Rough and Rugged: A Meet Me In Milwaukee Charity Anthology

Chapter Five

Emmett

Ihaven’t been able to get the beautiful stranger off my mind all day, no matter what I do to keep myself busy. Before lunch, I’d already cleaned the house from top to bottom, despite the fact that it was already clean.

Nothing on TV held my attention. The mystery novel I’d fallen asleep reading last night bored me. The wood shed is full already, so I couldn’t exhaust myself chopping wood, and my freezer is one fish away from being unable to close. Dropping onto the couch in defeat, rubbing my hands over my face, I remember the packages I picked up this morning.

Jumping up, I grab the smallest one from the counter, pulling my knife from my pocket and slicing through the tape with precise motions. The small glass bottle of expensive Tahitian vanilla is nestled in styrofoam bits that scatter over the kitchen floor. It only takes a minute to clean, but that’s a minute my mind is on a task instead of the object of my fantasy.

Stowing the broom, I busy myself gathering mixing bowls and ingredients to make vanilla macarons. The labor-intensive process will hopefully occupy my mind for a while and also allow me to eat my feelings when she inevitably invades my thoughts again.

I do well, focusing on the precision of each step until the tray is ready to go in the oven, and I have nothing to do but clean the kitchen while they bake. Opting to wash everything by hand, my thoughts run rampant with visions of her here in the kitchen with me while I bake or, even better, her joining me, naked, spread out on the granite island as I feast on her.

My hard cock strains against my zipper and grazes the cabinet, the sensation against the sensitive head making me desperate for release. As soon as the oven dings, signaling that the second tray is done baking, I dry my hands and remove it from the oven, letting the shells cool on the counter as I sprint upstairs, stripping as I make my way to the master suite to take a frigid shower.

The cold water does nothing to tame my erection, and I palm my long cock, stroking it with firm, angry strokes, trying to picture any of the women I’ve seen online rather than the stunning stranger from this morning. Imagining her in front of me, taking my cock like a slutty angel, I come hard and fast, roaring my release into the empty bathroom, listening to the echo, wishing I could hear her moan of ecstasy join mine.

I dress quickly, shame washing over me. Returning to the kitchen, I set about making the vanilla Swiss Meringue buttercream to fill the macarons, mentally berating myself the entire time.

It’s nearly dusk by the time the macarons are put away, and the kitchen is clean for the second time. Making a quick sandwich so I don’t make yet another mess, I grab a beer from the fridge and take my plate out to the deck to eat.

Just as I’m about to take the first bite, something in the distance catches my attention, and I quirk my head listening to see if I hear it again.

“Fudge!”

It’s clearly a woman’s voice, and I don’t hear anyone else.

Jumping up, I sprint into the house, dropping my plate on the dining room table as I move to the front door, slipping my boots on, and running out the door. Looking around for obvious signs of distress, when I come up empty, I silently send up a prayer for a sign, breathing a sigh of relief when I hear a loud, distressed “Fudge!” coming from the river.

Running around to the back of the house, down the wooded trail that leads from my homestead through the national land that flanks the river to the bank, I stumble to a stop when I emerge from the trees and see the source of the shouting, lying on the rocks near the water only feet in front of me.

It can’t be.

Unable to take my eyes off her, I approach slowly, knowing it’s my mystery woman from the diner, wondering how the hell she’s here right now.

The rocks move under my weight, and she turns her head at the sound, her eyes widening as she watches me. I put my hands up placatingly, never wanting to frighten her.

“Help, please,” she says quietly, pushing herself up to a sitting position.

I crouch down in front of her; my eyes taking in every stunning inch of her as I look for injuries. Her cheeks blush in the dusky light under my intense perusal, and I wonder if she feels the connection between us that I do.

“What happened to you, sweetheart?” I ask, my husky voice barely above a whisper. The endearment slips out without thought, and she gasps, her cheeks darkening another shade.

Her voice trembles as she walks me through her spill. I reach one hand out to examine her ankle, stopping with my fingers hovering just over her pale skin.

“May I?” I ask, holding my breath as I wait for her to respond.

She nods, leaning back on her palms as I touch her tentatively for the first time, a jolt running through my body. I push gently against her calf, relieved when she doesn’t react. Moving slowly toward her obviously swollen ankle, she hisses in pain when my fingertips barely whisper over it.

“I can move it, but it hurts,” she admits, biting her bottom lip against the pain as she wiggles her foot to prove it’s not broken.

“I think you’re right, but we need to get you off the riverbank and get you checked out.”

“I—you’re right,” she admits, looking around nervously.

“My place is just up there,” I say, pointing up to the bluff behind us. “You’ll be safe there, I promise.” I wait for her response, nervous that she’ll insist I take her into town. I want—need—her in my house. I need time with her, to get to know her. To exorcize her from my system.

“I-I can’t w-walk,” she shivers, looking over her shoulder at the steep trail with wide eyes.

It’s chilly down by the water after the sun goes down, so I unbutton the flannel button up I’m wearing, draping it around her shoulders, a shiver of lust running through me as it dwarfs her. My t-shirt is a pathetic barrier against the cool air, but I’d do anything to make her more comfortable.

“Well, I can’t just leave you here, sweetheart, and a truck can’t make it to the water. I can carry you up to my place if you’re okay with that?” It comes out as a question, and I pray she’ll agree so I can feel her in my arms.

“One condition,” she says, holding up an index finger. Fear skitters through me, wondering what her demand is, knowing I’ll agree to anything that’s within my power to provide. “I don’t let strangers carry me up ridiculous hills.” Her hand reaches toward me. “I’m Briar Collins.”

Chuckling, I wrap her small hand in my much larger one. “Emmett Holloway.”

“Nice to meet you, Emmett Holloway. Now, take me to your home.” She grins, and it transforms her face from beautiful to intoxicating, and I can’t look away.

Standing, I reach a hand down to help her stand before giving her a wink as one of my arms settles at the small of her back as I sweep the other under her knees, scooping her up with ease to carry her bridal style.

“Wait!” she exclaims as I turn to start the arduous hike up the trail. “My bag!”

I scan the rocks, spotting the small black bag only a few feet away. I lean down, keeping her firmly against my chest, and she reaches out to grasp the handle, holding it with one arm as the other goes around my neck.

“Ready,” she says, giving me a wide, toothy smile that has my cock hardening. I hitch her up a bit higher in my arms so her ass doesn’t accidentally brush against my erection. The last thing I want is for this angel to think the devil has taken her captive.