Two Cabins, One Lake: An Alaskan Romance (9 page)

“So you talked to them?” I asked, trying to keep my mind off
the feel of the man behind me.

His breath was warm against my hair as he answered.  “Yes. 
They won’t bother you again.”

“That’s good,” I said.  I could barely think past… him.

He didn’t intentionally crowd me, but as we moved down the
trail, bouncing over roots, his thighs brushed mine.  The spots where we
occasionally touched felt overly warm and hypersensitive, the air between us
charged.  The vibrations of the engine weren’t helping at all, and I actually
felt like whimpering as we rocked over a big rut.  Heat radiated from his solid
body, beckoning mine.

I finally leaned back against him with a sigh, giving in to
it.  I was drunk, right?  I was allowed to have no self-control.  I turned my
head until my cheek pressed against his neck, and just breathed him in.  He
smelled like shaving cream or aftershave today, a spicy male scent that had my
head doing a lazy spin.

The heat was growing, and sexy thoughts started to flash
through my head.  I was finally starting to admit it to myself; I wanted him.  At
this point, though, my pride was such that I wouldn’t throw myself at him.  But
if
he
went after
me
….

We were alone, riding back to my cabin, where I had a bed. 
And I was drunk, and easy, and I realized I really, really wanted him to take
advantage of that.

By the time he steered us into my little drive, I was
breathless with anticipation.  He killed the engine, and then swung down from
behind me.

Pussy throbbing, feeling his eyes on me, I dismounted.

He followed me to the stairs.  As I pushed through the door,
he started up after me.

This is it,
I thought, turning to look at him.

Gary was very close.  Standing on that top step, he was a
dark presence filling my doorway.  His eyes were enigmatic, the planes of his
face utterly masculine in the shadow of his hat.  I got caught up in admiring
his strong jaw, the generous curve of lips I hadn’t yet tasted.  My gaze
drifted lower.  I wanted to shove his jacket off his solid shoulders, peel that
T-shirt off him like a candy wrapper.

One of his arms lifted, bracing him against the doorframe. 
Something about that move, the way he crowded me, made me tighten with aching,
breathless desire.  Helpless against it, wanting him to take me
now
, I
swayed toward him.

“Good night,” he said.  And then he pulled the door shut in
my face.

I was still blinking into the darkness when he rapped on
it.  My heart jumped in my chest. 
Had he changed his mind?
  I reached
for the knob.

“Lock this,” I heard.

Well… fuck.

Chapte
r Seven

I
’d
had four days to stew.  That’s not all I did, of course.  I went to work each morning,
I got another story sent off, I had dinner with Suzy, and I even sent my
brothers a grocery list.

But I found myself glancing frequently out my window toward
the neighbor’s cabin.  I wondered what he did for a living.  I wondered where
he’d learned to fight.  But most of all, I wondered where on earth this
overpowering attraction to him had come from.

I couldn’t even write the steamy scenes he’d so inspired. 
Instead, on this sunny day off, in the last hours I had to myself before my
brothers crashed into my life, I sat there at my desk, staring across the lake
at his stupid cabin.

For the last four days, I’d thought about retaliation for
the water glass incident.  I’d planned about a dozen different ways of getting him
back.  But I knew, after him letting himself into my house and watching him
manhandle my attackers, that it was a bad idea.  The man was dangerous, and it seemed
like neither of us had brakes.  The situation would surely escalate, like in
those mob movies.  People would die, and someone would find a bloody moose’s
head on their sheets.

I wouldn’t put it past my diabolically good-looking neighbor
to climb in through my second-story window to consummate some devious plot.  Actually,
most of my fantasies of him crawling in my window like Edward Cullen—a sex
scene I’d written before he’d broken in and read my stuff, dammit—didn’t
involve the kind of moisture that came out of a glass.  And, unlike Edward the
sparkly vamp, my fantasy lover wasn’t hesitant and full of teenage angst.  No,
he had pitch black hair and a sexy dent in his chin, and he jumped on my supine
form, pinning me to the mattress, and latched directly onto my neck.

I gasped, hand rising to cover a phantom hickey. 
See?!!
 
This was why I couldn’t write, couldn’t think, couldn’t do much of anything,
really.  Pent-up sexual frustration at its worst.  My pussy’d been burning for
days
.

Because of
him
.  I gnawed on my lip, still staring
across the water.

What was he
doing
over there?  I’d heard hammering
noises, had been hearing them all day.  The faint rasp of a saw….  I closed my
eyes, imagining him sprawled in a sunbeam swirling with motes of sawdust, lying
back on his elbows on an unfinished floor in nothing but an old pair of
Carhartts.

This situation couldn’t continue.  I was obsessed;
absolutely, irrevocably
in lust
with my evil neighbor.

So what were my options?

1:  I could kill him.  It was an option I’d already explored
at length.  I had a foolproof plan for body disposal, but he was rich, and I
knew he had friends.  People would investigate, and I was the only suspect—they’d
probably find blood spatters, powder burns on my fingers, footprints, and my
gun.  I’d watched CSI; I knew how this worked.

