

Just as she heard his zipper go down, a loud blast shook the walls. Dust sprinkled onto her face. She blinked her eyes. The room looked smoky, choked with plaster powder.

“What the hell?” The man ran toward the stairs as he struggled to pull up his pants. One foot on the bottom step, he stopped, staring at the door.

A smaller blast was followed by shouting and heavy footsteps running across the floor above. Whoever had come a-knocking were making their way through the house.

“Well, babe, you're on your own. I hope they appreciate the gift I'm leaving them.” He laughed and disappeared beneath the stairs into a black void.

Her eyelids felt so heavy. Tingling traveling across her torso rushed down her legs and arms, and then a feeling of lightness and floating followed. A strong breeze brushed her naked body. Someone had found the basement. A wave of dizziness pushed her under and she closed her eyes, unable to lift them even when she felt someone fighting with the chains holding her down.

“Damn it, Marie. You'd better be alive,” a deep voice growled.

She smiled. Deep inside, she knew he'd come for her.

 

An Excerpt from

by Alice Gaines

Welcome to Alice Gaines's “Cabin Fever” series: Who knows what naughty games you'll play when you've got nowhere else to go? Laura Barber gets to put her imagination to the test when she finds herself snowbound in a cabin with Ethan Gould, a man she's dreamt of doing unspeakably delicious things to for years. Find out what happens when . . .
Heat Rises.

 

AN AVON RED NOVELLA

 

S
o much for making it to her job interview. Laura Barber might as well have been looking at a moonscape rather than a deserted mountain highway. Still shivering, she gazed out the window of the country store as the falling snow covered the pavement and filled in the road completely. The storm had started only half an hour ago. What would this place look like by morning?

“You're a mighty lucky young lady,” said the shopkeeper, handing her a Styrofoam cup with steam coming out the top. “If you'd gone off the road any farther from here, you'd still be out in that.”

She took a sip of the coffee and did her best not to grimace at the bitter taste. The man may be right about her luck, but she'd probably ruined her shoes on the trek here. The low-heeled pumps had cost a bundle, and she'd worn them just enough that her feet felt comfortable when she dressed for business.

“Yep,” the man said as he gazed out at the accumulating snow. “Nobody'll be moving around in these parts for days.”

“Mister—”

“Beaumont,” he said, offering his gnarled hand.

“Mr. Beaumont,” she said, studying him as they shook hands. The twinkle in his blue eyes suggested more youth than the fringe of white hair did. If you called central casting for a country store owner, they'd probably send someone like this man.

“You'd be in a heap of trouble if you'd broken down farther away,” he said.

“Can someone come out and put me back on the road before things get worse?” she asked.

“You don't understand storms in these mountains, Miss.”

“Ms.,” she said. “Ms. Laura Barber.”

“Well, Ms. Barber, won't nobody get out of here until the plows come through.”

“When will that be?”

“Days,” he answered. “Probably not a week, though.”

“A week?” Darn it all. She was supposed to be at the bottom of this mountain by evening and at an interview in the morning. She'd planned carefully to get ahead of this storm, but her plane had landed late. Still, she ought to have been able to make her destination. She'd grown up in Connecticut and had driven in winter weather before. Snow was snow, wasn't it? Apparently not.

“What am I going to do?” she asked. “I can't stay here for days.”

“That you can't. I'll be closing up and heading home in a few minutes.”

“Is there a motel nearby?” she asked.

“Nope. We'll have to find a family to put you up.”

“I can't impose on strangers for days.”

He shrugged. “Don't see that you have much choice.”

Wonderful. Not only would she not make it to her interview but she'd also have to spend days with people she didn't know. She managed well enough in business situations where procedures and rules of engagement were clearly laid out. In someone's home, she'd have to interact. She probably couldn't disappear behind her laptop without appearing rude.

“Unless . . .” Mr. Beaumont said. “Your solution might be pulling up right now.”

Headlights shone in from outside—bright enough to blind her for a moment—a huge SUV or pickup, with its engine at a low roar. The motor shut off, and the lights went dim. A man climbed out and headed into the store. A blast of cold air whooshed in through the front as he entered. “Hey, Phil.”

Mr. Beaumont shuffled off. “Hey, you young pup. What are you doing out in weather like this?”

“Business down in the city. Thought I could outrun the storm.”

The voice tugged at her memory. Low and dark. She knew it. Even though she hadn't heard it recently enough to place it in her brain, something about the tone registered in her body.

She glanced over at the counter where he stood, his back to her. Tall and broad-shouldered, he commanded the space around him. She had a physical memory of that too, enough to warm her skin. Whoever this was, she'd do best to avoid him. But how?

“Good thing you're here,” Mr. Beaumont said, gesturing toward her. “This lady is going to need a ride somewhere.”

The man turned and all the memory nudges turned into one huge sucker punch. Ethan Gould.

Good Lord, not him. It had to be five years . . . no, six. That night at the party. After three years of fantasies about the handsome guy who always sat at the front of the class, she'd decided to at least try to find out if the attraction was mutual. Tequila fortification, too much, had led to a night of humiliation. Oh God, all the things she'd said to him. Her stomach sank remembering them after all this time.

Other than that, they'd almost never interacted all through business school. He'd have forgotten her by now. Women probably came on to him all the time—women more remarkable than herself. He wouldn't remember. Please God, don't let him remember.

Sure enough, he smiled at her as he would at any stranger. A genial expression he used so easily. The famed Gould charm would come next. So potent it worked even on men. On women . . . well, forget trying to resist it.

