CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A gruff chuckle parts my lips as I step out of the limo to admire our home for the next week. My dad sent us to an isolated cabin in the woods. But calling this place a cabin is an insult to the builder. The log structure is massive and modern. It’s the type of spot that someone with money owns to escape the daily grind. Comfort and luxury are combined.
I do a visual sweep of the area. There’s nothing else to see except the lake and trees. No sign of people or civilization. Only nature in its purest form. We’re alone, which is far from peaceful.
At least there’s a truck in the driveway. That must be Dad’s doing as well. It’s awful considerate to provide us with a means of escape.
I turn back to the Escalade, peering through the open door. “Planning to join me, wife?”
“No,” Paisley mutters from her seat. “And quit calling me that.”
“That’s what you are, I’m afraid.”
Her baby blues narrow into feisty slits. “For how long?”
“Why don’t you get out and we’ll talk.”
She sniffs, still not moving. “I’d rather go home.”
“And I’d rather we never met but here we are.”
Paisley sucks in a sharp breath. “Rude.”
“Accurate.” I stretch my arm, fingers curling to beckon her. “C’mon.”
“No.”
“You’ve already come this far,” I grit. “Might as well enjoy the scenery.”
After several disgruntled huffs, my bride slides across the leather and accepts my hand. I hoist her from the vehicle like she’s a sack of feathers. She squeaks at my gentle treatment but the sound cuts off when her gaze locks on our lakeshore home.
“Wow,” she breathes.
“Not too shabby, eh?” Even I can admit that Dad chose well for us.
“It’s stunning.” Paisley’s steps are clumsy as she blindly walks toward the A-frame cabin. “We get to stay here?”
“Oh, now you want to stay?”
Her wide stare moves along the log base, lifting skyward to the tall peak of the roof. “I might’ve been a bit hasty at first.”
My chuckle confronts her feigned indifference. “Wonder what you’ll say after seeing the rest.”
“Ready when you are.”
“It’s okay to admit you’re excited.”
“Just cold.” She shivers and I’m reminded that it’s much cooler in northern Minnesota compared to the southern region.
Her wedding dress does little to conserve any warmth she’s cooking.My suit jacket can be a quick fix to that problem. I have a hunch that the gesture will get shrugged off instantly. A blanket of burrs would be better received.
“Dammit, woman.” I gesture to the cobbled path. “Get your ass inside.”
Our driver unloads the bags and we trail after him to the front door. He unlocks the deadbolt, stepping aside to grant us entry. I pass him a hefty tip in exchange for the keys, and then he’s backing away to allow our honeymoon to begin. Just fucking great.
Paisley is held captive again once we cross the threshold. To be fair, the view straight ahead is worthy of her awestruck expression. The entire back wall is made of glass. Beyond the window is a deck that’s large enough to host a Benson family reunion. There’s a hot tub sunk into the right side that might get some use.
“What a view.” Paisley’s voice is sweeter than spun sugar as she appreciates our private patio surrounded by nothing but trees and the bay.
“Damn fine indeed.” But my gaze is on her.
That realization has me turning my focus to the kitchen, which occupies half the square footage. A lounge area fit with a fireplace sits opposite. There’s not much else. My skin is suddenly stretched too tight. I’m cramped in this crowded floor plan. It’s cozy and intimate and clearly meant to keep us in close quarters.
At least the interior design reflects the same upscale quality as the outside. Not that I expected less with Dad responsible. Meanwhile, my wife appears impressed with the expensive shit arranged around the room. I’m reminded that we come from vastly different backgrounds. Is this the way into her good graces? My gaze finds its way back to her as she gets a feel for the layout.
Her fingers drift along glossy countertops and stainless-steel appliances. A plush rug stops her short, toes curling into the thick fibers. She pets the fuzzy blanket hanging over a chair as if the cashmere knit is the softest thing she’s ever felt. Even the light fixtures get an adoring glance. The burning in my gut certainly isn’t jealousy. Hell, I’m glad she’s distracted. That leaves me to do as I please.
Paisley wanders off to explore the lofted den or whatever’s up the staircase while I settle onto the couch and flip on the news. While the anchors drone on, I take a moment to breathe. It’s quiet and still and awkward.
Nothing needs my attention. I haven’t sat idle since influenza bit me in the ass four years ago. But even in a fever haze, I was keeping tabs on the business. That’s not an option now. Dad insisted that I treat this trip as a true vacation. Anyone who bothers me—excluding my bride—will face his wrath.
A dull throb kicks against my temples at the reminder of who’s sharing this space with me. My thumb spins the ring on my finger, and I consider removing the strange weight. That impulse vanishes faster than it formed. If I ditch the symbol of our marriage, Paisley will be quick to follow. She’s just looking for an excuse to flee. The drive up here was tense, just like every other battle I’ve fought against her. I slip off my jacket and try to get more comfortable. The cuffs of my shirt are too tight, just itching to be rolled up. That would require me to expose more than I’m willing.
But I’ll have to let my guard down eventually. We’re stuck in this cabin together. Being alone with her for days on end will dry hump my last nerve. I’ve been trying to trick myself into believing it’s a bad dream.
The approaching slap of bare feet on hardwood dissolves that illusion. “There’s only one bed.”
My eyes shift from the screen to where Paisley broods. “Is that a problem?”
“Yes!” She tosses her arms in the air like that should’ve been obvious. “Where will you sleep?”
“In the bed.”
Her outraged squeak is more appropriate for a mouse in a trap. “Absolutely not.”
I recline into the cushions, disguising the fire in my blood as I picture her curled against me. “You’re my wife, Twinkles. We’ll share like a happily married couple on their honeymoon. No touching unless you initiate, though.”
Blonde hair whips back and forth with her refusal. “That doesn’t work for me.”
“Consent is important,” I chide.
“The sleeping arrangements, husband .” Her tone on that endearment twitches my lips. Damn, she’s feisty.
“I guess you’ll find somewhere else to rest your pretty little head.”
Paisley’s jaw drops. “You’d make me sleep on the sofa?”
“No,” I state calmly. “You’d make that choice on your own.”
“I can’t believe this,” she huffs. “How long are we supposed to stay here? ”
“A couple days at least. Just for show,” I add for the sake of calming her tits.
But then she goes and asks, “What are we going to do with ourselves?”
My gaze heats on her curves in the dress I picked out. “I could think of a few things.”
“Hey! You said no touching.”
I lift my palms. “Just looking. No harm in that.”
“Leads to trouble.”
“Only if we let it.” My voice is a coarse rasp that raises goose bumps along her exposed flesh.
She mumbles something under her breath while pinning a glare on the vaulted ceiling. “Is there a town nearby?”
For whatever reason, I like that she asks me rather than find out for herself. “Hacken isn’t too far away. Ten miles or so.”
“Is that truck ours to use?” She swats in the general direction of the driveway.
I nod at the hook by the front door. “Want me to take you somewhere?”
“Nope, I’ll manage on my own.” She begins backing away. “You’ve done enough already.”
“Too much,” I mumble absently.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m about to give that phrase fresh meaning.” My twinkly wife snorts and turns for the stairs. “Right after I take off this wedding gown, I’ll be out of your hair. Don’t wait up.”
I tense. “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.”
Paisley winks at me over her shoulder. “Gonna be a long night.”