And then there was my conscience, the potential jail time,
and the fact that I’d be robbing the world of a gorgeous specimen of
masculinity.  Albeit a loud one.

2:  I could ignore him.  Yeah, that wasn’t working, not at
all.

The only choice left to me was, 3:  Have sex with him. 
Hopefully over, and over, and over again, wild, sweaty, screaming monkey sex
that put the ramblings of my sex-starved mind and shaking, feverish,
key-stabbing fingers to shame.  Dirty, dirty shame up against a wall, on some
stairs, in the mud, in a canoe, in a frickin’ tree if we could manage it.

I shuddered, trying to find a more comfortable position in
my chair.  The problem was, there wasn’t one that didn’t apply pressure—but not
nearly enough!—to my raging lady-boner.

So, sex.  But how should I go about it?  Having been born
and raised in Alaska, and having spent the last four years of my life in the
woods, I was socially awkward.  I knew it, probably everyone I met knew it. 
So, option 3A:  I could put on makeup and stick out my chest and made small
talk and try to flirt like a normal person… but I’d probably just look and
sound ridiculous.

Option 3B:  Just walk over there, and grab him.  Yeah, that
seemed more my style.  It would take guts, though.  And I probably shouldn’t
bring my gun.

But what would I say?  ‘We should fuck’?  ‘Hey neighbor, I
was feeling horny and decided to drop by with some cream…’ or ‘Your cock felt
delicious against me.  I want it inside me.  Now.’

I cringed a little, knowing those words would never actually
pass my lips.  My heroine’s, sure.  But mine?  Way, way too forward.

How about the simpler ‘Let’s be fuck buddies’?  See, that
felt pretty good.  Fuck buddies, I could do.  I’d just tell him not to talk to
me unless he was growling dirty nothings in my ear.  No conversation outside of
sex.  I didn’t want to talk to him; I just wanted his body.

It could work
, I thought.  I could be an adult about
this.  Whether
he
could remained to be seen, but really, as long as he
could stay hard, and keep his mouth shut, we’d be in business.

It could work.
  I pushed back from my desk, mulling
over the logistics.  I was gonna go over there, but…

What to wear?  My clothes were all ratty and baggy and
stained, except for my fisherwoman getup, but I certainly wasn’t wearing
that
.

I had one casual flowy skirt that Suzy had given me and that
I hardly ever wore because it was impractical.  Mosquitos would bite the hell
out of my legs in that skirt, and I just knew one day I’d get it caught in my
generator belts.  But it seemed like a good choice for seduction.  And nothing
underneath, I decided.  All of my underwear were ugly, and bare would make for
quicker access.

Speaking of bare…should I shave? 
Shit
.  He’d been
rubbing up against me the other day and he hadn’t complained.  But he hadn’t
been down close to my legs.  I didn’t have a lot in the way of body hair, and
what little I had was blonde, but if you looked really, really close…
Ugh
.

I hated this crap.  This was why I didn’t live in town,
considerations like these.  Chased down and tackled on the lawn was so much
easier.  Simpler.  And fun, much more fun than this premeditated crap.

And now I was mad at him for making me stress out about
this.  My eyes narrowed as I dropped my skirt back around my calves.

He’d gotten me wet.  Literally, wet.  Twice.  Not to mention
my pussy, which had been soaked almost since the first time I’d seen him.  I
could give him a little payback.  I
should
give him a little payback.  After
all, what was I afraid of?  That he’d chase me down and tackle me and give me
an orgasm?

…Yeah, now we’re on the same page.

I put on my most flattering top, brushed my hair, and went
and got a bucket.  I picked it up, rubbing my fingers over the scratch marks on
its side.  I remembered this bucket.  It was the one I’d smacked away from
Gary’s chest so I could get to him after he set fire to my blueberries.  I was
still sore about that.  Maybe if I got my teeth on him, I’d bite extra hard.

Before I lost my nerve, I picked my way along the beach to
his place.  I scooped the bucket half-full of lake water, and then walked up
his lawn.  My heart was beating fast, my lower belly tight with anticipation.

The sound of a hammer got louder.  It seemed like it was
coming from around back.

I circled the porch, fingers tight on the bucket, my breath
rasping in my chest.

And there he was.  The whole back wall of the living room
had been torn down, and he was on his knees facing away from me, prying at a stubborn
baseboard.

I paused, taking him in.  He wore another plain cotton
T-shirt, and he actually
was
wearing a pair of Carhartts.  The worn duck
hugged the hard curves of his ass as he bent over, making my heart stutter.  A
rich city boy had no right to own a pair of Carhartts that well-used, let alone
to look so damn good in them.

And he looked like he knew what he was doing, efficiently
dismantling that wall.  All of his tools were set out across the interior space
that had been stripped down to the plywood floor.  A neat stack of lumber lay
off to one side under a tarp, and large new windows leaned against the building
beyond him.

