Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
"Come on," I say, my voice rough, thick with everything I can’t say yet. "We’re making s’mores."
She sits up slowly, blinking. "What? Are you serious? We’re still—” She gestures wildly at our naked, sweat-slicked bodies.
"Dead serious." I grin a little. "I fucking love s’mores. Don’t you?"
She shrugs, rubbing her eyes. "I mean… who doesn’t love s’mores? I just didn’t know we had that stuff."
"Well, I was the one who did the grocery shopping," I say, grinning at her.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting by the fire, marshmallows speared onto skewers, the ends blackened from the last round.
She’s naked, swaddled in a blanket that clings to her. I’ve managed to pull on my damn sweats, if only to give myself an illusion of control. We hold the marshmallows over the flames, watching them toast to a perfect golden brown. Then she loses one.
It drops straight into the fire, hissing and bursting into flame.
“Oh,” she says, giggling, her eyes wide and amused.
Without missing a beat, I hand her mine and start roasting another. Her smile is everything.
After a minute, we press the melted marshmallow between two pieces of warm chocolate and a graham cracker. The heat softens everything, melding into a sweet, sticky mess. I hold mine out to her, open.
Her eyes go half-lidded, mouth parting slightly as she leans forward. When I feed it to her, it’s hot, decadent, chaotic… kinda like her. Marshmallow drips down her chin, and I lean in and lick it off, slow and deliberate.
My cock throbs. Jesus, I want her all over again. I can’t stop the feeling that we’re on bloody borrowed time and any minute, I’ll wake up, or the world will end, or she’ll realize who I really am… and I won’t have her anymore.
“We need sleep.” I say it rough, like it might stop the tension buzzing under my skin. My thumb grazes the top of her cheek.
“Tomorrow morning,” I murmur, “we’ve got session two of unblocking the writer.”
“Oh, yeah?” she teases. She lifts my hand to her mouth and licks a swirl of chocolate from my knuckle. “What if I don’t want to write?” she whispers. “What if I just want to keep being unblocked?”
I lean in, my voice dropping to something low and dangerous because I like watching her reaction. “Then you’ll be in trouble.”
Her eyes flare at me. “What does that mean?”
I can picture it now. “It means I’ll bend you over my knee, drag your panties around your ankles, and then spank your pretty ass until you hit your word count.”
Her breath catches, and her cheeks flush.
“That might get the job done,” she says softly. “Or it could be the ultimate distraction.”
I press a kiss to her shoulder, and my cock throbs again. Can’t help it—she’s here, and I’ll never get enough.
Then something moves outside the window. It’s not the wind… It’s something else.
A sharp, violent smash that sounds like wood rattles the side of the cabin.
I’m on my feet, adrenaline surging.
Emma gasps, scrambling upright. The blanket slips down to her waist.
I grab the poker from the hearth. My muscles are tight, my heart is hammering, and every instinct in me is awake.
“Stay there,” I snap. “And wrap that fucking blanket around you.”
I stalk toward the door, half-naked and barefoot, every nerve in my body alive and ready. I don’t open it—not yet. I kill the lights, then I crack it, just an inch.
Cold air punches me in the face.
I see nothing. But whatever made that sound, it wasn’t the wind. Not a footprint in the snow as far as I can see, so it couldn’t have been a human.
“Looks like it was just an icicle,” I say over my shoulder, breathing a sigh. “Not even an animal’s tracks in the snow. I can see where it fell off the roof.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Who’s around here, Owen?”
“No one,” I tell her. “We’re really in the middle of nowhere.”
I glance back at her, standing there in the firelight.
“Wasn’t the smartest fucking place for you to run off to, Emma.”
She shrugs. “But you’re here.”
“Yeah. I am.” I nod. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER TEN
Emma
But then he’s gone with a growl, telling me to stay put.
Owen tried to reassure me, but he doesn’t trust that it was just an icicle.
I didn’t think it was possible—the snow was piled halfway up the door—but he shoved on a pair of boots, threw on a jacket, and forced his way through the snowbank like it was nothing.
The blanket’s still warm where his body was.
The sound is still in my ears—the howl, the smash—and now my heart is pounding even harder in the silence than it was when we were tangled together by the fire.
I sit up, still naked under the blanket, straining to listen. But all I can hear is the fire hissing low in the hearth.