Chapter 7
Figure it out.
The text message might as well be a physical slap in the face that I absolutely don’t need.
After a week of bending over backward and sending desperate pleas to try to get Callista off the mountain—while simultaneously avoiding her and the library where I know she’s been holed up every day—those three words on a tiny screen are the final ones.
At least, they’re meant to be.
I can read between the lines to what it really means—an order from someone sick of hearing my appeals on Callista’s behalf. No amount of requesting or demanding her freedom from her father’s debt has gotten me anywhere.
But I can’t stop trying.
Because I cannot have the woman in my house anymore.
Not for a single day more.
I can feel her presence everywhere.
It lingers in the air, along with her sweet scent, making it impossible for me to concentrate or relax like I normally would, especially in the library. The one space I might normally find some solace, all I get at night after a long day of working out here is a reminder that she’s been there.
Smiling.
Running her soft fingers across the spines and using them to flip the pages as she finds something to lose herself in.
Enjoying the simple pleasure of accessing all those worlds, all that knowledge, and being able to pretend the real world doesn’t exist outside it.
If only it were so easy for me.
No amount of felling trees, chopping wood, or destroying anything else I can get my blade on is making it better. And my pleas for relief have gone ignored—over and over again. Tossed aside in favor of messages like the one currently causing The Beast to wake from his slumber deep inside me.
Another text comes through, and I scowl as I read the reminder of my predicament—the same words that have been sent to me multiple times since she showed up on my porch in those damn heels with nothing but attitude to use as a defense.
I told you she stays for however long it takes.
It’s been two weeks, but it feels more like two years.
Each day has dragged on, and every minute has only given her more time to take over my home and my mind.
I can feel her everywhere, in every nook and cranny in the house, watching me from the window as I leave every morning to head out toward my shop, searching for me at night when I make my way back. And just like when I showed her the library, the heat in her gaze from the bedroom window isn’t that of hatred anymore.
Which makes it harder and harder to act like she doesn’t exist or affect me.
I’ve never been a good actor.
Far too quick-tempered and easy to anger to keep my cool long enough to pretend anything.
It made me perfect for my role as Father’s enforcer and served me well when The Beast needed to take action.
But none of it prepared me for Callista Fox or her effect on me.
I tighten my grip on the phone and fire off a reply.
Get the situation with Fox resolved.
Once he’s fixed the problem he created with Rosewood, I can send Callista down the mountain, back to her life, and away from the things that can hurt her here.
Even if it does resolve, she stays.
Anger floods my veins, making my fingers flex so hard that it’s difficult to type.
What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
The reply pops up quickly, like it was already planned.
Another smack in the face.
What needs to be done.
There it is, the final nail in the coffin of my restraint. Releasing a primal scream that echoes through the clearing, I chuck my phone, watching it spiral through the afternoon air and disappear into the trees.
“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!”
I scrub my hands over my face and through my hair, tugging harshly on the ends as I tuck my head back and face the sun with my eyes squeezed closed.
It beats down on me, just as it has all day, making my skin slick with sweat, but the heated anger now rushing through me threatens to make me boil over in a way that will only put Callista in the path of a force that even I can’t stop.
When The Beast gets unleashed, I can’t rein him in.
Even if I want to.
I need relief any way I can find it right now, and only one place might offer it. Bypassing my workshop, I storm toward the trees and the trail that leads down to the lake near the valley.
Ice-cold waters fed by melted early-fall snow at higher elevations should do the trick.
At least, temporarily.
God knows as soon as I see her again—hell, even smell her—I’ll be dancing that thin line between control and chaos again with no safety net into which to jump.
Every muscle in my body coils tight. I push my way through the trees and step out onto the bank that leads down to the water. Smooth, round stones shaped by the glaciers that once covered this area of the world fill the beach, leading to my salvation from the fire of rage threatening to consume me.
I untie my boots and toe them off, then remove my socks and jeans so I can wade into the frigid waters and let them cool and calm my fiery, naked skin.
The frigid bite sends a shiver through me, but I keep moving deeper and deeper, my feet sinking into the lake bottom until I can submerge completely under the water.
Fuck, does that feel good…
Exactly what I need on a day like today, after a week of so much tension in the house, I could cut it with a knife—all without even seeing the beauty causing me so much trouble.
Bursting out from beneath the surface, I shift to float on my back and close my eyes, trying to let my frustration melt away by concentrating on the juxtaposition of the cold water surrounding me and the sun beating down on my face and the front of my body.
My mind drifts away from the current situation to the place I so rarely find, where I can pretend I’m not stuck in this life, in this place, that I’m not cursed forever by my family name and what I’ve done to advance it.
Leaves rustle in the trees along the shoreline, but I don’t bother opening my eyes to look to see who it is. Wildlife often comes to the river that feeds the lake and gathers near the water here, and none of them are spooked by my presence anymore. If anything, one of the friendlier animals may have heard me in the glade and followed me down to check out what’s happening.
They have never been my enemy, nor I theirs.
The trophies that line the walls of the house belong to the man who molded me into who and what I am now—the one who forced me to cross so many lines I never thought I would that I lost all sense of what was right or wrong for years.