I hesitated.  This was inappropriate.  What person in their
right mind just walked up onto someone else’s property and threw water on them? 
Especially on someone they barely knew, while they were working.  It would be
so childish, so
rude
…

My lips curved.  Gary had done it.  My heroine would do it.

And why not?  There was a streak of crazy about a mile wide
running through my family, and on this particular afternoon, I was going to
embrace my heritage.  Life is short—poke the bear. 

I threw the water on him.  My aim was perfect, the brunt of
it dead-on his back.

He yelled, and flipped over onto his ass.  He glared up at
me, breathing hard.

I was breathing hard, too, my shoulders trembling as I tried
not to laugh.

He leaned forward and pushed slowly to his feet, never
taking his eyes off of me.

I gulped, but stayed rooted.  I wasn’t gonna run.  I wanted
to be caught.

I squealed as he scooped me up into his arms.  I flailed,
terrified that he’d drop me.  People didn’t pick me up.  People knew better
than to pick me up.  I was a scary Alaskan chick with a big gun.  The height
was sickening, and the loss of control—I had no idea what he was going to do,
and it made me cling embarrassingly tight to his head.

He laughed as he peeled me off him—and then I screamed for
real as he threw me.

Splash!

Fuck!
  Why hadn’t I seen this coming?

I righted myself and pushed to my feet in the soft muck at
the bottom of the lake. 
Ewwww.
  Squeegeeing water out of my eyes, I
glared up at him.

He was staring down at me.  “Did I just see a flash of bare
ass?” he asked.

I hadn’t thought anything could, but a plunge in the lake
seemed to have cooled my ardor.  “I guess you’ll never know,” I said, turning,
intending to avoid him entirely and swim back to my place.

Splash!

Strong hands grabbed me and pulled me back against a hard
body.

His forearm curled around my waist, while his hand slid down
my side, gathering my wet skirt in his fingers, dragging it up.  My nails dug
into his arm, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath as his callused fingers
slid up the inside of my thigh.

Then, he touched me.

My world imploded.  I threw my head back against his
shoulder as my body tightened like a bow, grinding my clit against his fingers,
and my ass against his growing erection.  I moaned, long and low.

“Fuck,” he said, a man after my own heart.

His stubble scraped against my neck as his fingers slid
between my plump, slick folds.  His breath was on me, and then his hot mouth. 
He treated my neck like he had my breasts, latching on, sucking hard, scraping
with his teeth.  He wasn’t gentle, and I loved it.

He drove me
wild
.  I bucked against him, hyperaware
of each delicious slide of those fingers.  I reached back and grabbed his hips,
dragging him even closer, grinding us together to the point of pain.

And he was with me.  He gave me what I wanted and more,
pushing against me, squeezing my breast, his breath rasping fast and hot in my
ear.  Two thick digits pushed into me with authority, thrusting and curling.  I
made crazed noises as I arched into his hand, squeezing his fingers with
delight. 
Yessss!

And then I felt it.  A stinging sensation on my ankle.  And
another.  I gasped, eyes opening wide as realization struck like lightning.

My breath released on a shriek.  “Leeches!”  I thrashed free
of his hold, and flailed to shore.  I ran up out of the water and dropped to my
ass in his grass, swiping at the thin black things clinging to my pale skin. 
Alaskan leeches were nothing compared to the fat abominations in the Lower 48,
but still—they were
so
disgusting!  I shuddered as I got the last of
them, still searching between my toes and twisting my leg this way and that to
make absolutely
sure
.

I finally looked up to realize my neighbor was sitting on
his heels just a few feet away.  He was wet up to his scrumptious shoulders,
his brown shirt clinging to him like a layer of bittersweet chocolate icing. 
And he was staring at me.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked.

I looked down at myself.  Back at him.  “What?”

“Starting, then stopping.  Teasing me.  Frustrating me. 
This crazy act of yours—”

My spine stiffened.  See,
this
was why I hadn’t
wanted him to talk.  “Crazy
act
?”  I asked, voice dangerously low.  I
realized at the last moment I’d put the emphasis on the wrong word, but I
powered on, hoping he wouldn’t notice.  “You’re the one who set fire to my
blueberries, then splashed me, then
trespassed
.”

“Your—
blueberries
?!”  He looked momentarily puzzled,
but then slashed his hand down, dismissing my argument.  “We don’t like each
other, I get it.  But you want me,” he said, his eyes glinting.

I gasped.  “N—”  Not real sure what I was going to say,
probably some inane lie.

He grabbed my ankle and dragged me across the grass to him. 
My skirt slid up, giving me a microsecond of panic.  But then his weight was
pressing down on me, and he had trapped my head between his hands, and his
mouth sank down onto mine.

“Uhhh-mmmm.”  The sound ended on a sigh.  I melted under
him.  Completely.

His mouth was amazing.  Drugging.  Warm and gentle and
skilled as hell.