Authors: Callie Harper
“I can see that.” I
reached to take her from him and I could have sworn he pulled away.
For a second. But that second passed and then he eased Ana into my
arms.
“Guess she was doing
shots earlier with some of the girls.”
“Really?” She
didn’t stir at all in my arms, completely out.
“Yeah, then I saw her
pound something else down. I went over to check on her and she passed
out.”
“Shit.” She looked
so vulnerable in my arms, completely out cold. I was glad Connor had
found her. “I guess she doesn’t usually drink much.”
“Your librarian’s a
lightweight,” Connor confirmed, reaching up to clap me on the back.
“Hey, man!” He dove back into the party, high-fiving some guy in
the crowd.
“Thanks for looking
after her!” I called to him, but he didn’t hear me. He was
already off and into the next mess he could find. Messes seemed to
follow Connor wherever he went.
I brought her back to
my hotel suite, glad I didn’t run into any cameras on the way. I
was only down the hall and the hotel had good security for a party
like the one we had going on. But celebrities drew paparazzi like a
garbage dump drew flies, a perfect match. So I felt relief as I
reached my door and entered into the darkness.
Ana was going to have
one hell of a hangover, I could already tell that. Sleeping soundly
and, it appeared peacefully, not an eyelid fluttered as I rested her
down onto the bed. She had her own suite, but I wanted to be near
her. And I could always use her passing out as an excuse—I’d
wanted to keep an eye on her, make sure she was OK. I could say it
with honesty. It was the truth.
For maybe the first
time in my life, I honestly wanted to be in a hotel room watching
over someone sleeping rather than partying like it was 1999 down the
hall. What was happening to me? Had I grown up overnight, taken some
sort of hormone pill that finally kicked me out of adolescence?
But, when I thought of
it, I’d been heading down this road for a while. Slowly pulling
away from Connor and his antics, the number of times I turned down
something wild and crazy starting to outpace the number of times I
went along with it—never mind how rarely I came up with that sort
of shit myself anymore. I’d never admitted it out loud to anyone,
hadn’t even really to myself, but when I’d dated Mandy I’d
hoped. Or at least I’d wondered—would she be different? I’d
been needing a change for a long time.
Now that change had
come. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Ana so peaceful. Her
lashes so long, her perfect full lips, the curve of her cheekbone. I
wanted to memorize every inch of her.
Because somehow earlier
when we’d spoken it had felt like she hadn’t just been wanting to
leave the party. It had felt like she’d wanted to leave me. I
understood wanting to get out of that party. I’d felt exactly the
same way. But had she been trying to end things between us? The
thought made something in my chest seize up like an engine with no
oil.
She had every right to
end things. I knew that. I’d even understand it if she did. And
stupid over her as I was, I still managed to remember ending things
was the plan. She was supposed to break up with me on January ninth.
It was now the first. We had barely over a week left.
But if things ended
between us, I wanted them to end for the right reasons. It shouldn’t
be because she got freaked out over the celebrity lifestyle. I’d
spent a long time surrounded by the circus, but here was the nasty
little secret celebrities never talked about: if you didn’t seek
out the spotlight, it generally went away. All that fussing and
whining about being constantly hounded and stalked? I could list a
bunch of famous people I knew who managed it well, kept a low
profile. They just didn’t do public, drunk, messy shit.
And maybe it was time
to put all that behind me? I had a hunch that if I were with Ana, I
wouldn’t miss it for a second. I could still keep on with music. I
knew I’d always do that, but maybe there was something else? Some
other way? And maybe we could figure it out together?
But here we were in
Vegas, probably the worst place in the world for real, heart-to-heart
talks about toning things down and stepping out of the glitz and
glam. In Vegas, the lights literally never went out. Especially on
New Year’s Eve.
I hadn’t even given
Ana a midnight kiss. That seemed a damn shame. I’d been caught up
after the show with glad-handing and photos and people Lola said I
had to meet. Then everyone all around started counting down and some
groupie had pulled me down into a kiss I managed to twist onto my
cheek.