A large branch snaps, and I jerk my eyes open and turn my head toward the sound—because only a human causes that.
Callista stands at the edge of the tree line in skin-hugging yoga pants and a loose T-shirt that falls off one shoulder, her feet tucked into the shoes I left for her that first day. The formerly white slip-ons are now stained after the trek down here from the house, but she doesn’t seem concerned about that.
Her eyes zero in on me the same way mine rake over her.
So fucking beautiful.
Seven days have passed since I last laid eyes on her, and somehow, her beauty has only grown in that time. It’s impossible to tear my gaze away from her flowing hair, lush curves, and exposed peachy skin.
I’m so fixated on drinking her in that it takes a moment for me to realize why she’s staring so intently.
Shit.
I quickly drop myself under the water.
But it’s too late.
Callista Fox has gotten more than an eyeful, and the way color rises in her cheeks tells me she liked what she saw.
Treading water, I watch her slowly approach the shore. “What are you doing out here?”
I’ve warned her to stay in the house, that there are threats in the forest even I can’t protect her from, but she hasn’t listened to a single thing I’ve told her since she got her, so it shouldn’t surprise me that she didn’t when it comes to this.
She stops at the edge of the water, eyes still locked on me. “It’s been a week since you brought me to the library…”
I clear my throat. “I know.”
“And you’ve been avoiding me.”
Hell.
I don’t bother responding to that. If I said I wasn’t, it would be a lie and she would only call me out on it. There’s no putting anything past Callista Fox. When she said she saw me the other day, she meant it.
“Why, Weston?”
My heart stutters in my chest at hearing my name—my real one—come from her lips for the first time. “Why did you show me that, gift me something so beautiful, and then hide from me?”
She knows exactly why.
Because whatever this is can’t happen despite what others may want.
Thrusting this woman into my life, forcing her to spend time with me, to live with me in this awful place, to suffer through all the bullshit that comes with it and me, isn’t fair.
I don’t need the complication, and neither does she, no matter how beautiful she is, no matter how much I may want her.
She locks her gaze with mine, waiting for a response that’s never going to come. Then she huffs and grabs the hem of her shirt, tugging it off, up and over her head before I can object, exposing a lacy white bra.
My breath catches. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Her breasts rise and fall rapidly in the beautiful lingerie she must have brought from home in the bag I pulled from her trunk that night she crashed into my life. “It’s hot out here. I’m going for a swim.”
Fuck.
She grabs the waistband of her pants, and my cock stirs in the chilly water. Wiggling her hips, she shoves the fabric down, and I have to bite back a groan at the way her body moves.
Seductive.
Suggesting exactly how good she’d feel pressed up against me, moving like that.
She toes off her shoes and kicks the pants free, leaving herself in only the bra and a tiny scrap of matching lace between her legs.
Sweet mother of God…
I thought I was living in Hell before with my curse, but now, I’m quite confident its fires are going to burn me alive.
The heat radiating from Weston’s gaze sharply contrasts with the cool water that laps gently against my ankles in the light breeze. Goosebumps break out across my exposed skin from the chill, but more so from the longing I see so thick in his darkening eyes.
It matches my own.
What I’ve been feeling the last week without seeing him while knowing he’s so close—just out of reach by choice.
Momentarily frozen in place, this is my opportunity to change my mind, alter my course, retreat and find a better place and time to talk to the man watching me so intently from the lake.
I might find another chance to do just that, to corner him at the house as he’s cooking my meals, or in the library at night when he expects me to be sleeping…
But given the extremes he’s gone to the past week to avoid me, something tells me it won’t be easy to catch him with his guard down again.
The Beast doesn’t get caught.
This won’t happen again.
I wade in farther, moving slowly, second-guessing everything, yet he remains almost motionless, slowly treading water in the center of the vast lake. Perhaps as unsure of my intentions as I am.
Maybe this is stupid.
In hindsight, it seems reckless and rash to leave the safety of the house and comfort of the library to seek out a man who has intentionally avoided me for seven damn days.
But I couldn’t take it anymore.
Waking every morning to the perfect breakfast, heading up to the library, hoping he’ll be there, only to find it empty, save for the evidence that he was there while I slept.
Books stacked on the table he uses as a desk have changed.
The papers tucked away inside them at different places than they were the day before.
His woodsy scent filling the space, mingling with that of the books and their bindings.
All of it serves as a daily reminder of him not being there and how badly I want him to be. Not just because living alone and not speaking with anyone else for the last week has been unbearable, but because I miss him.
His low growls when he’s frustrated or angry…
The way his lips twitch when he fights a grin…
That little muscle that tics in his jaw when he’s biting back something he wants to say…
I thought living with the man called The Beast would be torture; it turns out him ignoring me is even worse.
But he isn’t ignoring me now.
He can’t.
His gaze bores into me as I slowly make my way into the water. It reaches my bare stomach, and I shiver again at the iciness washing over my skin, but if I stop now, I might never reach where I want to be.
Within reach of him so he can’t run.