After a moment, his brows knitted together. “Do we know each other?”

“No . . . I don't think . . . haven't met,” she said. Damn it all, how could he force this reaction from her after so much time? She'd actually lie about her identity if she could get away with it. She'd avoided him successfully since that horrible night. She'd actually followed his career so that she'd know where he was. He couldn't have just happened on her on a snowy mountain, and yet here he stood, as tempting and as terrifying as he'd been at that party.

“This is Ms. Laura Barber,” Mr. Beaumont said. “You two know each other?”

“Right.” Recognition dawned in his amber eyes, followed by a slight tension to his jaw. Remembering, no doubt. Her skin went from warm to burning. By now, her face would be a bright pink.

He recovered quickly, with a big smile. He still had perfect teeth, of course, and perfect skin. Only his too-large ears kept him from total perfection, but the flaw made him all the more attractive.

“It's been a while,” he said. “Good to see you again.”

“Hi.” A stupid reply but innocent enough, she thought.

“Seeing as you two know each other, won't you mind taking Ms. Barber to where she wants to go?” Mr. Beaumont asked.

He rested a hand on a nearby rack of magazines and struck a casual pose. A light of cunning in his eyes belied his apparent ease. “Where are you headed?”

“The city,” she said. “I'm already late.”

“How'd you get this far?”

“Rental car”—she gestured toward the outside as if she could point at the thing—“I ran off the road.”

“Can't say I'm surprised,” he said, his gaze never leaving her face. She did her best to look straight back at him, but she'd never win a staring contest with this man. Eventually, she gave up and studied his shoes, instead. Boots, rather—the sort ranchers wore. His had a broken-in appearance, as did the faded jeans that covered his legs up to the hem of his shearling jacket.

“We won't be getting to the city tonight,” he said. “But we can make it to my friend's cabin.”

“Cabin?” she repeated. “In the middle of a blizzard?”

“My friend's an engineer. The place is self-sufficient with a generator and solar panels.”

“The sun's not out now,” she said. In fact, with the heavy snow, it was already dark.

“And storage batteries,” he said. “We'll be fine.”

“I haven't agreed to go with you.”

“What choice do you have?” he asked, as he straightened and pulled a slip of paper from his jacket. “I'll need a few things, Phil.”

“Coming right up.” Mr. Beaumont took the list from him and retreated to the back of the store.

“Look, this is really nice of you—”

Before she could get the “but” out, he took a step toward her. “ ‘Nice' isn't exactly the word I was thinking of.”

She made herself stand her ground, even though everything in her wanted to back away. “I don't want to impose.”

“Don't be silly. No one around here would put someone out on a night like this.”

“Mr. Beaumont said he'd find a family here to take me in.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you're a social butterfly now? Happy to move in with strangers for several days?”

Damn him, he knew she wasn't. He had to remember from graduate school that she kept to herself, quietly getting top grades from her place in the back of the class.

“I . . . I . . .” Damn it. He actually had her stuttering. She took a breath. “I can't go with you.”

“Why not?” he asked, as he studied her, his gaze assessing and not without a light of admiration. Her heartbeat responded, speeding up. The feeling might be pleasant with another man—one who hadn't heard about her sexual fantasies after she'd had too many margaritas. She'd told him about how her mind had wandered during boring lectures, imagining how his hands would feel on her breasts. About how she played images of him in her mind when she used her vibrator. She'd even asked if his sex was as big as she'd imagined it, and then giggled when she'd fumbled against his pants and discovered it was even larger. Oh God, humiliation. Utter and total humiliation.

“Maybe you're afraid to be alone with me,” he said. He might have read her mind.

“Ridiculous.” Okay, that was a lie, but she wouldn't cower before him. She'd gone on from that night to establish a good career. As a grown woman with more experience since graduate school, she shouldn't have to fear men any longer, even this one. Even if she did, she wouldn't let him know he frightened her.

“Laura, you have a choice of crowding in with a family you don't know or sharing a cabin with me. I won't even speak to you if you don't want.”

“I don't think that will be necessary.” Great. She'd agreed to go with him. No matter. A few days together, and she'd get away again.

“Good.” He smiled yet again, the blasted man. “The cabin it is.”

Y
ou could have knocked Ethan Gould over with a feather. First, to run into Laura Barber at Phil Beaumont's store, way out here in the middle of no place. At least there was a logical explanation for that. She was probably up for the same job at Henderson that he was. A bit odd, as their talents—skill sets, she would have called them—lay in very different areas. But they were both übercompetent, as any headhunter would have to know. Still, what were the chances that she'd end up at that country store, needing a ride in one of the mountains' worst storms of the season just as he pulled in? Fate was trying to tell them something, and he, for one, was listening.

The fact that she'd end up staying with him in an isolated cabin fell into a different category of unlikelihood. Impossibility, more like. And yet, there she sat in the bucket seat next to his, staring out at the snow as if it held some message.

Laura Barber, the shy thing who'd turned into a wild woman one night, nearly dragging him into an empty bedroom at the end-of-semester party. The woman who'd promised sex so uninhibitedly she'd singed the edges of his imagination. The woman who never spoke up in class but who'd whispered filthy words in his ear while she'd unfastened his belt and started in on the zipper of his slacks. Unfortunately, she'd given off enough clues of her intoxicated state to keep him from following through, just barely managing to stop things before they'd gone too far.