No, Vegas wasn’t
doing us any favors. But the thing about Vegas was you could always
leave it behind. And you know what wasn’t too far away? Mammoth. I
had a cabin there. Or, technically, the band had a cabin there. A
big, tricked out one. The slopes were better in Tahoe, and much
tastier in Vail or Aspen, but Mammoth had location going for it. Just
over an hour’s flight from L.A., Vegas and S.F., Mammoth was like
celebrities’ backyard snow playground.
If we drove we could
get there in about four and a half hours.
“What do you think?”
I asked, speaking out loud to Ana’s sleeping form. No response.
There was a storm
coming, a big enough one that even I’d heard people talking about
it. Keeping up on the weather wasn’t really my thing, but when the
forecast predicted a days-long torrential storm pounding the state
with rain and blanketing the mountains in snow, it even got on Ash
Black’s radar. Drought-stricken California needed rain and snow,
everyone knew that, and this storm was supposed to deliver and then
some. And it was due to start later on today.
I had to make a call.
Ana wasn’t in any shape to make it with me. She’d said something
about flying back to New York, but come on now. What we’d had in
Paris had been real. We needed a few more days together like that out
of the spotlight.
If we headed up to
Mammoth we could tuck ourselves away in the cabin. I knew none of the
guys were headed there. They’d planned to stay on in Vegas for a
couple of days, keep the party going. Ana and I would be snowed in.
I’d have her all to myself for days on end.
§
Driving in a snowstorm
was harder than I’d remembered. Actually, I couldn’t remember the
last time I’d driven myself through a snowstorm. Or driven myself
through anything to anywhere. Thankfully, we were already on Route
395 before it started coming down thick. The GPS said we had about an
hour to go.
The flakes were
accumulating heavy and fast. When we’d left Vegas four hours
earlier in the dead of night, the road had been flat and dry and
stretched out in front of us endlessly.
I say us because Ana
was with me, but she hadn’t exactly been awake for any of it. She
was passed out so cold a couple of times I’d checked to make sure
she was breathing. And she always was, slow and steady, just sleeping
the sleep of the dead.
And sleep on she still
did, slumped against the door of the car, unaware of the storm
brewing around her. Unaware that I’d kidnapped her.
Technically speaking,
of course. Kidnapping was an inflammatory term. But, technically, it
applied to this situation. She’d told me she planned to go to New
York. I’d lifted her up in a dead sleep, carried her down in an
elevator passed out on my shoulder, and laid her down in the rental
SUV without her becoming any the wiser. This girl could sleep. She
must have been drunk when we’d spoken earlier. The party had been
crowded and loud and I’d barely been able to hear her speaking. She
must have been wasted and I just hadn’t noticed.
I’d tucked her in
nicely, setting her up with a pillow and a blanket from the hotel.
They’d charge my account and probably consider themselves lucky
that I hadn’t ripped a sink out of the wall like last time.
Actually, that had been Connor, but the two of us tended to get
lumped together.
He wasn’t such a bad
guy, really. Look how he’d been taking care of Ana. And he’d had
a hard time of it growing up, getting bullied so bad when I’d first
met him in boarding school he’d always had a cut or a bruise or
both marking up his face. He’d been a shrimpy little Irish
scholarship kid, and didn’t all those aristocratic British brats
let him know it. Now I knew he took things too far, always over the
top, but the world loved him for it. Could you blame him?
I hoped one day he and
Ana could get on better. I know he’d hit on her, but that was his
way. There wasn’t a woman alive he wouldn’t hit on. It was like
sleeping, eating and breathing for him. And Ana, well, she’d tempt
a monk.
Even looking at her
sleeping there in the car, so innocent, she made my thoughts turn
nasty. Once we made it to the cabin, I’d have her all to myself. No
one else there, nothing to interrupt us, distract us. We could get
lost in each other the way I knew we were meant to do.
But maybe I should say
if we made it to the cabin. The towering pines, the ridges
surrounding us, we were deep in the Sierra Nevada mountain range and
it was gorgeous but I had to slow down to about thirty miles an hour.
