Chapter 4
4
AXTON
A s I drive through the snow toward my cabin, the GPS cuts out for about a mile and a half where the road was created by blasting through deep rock. I see the exact spot where Hazel missed her turn. Thank goodness she did. I can’t stand the thought of the poor angel being stranded out here without power or heat.
Hazel is a brave young woman to come out here on her own – to grab the reins of her life and refuse to give in to her father. To be honest, her dad’s plan would probably be the easier path – marry a rich guy and be his pretty little wife.
But from the way she was focused on that computer screen this morning, I can tell she has her own ambitions.
Part of me has been fighting getting to know her. It’s clear she’s not staying. Whatever she has envisioned for her life, it doesn’t involve living in a small town.
Yet I can’t stop my mind from asking, what if? What if she really liked it out here? What if she decided that small-town life is for her? What if she realized she could fulfill her life’s purpose with just a laptop and a coffee pot?
What if she understood how much I need to protect and care for her?
Luckily, I’m able to finish helping out the guys, pick up groceries, and get back to the cabin before falling completely down that obsessive rabbit hole. Although I’m sure she must hear the truck pull up, I still tap on the door before opening it. The last thing I want is to scare the shit out of her.
Hazel is already putting away her laptop and notebook. “Perfect timing! Dinner can be in around ten minutes, assuming you’re hungry.”
“I am, thanks.” I set two huge bags of groceries on the table and she begins putting them away before I can even take off my coat. Damn, I just want to throw my arms around her and feel that curvy body against me again.
I look around the room as I take off my boots. Everything looks a bit…brighter. “Have you been cleaning in here?”
Her lovely blue eyes dart to mine and she gives me the sweetest smile. “Y-yes? I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure. But you’ve got your own work to do.”
She laughs. “It’s a productivity trick. When I need to jump up and stretch after forty minutes of work…since someone told me I wasn’t moving around enough…I clean something. When I get tired of that, I go back to the computer. Every time I change tasks, it feels like I’m taking a break.”
“Or you’re running yourself ragged.” I scowl for barely a second before it melts into a smirk. The scent of something amazing hits me before I can complain any more. “That smells incredible.”
“Oh, good. I’ve only made it a couple of times.”
I flash her a grin that feels surprisingly comfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this hard or this frequently before. “Just going to take a quick shower, then.”
“Sure. Take your time.”
I barely stop myself from automatically pulling off my clothing beside the bed, as I usually do. Considering the way Hazel stared at me last night when I was wearing nothing but my shorts, she doesn’t need that kind of shock again.
As I walk into the bathroom holding a change of clothes, I take a long look at her curvy ass as she stirs something on the stove. What would it be like to have such a beauty flitting about my home all the time?
I give my head a shake, then lock the door behind me, realizing I’d better give something else a good shake in the shower to release some of this pent-up lust.
Fifteen minutes later, I sit down at the table. Hazel serves up some kind of fancy beef and pasta dish that she seems very proud of.
It’s all I can do to keep from moaning when I taste it. “That’s it. You’re hired. Full-time chef at this cabin. I’ll pay you anything you want, forever.”
Hazel laughs, her eyes glowing. She asks me a few questions about Hope Peak as we start to eat, then the conversation turns to all the books on my shelves.
My plate is almost clean when I ask, “So, what’s this job you’re so excited about?”
She beams. “I’m the new slush pile reader for an up and coming literary podcast.”
I blink, staring blankly. “Do ordinary people know what that means?”
She smirks. “Any literary press, magazine, or podcast that accepts submissions from writers ends up with an enormous pile to go through. Someone needs to read everything and categorize it.”
I nod, forcing my hand to stop reaching for hers. “As in, weed out the bullshit?”
“Exactly. I’ve settled on three categories. Not ready yet , which is my polite way of saying no thank you. So close – which is how I’m going to tell people that their work is almost there, or just not quite the right topic for us right now, but please submit again. The pieces that are extremely well written and on topic go in the Heck yes pile and will be sent to the producers with my notes.”
“What kind of topics?”
“The producers and host have a list.” Hazel grins widely. “That’s why I think I’ll be able to keep the job. I’ve been compiling a spreadsheet that categorizes everything they’ve done in the past year and a half, plus all the topics they’ve said they’re interested in for future shows. There’s also a spot for current trends in movies, television, and books. So I can categorize everything both in quality of writing, and relevance to the topics we’re looking for. I think that’s my secret sauce.”
Leaning back in my seat, my chair creaks. For all that I make sturdy stuff for other people, I’d forgotten how cheap the furniture at this cabin is. “So you’re streamlining the flood of submissions to make it easier for them to make their selections?”
“Exactly.”
“What if there’s a piece you love and desperately want them to choose?”
She smiles, her eyes dancing. “I was thinking that maybe I’d add a few stars to those.”
We chat more about the podcast as we wash the dishes together; I’m fascinated by her. She’s studied English lit, but instead of sticking with the classics, Hazel seems focused on bringing modern literature to the masses.
She curls up in bed with her laptop to read, and I sit at the table with my own book for a while. Hopefully she doesn’t notice that I’m turning the pages at an alarmingly slow rate. I can’t focus on anything but her.
She’s only been here for one full day and my cabin already looks nicer. She’s quiet and leaves me alone when I’m reading. Well-mannered. A hard worker. Gorgeous, and quick to laugh. Everything a man could want in a woman. But it’s her raw sensuality that’s really making it impossible for me to concentrate. Every time she looks at me with those big, curious eyes, the need to tear her clothes off hits me again.
If I instinctively wrapped my arms around her in my sleep when we’d barely spoken, how will I be able to control my urges tonight? Although I’m sure as hell going to try…even if I have to wake myself up every hour to check.
Once I see Hazel yawning, I stand up and stretch. “’Bout that time?”
“Yeah.” She jumps up to plug in her laptop and goes into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
I strip down to my shorts and jump into bed before she returns. My back is toward her as she slips under the covers and turns off the light, whispering, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I wait for her to fall asleep. She doesn’t. The wind is whistling outside, and although the cabin is warm enough, the sound seems to rattle her.
After about twenty minutes of listening to Hazel toss, I roll over to face her. “Are you cold?”
“Maybe just a little, I guess.”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, I mentally yell at myself. There’s no way she–
“If you want to back up and use me as a heater again, feel free.”
Dammit.
But seconds later, my arms are filled with her soft curves, my nose is filled with the faint fragrance of her silky hair, and my ears are filled with a soft hum. “Much warmer. Thank you, Mr. Furnace.”
“Feel free to elbow me if my arm is too heavy.”
She snickers. “Okay.”
Inhaling her sweetness, I manage to stay awake long enough to feel Hazel fall asleep with her body molded to mine. She trusts me. She craves this closeness as much as I do.
And even though I swore to myself that I wouldn’t, tomorrow I’m going to be crossing a whole pile of lines.