I continue in, slowly sinking until I can tread water. Still several feet away from Weston, I scan the lake and surrounding peaks.
Up higher, the first evidence of the coming winter flashes white in the sun, but on Barker Mountain, we’re enveloped by varying greens and hints of oranges and reds as fall threatens.
Picture-perfect.
A postcard come to life.
Out here, it’s easy to forget what lies only a few miles away. Simple to ignore all the bodies in the ground and at the bottom of that gorge. One might be able to pretend that reality doesn’t exist, and that’s my plan, for the time being.
“It’s beautiful here…”
Weston clears his throat. “It is.”
But as I drag my focus from the area around the lake and back to him, I find he isn’t examining the scenery like I have been. He’s staring right at me with a look I never expected to want to see.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The man is essentially holding me captive.
I could walk down the mountain.
I could probably even beg him for my keys and drive away.
But it would mean Dad would pay the price.
Whether he’s calling the shots or is merely the jailer, Weston might as well have me here shackled. Yet, I want to be closer to him. I want to find out what makes him tick and why things aren’t adding up. I want answers that only he can give me, and I want this fire that seems to light inside me every time we’re in the same room to be quenched.
If that’s even possible…
It burns hotter each day that passes, and even now, as I swim closer, the cool waters swirling around me.
Weston retreats, his hands moving along the surface. “What are you doing, Callista?”
His low, gravelly tone should make me wary and act as a warning to turn around and climb out of the water. It screams, leave me alone. But apparently, I lack the same self-preservation instinct when it comes to The Beast that I possessed when I drove up here because it makes me heat from between my legs out through my entire body, despite the chilly liquid surrounding us.
Fighting a grin at his discomfort, I inch toward him. “Swimming.”
Jaw clenched, he retreats. “You’re playing a dangerous game, girl.”
I raise a brow at him. “I’m not a girl, Weston. I haven’t been one for a very long time. I’m thirty years old and not some innocent virgin whose virtue you need to protect.”
Though, it has been long enough that I feel like a virgin, unable to remember the last time I had an orgasm from a dick or even a man’s hand.
He growls deep, the sound rippling across the almost glassy water. “And I’m old enough to be your father.”
I snort and can’t fight the grin as I vividly recall what I just saw when I walked out of those trees. His strong, chiseled chest and arms, rippling abs, rock-hard body all the way down.
The man doesn’t look like he’s in his mid-fifties, nor does he act like it. He’s fucking stunning, an Adonis carved out of marble, complete with the silver hair that makes him all the more appealing.
As if he can read my thoughts and finds them deeply offensive, he snarls louder. “I’m also the man responsible for the predicament you’re in, Beauty.”
Perhaps now isn’t the time to poke The Beast, but I can’t help myself.
I raise another brow at him. “Are you?”
He flinches slightly, as if I’ve struck a nerve, and the mystery of the strange things he’s said since I’ve come up here deepens. Someone else is pulling the strings, but he won’t break free of them.
Why?
As much as I like to watch the massive, strong man squirm, if I question him, he’ll only retreat farther, and my fingers itch to touch his thick, lush, shimmering hair, to run over his hard, lean muscle, to know what it feels like to have his mouth on me.
I must be suffering from some sort of Stockholm syndrome.
It’s the only explanation that makes sense because my attraction to this man has only grown every day since I’ve been here when the opposite should be happening.
After all he’s told me, everything I’ve seen, I should stay locked away in my room or the library until Dad resolves his dispute with the Barkers and then race home as fast as my car will take me.
Still, I swim closer, hoping he’ll let me advance this time, that he might consider that what I’m feeling, what we’re feeling, could be real.
In one swift move, Weston shifts back and circles away from me, using his powerful arms to stroke through the water toward the shore, where our clothes lie in a pile on the beach. “I’m not playing this game, Callista. Not now, not ever.” He pauses when he gets halfway out of the water, rivulets running down his chest and over his abs to disappear into the lake, lapping around his waist. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
He turns away and steps from the lake, keeping his back to me, but not before I catch a glimpse of his rock-hard cock jutting out from between his legs.
Shit.
That man may claim this is a bad idea, that what I’m experiencing isn’t real, but he feels it as much as I do. This strange attraction—the pull, the draw, the need. It is real. For both of us.
His muscled legs and hard ass ripple as he bends to pick up his clothes and boots, then stalks toward the forest without bothering to put them back on. He pauses at the base of the path. “Be careful on your way back to the house. Like I said, there are things more dangerous than me in these woods.”
Holy hell.
That seems unlikely, given what I just saw.
My cheeks warm, I plug my nose and dip under the water, letting it wash over me and cool my heated face—and the rest of my body that seems to be on fire now. But when I come back up gasping for air, I don’t feel any better.
If anything, I’m only more confused than I was when I came down here after him.
He doesn’t want me here but says I can’t leave. He avoids me like he hates me, but when we’re in a room together, I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Everything about this is wrong, but his heated gaze on me felt so right.
Weston Barker is hiding something, and he’s hiding from me.
But he can’t hide forever, not when we’re trapped on this mountain together.