I’d rented a powerful SUV, but snowplows hadn’t had a chance to
get up to this stretch of road yet and the powder was accumulating,
fast.
I felt proud of myself
that I’d remembered to call ahead and talk to the caretaker of the
Mammoth property. Such planning from seat-of-his-pants rocker Ash
Black. I’d even been surprised to find his number in my phone under
Mammoth Cabin. I had people to handle those kinds of arrangements.
But not when I stole away in the dead of night trying to avoid all
discovery. Then, I needed to make the call myself.
If the caretaker had
been surprised at a call from Ash Black at four in the morning on New
Year’s Day, he hadn’t shown it. I didn’t know how much we paid
him, but apparently it was enough that when I woke him up in the
middle of the night and told him I’d be arriving at the cabin in a
few hours he said, “No problem.” The cabin would be clean, lit
and heated upon our arrival. He’d even make sure the fridge and
pantry were stocked and we had enough firewood to last us days.
“You know there’s a
big storm coming today?” he had warned. I’d brushed it off.
Now I saw why he’d
warned me. The last 30 minutes of the drive would take at least an
hour in these conditions, and that was if we didn’t skid off and
slam straight into a tree trunk. I could see the headlines, “Ash
Black Crashes Out!” Only it wouldn’t just be me, it would be Ana,
and I wanted to keep her safe.
I hoped she’d feel
safe when she finally woke up. I wanted her to feel cherished and
protected. Because once we got there, we weren’t going anywhere.
The snow was supposed to fall and keep on falling for another couple
of days. We’d be snowbound, trapped, cut off from the rest of the
world.
Exactly how I wanted
it.
My need for her built
with each passing day. Every time I tasted her, I craved more. Each
sigh, moan, gasp from her lips teased me, suggesting such a treasure
trove of erotic pleasures. She was a sensual woman, but up until me
she’d never indulged. As far as I could tell, she’d only had one
serious sexual partner before, and he sounded about one step removed
from the living dead. I wasn’t sure she’d ever had an orgasm with
the man. Good thing, too, because if she had I would have had to find
him and sock him in the jaw.
As it was, it sounded
like I didn’t have much to be jealous about. When I touched her she
seemed so surprised, shocked and thrilled about how good it felt. I
felt that way, too. And we’d only just begun.
In Paris we’d fallen
into each other, the way ravenous beasts fell on a meal after days of
starvation. We’d burned for each other and then combusted, joining
together with fierce passion. But we’d never taken it slow. We’d
never really played.
Ana had a body built
for sinful pleasures. I had a mind filled with plans. When she woke
up, she’d feel confused and disoriented. Maybe she’d be angry at
me. She’d definitely have one hell of a hangover.
But I’d do everything
I could to smooth things over. The cabin would help with that. Lofted
ceilings with giant, rugged beams, floor-to-ceiling windows
overlooking the mountain range and lake below, a massive stone
fireplace, the romantic setting would serve as my wingman. I’d have
a fire crackling in the fireplace. I’d make sure she took some
Advil and drank water. I’d make her tea with honey and lemon and
toast or whatever else she needed to get back into fighting form.
Because she was going to get a workout.
She could yell at me
all she wanted. She could tell me off, pissed that I’d taken her
without her consent. She could pound her fists against my chest,
angry at me for trapping her.
But, ultimately, she’d
be trapped. Snowed in with me. And I needed to consume her, possess
every inch. I wouldn’t stop until I’d had her in every way I’d
craved in all of my fantasies.
She might fight me at
first, but then there’d be a shift. She’d have her fist against
me, but then her fingers would unfurl and she’d clutch my chest.
Her yell would cut off into a moan as I sucked down hard on her
nipple. I could almost taste it, that moment when her protests sank
into sighs, when she melted into my touch, parting her legs to give
me access to her sweet, succulent core.
That’s when I’d have her. And
then I wouldn’t stop, as long as the snow came down, as long as he
roads stayed blocked. I’d have her right where I wanted her.
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