Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
CHARLOTTE
Ididn’t go down for lunch or dinner. I couldn’t face Beck again after he’d looked me in the eye and lied to my face.
So I stayed in my room with my laptop reviewing data until the numbers blurred on the screen. Anger simmered in my chest.
But hurt throbbed there, too. For the past three days, Beck had cooked meals for me. He’d carried my gear and acted interested in my experiments. And the whole time he’d led me in the opposite direction of the places I needed to be.
My stomach released a low, mournful rumble. Outside, the sun had long since slipped beneath the horizon. Stars twinkled in the sky, and the forest was barely visible as dusk slid into night.
I’d skipped three meals, and now I had to pay the price until morning.
As if that wasn’t punishment enough, the aroma of Beck’s cooking drifted under my door.
Whatever he’d prepared smelled amazing, the scent of savory spices and fresh bread floating toward me like one of those steamy trails from a cartoon.
My mouth watered, and I glared at the door before turning back to my screen.
A half hour later, a soft knock brought my head up.
“Charlotte?” Beck rumbled on the other side of the wood.
My heart thumped faster, and indecision tugged at me. He deserved to be ignored. On the other hand, starving myself wouldn’t accomplish anything.
Besides, maybe he’d come to apologize…
I scrambled off the bed, crossed the room, and opened the door.
Beck held a plate heaped with breaded chicken slathered in some kind of creamy gravy dotted with green herbs. Green beans nestled on one side, and a plump dinner roll glistening with butter sat on the other.
But the man was just as tempting as the dinner. He’d changed his clothes since morning, his worn jeans and green plaid shirt giving him the look of a weathered lumberjack.
More like a lumbersnack.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“You missed dinner,” he said.
I folded my arms. “I’m not hungry.”
My stomach roared, the sound like a wild animal trying to claw its way from a cage.
One corner of Beck’s mouth twitched. “I made too much. My mother raised me to never waste food.”
I reached for the plate.
Beck pulled it back. “Can I talk to you?” An earnest look shone in his silver eyes. “Please, Charlotte.”
Oh god. The way he said my name, like it was a dessert he rolled on his tongue. How was I supposed to resist?
I stepped aside. “You can leave the plate on the desk.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly. He entered, trailing his spicy, masculine scent and the mouth-watering combination of baked chicken and fresh bread. Placing the plate on the desk, he turned and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets.
The room was smaller with him in it. My bed was rumpled, the pillows a mess against the headboard. One of my bras dangled from the bathroom door, which I’d left cracked. Visions of my shower fantasies invaded my head, and I curled my bare toes against the hardwood.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Beck said.
I lifted my chin. “For lying to me?”
His eyes were steady. “For not being honest.”
Frustration rose in a bitter wave. “I fail to see the difference.”
His chest lifted as he sighed. “You’re right. I have been steering you away from certain areas, but not because I want to sabotage your research.”
“Then why?”
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the silver-streaked strands. “Like I said, people live in those sectors. They value their privacy. If they knew a scientist was poking around their land, taking readings and collecting samples...” He shook his head. “They’d be upset.”
“I can be discreet.”
“They’ve chosen to live off the grid. I’m asking you to respect that.”
The wave of frustration built as I turned his words over in my mind. Alaska was home to plenty of people who distrusted outsiders—or anyone linked to the government. I wasn’t, but the reclusive residents Beck described were likely to see “state university” and order me off their property.
Or worse. Alaska was home to loners, but there were stories about militias and survivalists, too. They might not be satisfied with a verbal warning.
But this research had the potential to make or break my career.
“What if you asked them?” I asked. “You could explain what I’m doing. Reassure them I’m not here to cause trouble—”
“They’d say no.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” Beck said firmly, his expression stern and settled. It should have scared me.
Instead, heat licked low in my belly. I moved toward him, drawn by something I couldn’t explain and didn’t really want to.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.
A pleading look entered his gaze. “I can’t say any more than I already have. I know that’s not the answer you want, but it’s the truth.”
I drifted closer. “Beck, please—” A sudden, sharp pain in my head made me gasp. Stopping, I pressed my fingers to my forehead, where pressure stabbed between my eyes.
Beck was at my side instantly, his body heat caressing my skin. “What is it? Charlotte, are you okay?”
The pain faded to a dull throb. “Just a headache. Probably because I haven’t eaten.” I went to the bathroom and flipped on the light. I kept aspirin in my travel bag, and I dug through it until I found the bottle and shook out two pills.
Sudden awareness made me jerk my gaze to my insomnia medication. I hadn’t taken it since that first night in Bear Cove. I hadn’t needed it.
Was that the reason for my headache?
Beck filled the doorway behind me, his bulk blocking most of the light from the bedroom. He swept his gaze over the sink, and he frowned as he studied the amber-colored bottle.
“Is that a prescription?”
I filled a glass with water and swallowed the aspirin. “Yes and no.” And, anyway, why was he asking?
Beck lifted his gaze to mine. “Yes and no?”
Heat crept up my nape, which was ridiculous. I hadn’t done anything wrong. “My PhD advisor, Dr. Henry, gave them to me. I don’t have medical insurance.”
Beck eased inside.
I stiffened even as heat slid lower in my body. “What are you doing?”
He picked up the bottle and studied the label. His scent thickened, filling the small bathroom with something like cologne. But it was all his. If I had to swear, I’d bet everything I owned Beck didn’t own cologne. No, that intoxicating aroma belonged to him.
“What are they for?” he rumbled.
“Insomnia.” I held out my hand.
He returned the bottle, and he watched as I set it on the sink next to my mouthwash.
“You have trouble sleeping?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It started about six months ago. I’d lie awake for hours with my mind racing. Eventually, I was so exhausted that I kept nodding off during Dr. Henry’s office hours.” I waved a hand toward the bottle. “He gave me those, and they’ve been a huge help.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to take them?”
Unease stirred in my gut. Was Beck thinking of reporting Dr. Henry?
He must have seen my discomfort on my face because he softened his voice. “I don’t mean to butt my nose into your business.” A smile touched his mouth. “You can tell me to butt out.”
“Dr. Henry has been my advisor since I was fourteen,” I said. “He wouldn’t give me something dangerous.” But I never got headaches. If the pills caused some kind of withdrawal symptom, maybe they weren’t worth the trouble.
Beck nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”
We returned to the bedroom. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the window in its frame.
Beck went to it and looked out. “A storm is coming. We haven’t gotten much snow. This one will be big.”
I moved to his side. Dark clouds rolled across the stars, blotting them out before revealing them once more. Cold seeped through the glass. A shrill beep over my shoulder made me turn.
On my nightstand, my weather monitor had lit up with a red warning. Crossing the room, I picked up the monitor and thumbed through the message. “It’s a severe storm warning. It says to expect up to three feet of snow starting at midnight.” I looked at Beck. “Isn’t that unusual for November?”
He’d turned from the window, and his smile held an edge of apology. “The only predictable thing about our weather is its unpredictability.” He let a beat pass. “You might not be able to go out for a couple days.”
Disappointment crashed over me. Days? My budget was strict. It didn’t include snow days. If I missed time in the field, I couldn’t make it up.
“It’s Alaska,” Beck added gently. “The land sets the schedule.”
My headache threatened to come roaring back. I let out a humorless laugh. “I’m sure you’re devastated by the thought of me being snowed in.”
He said nothing. But hurt flitted through his eyes, the expression so swift I might have missed it if I hadn’t been staring.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “You didn’t deserve that.”
He closed the distance between us, stopping an arm’s length away. “I’d rather have you safe here than stuck somewhere in the woods during a blizzard.”
I looked at his mouth. I couldn’t help it.
His broad frame eclipsed mine, his shadow falling over me in a way that threatened to curl my toes again.
The buttons marching down the front of his shirt were black and shiny.
There were just five of them. Five tugs and I could see what lay under the fabric.
His skin. His muscle. Probably a mat of salt-and-pepper hair.
An ache blossomed between my legs. In my mind, he smoothed his big hands up my thighs, his silver gaze fixed on mine.
In front of me, his chest swelled, straining the buttons. I jerked my head up, and our stares collided. Heat flared in his eyes, something possessive and hungry peering out.
Run, a voice whispered in my mind. But another, louder voice urged something else.
Mine.
I swayed toward him.
He stepped backward, and the spell disintegrated. “Get some sleep,” he said, moving to the door. “We’ll see what the morning brings.”
He left, pulling the door shut behind him before I could form a response.
Disappointment settled over me. Going to the bed, I plopped on the edge of the mattress.
Beck wanted me. I’d swear on it. The heat in his eyes had been unmistakable.
And yet, he’d left.
Outside, the first fat snowflakes drifted past the window. Beck’s words from earlier ran through my head.
I’m trying to protect you.
But from what? Off-grid residents who valued their privacy? Or from something else?
From him? He probably thought he was too old for me.
But what if I disagreed? I was an adult. And something was happening between us whether he liked it or not. It pulled at me every time I was near him.
And he felt it, too. I looked at my closed door. A storm was coming, and it had nothing to do with the weather.