3. Ellie
3
ELLIE
I’m no stranger to things not going as planned.
It happens in my line of work. Like the time I waited fourteen hours for a rare albino sheep, only to have my equipment malfunction at the critical moment. Or when I tracked a family of ring-tailed lemurs through the forest, only to be caught in a sudden downpour.
But nothing has ever gone not-to-plan like this. I’ve never been stuck in a tiny tent with six-foot-something of irritated male glaciologist during an Antarctic blizzard. Dove dominates the small space, his wide shoulders and muscular frame reducing my carefully organized shelter to a claustrophobic box. His presence is overwhelming—all bristling masculine energy that has nowhere to go.
As we attempt to get settled in our forced confinement, Dove grabs his radio and contacts the station. His voice is clipped and professional as he explains our situation—the early storm, the dead snowmobile, our plans to wait it out here. Commander Barrett’s static-filled response is full of concern, but Dove assures him we’re secure for now. The tent is properly anchored, we have supplies, and we’ll sit tight until conditions improve.
He sets down the radio, and it’s just the two of us again in the too-small space. My knees are inches away from bumping up against his. Try as I might, I can’t avoid looking at the giant of a man sitting in front of me—or avoid noticing how solid and muscular he is.
I feel an unwelcome flutter of heat, even as my brain reminds me that this man has been nothing but cold to me since my arrival.
“How long do blizzards like this usually last?” I ask, nervously eyeing the tent walls as the wind outside intensifies.
“Depends.” He adjusts his position in an attempt to take up less space. “Could be a few hours. Could be several days.”
Several days. The words sink in my stomach.
“Are you absolutely sure the snowmobile isn’t working? Maybe we could try again?”
He gives me a flat look. “Yes, I’m sure. Why would I voluntarily trap myself in here with you if there was any option to leave?”
The wind screams past the tent, making the fabric walls shudder violently.
“What is your problem with me?” I snap.
He lets out a breath, like the answer should be obvious. “My problem is that you’re too stubborn for your own good. You put yourself—and now me—in danger because you couldn’t follow simple instructions.”
“No.” I lock eyes with him. “Your loathing started the second I walked into the station. What did I do that offended you so much?”
He looks away, jaw working. “You’re a certain type. The kind who acts like this place exists to serve your needs. But this is a fragile ecosystem. Every visitor who comes here chips away at that. So when I see someone who’s just passing through to get what they need?—”
“That’s not how I feel.”
“You were just telling me about how the photos you take here could change your career.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m only here for personal gain. Or that I don’t respect this place.” Anger burns in my chest. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea that I’ve dreamed of coming here since I was a kid.”
He holds my gaze. “Is that true?”
“No, I’m lying about a childhood dream just to win an argument,” I say, my voice thick with sarcasm. “God! You’re so infuriating!”
We both fall silent. The wind fills the void, rattling against the tent with increasing force. I wrap my arms around my knees and stare at the wall, fighting the urge to scream.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally. His voice is softer than before. “You’re right. It’s unfair of me to make assumptions about your motivations.”
“Thank you.”
He rubs his hand over his stubbled jaw. “We’ve had a lot of people like that come here, though. Wealthy tourists who treat Antarctica like their personal playground. Filmmakers who disturb wildlife for the perfect shot. You can’t blame me for being wary about people.”
“So that’s what all this hostility is about? You’re just grumpy about all the visitors?”
His brows pull together. “I’m not hostile.”
Despite myself, I burst out laughing.
“I’m not,” he insists, his frown deepening. “I’m just…protective.”
I look at him, still amused. “Right. Well, I’ve never met someone who felt the need to protect an entire continent, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”
His jaw tightens, eyes flicking to the tent wall as if he’s hoping for an escape route from this conversation.
“All right, all right,” I say. “We can change the subject.”
“What do we need to keep talking for?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “You’re suggesting we sit here in silence for hours? Days? ”
He sighs, looking around our cramped quarters. “I don’t know. Fuck. I don’t know what to say, okay? It’s not like I’ve been in this kind of situation before.”
“Really? It’s not part of your weekly routine? Because this kind of thing happens to me all the time.”
A short exhale escapes him—not quite a laugh, but close.
“No, really. Last year, I was photographing jellyfish in the Maldives and got stuck in an underwater cave with a marine biologist. Before that, I weathered a monsoon in a leaky hut with a botanist who wouldn’t shut up about carnivorous plants.”
A laugh escapes Dove’s throat, a deep sound that seems to startle even him.
“Holy shit,” I say, grinning at him. “You do have the ability to laugh!”
His expression immediately closes off again.
“Sorry,” I say, wincing at my own tactlessness. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” I pause, listening to the increasing fury of the storm outside. “I’m a little freaked out by this.”
“Yeah. It’s not a great situation we’re in.”
“Be honest with me. Are we in a lot of danger?”
He lets a beat pass before answering. “We’re in a reasonably secure shelter with supplies. The station knows our location. But Antarctic conditions can turn deadly fast, so yes, there’s risk. I won’t lie to you about that.”
At least he’s not trying to placate me.
I shiver, feeling the cold seeping in despite my layers. I reach for my portable heater and pull it closer, but something’s wrong. The unit’s low hum has weakened, and the heat it’s putting out is barely noticeable.
“Shit.” I fiddle with the controls, but nothing changes. “The heater’s not working right.”
Dove moves closer and examines it, his large hands turning the device over carefully. After a moment, he looks at me, his expression confirming what I already fear.
“Battery’s dying. It’s not going to last much longer.”
“Of course it’s not.” I try to laugh, but it comes out strained. “Because things just keep getting better.”
I try to control my shivering, but it’s impossible to contain. Each gust of wind brings a fresh wave of cold that seems to penetrate straight to my bones. The realization of how precarious our situation is starts to take hold.
“Are you okay?” Dove asks, studying my face.
“No. I’m not okay. I’m freezing.”
He hesitates, then gestures for me to move closer. “Come here. I’ll try to keep you warm.”
In any other circumstance, there’s no way I would cuddle with a man I barely know. But I’m so cold, and Dove is so big, and if he’s offering to try to keep me warm, I would be stupid not to take him up on it.
I move toward him. At first it feels strange as he wraps his arms around me, enclosing me and pulling me close to his chest. But it takes the edge off the cold. I feel his strength and the protection of his body, and my panic starts to subside.
“Aren’t you cold, too?” I ask.
“I can deal with it.”
“I’m sorry you don’t have a giant to cuddle you.”
He lets out a low laugh that I feel rumble in his chest. “Yeah. Too bad.”
“Maybe we’ll luck out and the Abominable Snowman will show up.”
“Jesus Christ. No, thanks. I can do without cuddles from him. Besides, you’re mixing up your cryptids. The Abominable Snowman is in the Himalayas.”
“Oh, excuse me, Professor Cryptozoology. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of an expert.” I peer up at him. “So what’s the Antarctic version? The creature from The Thing ?”
He pauses for a beat too long before answering. “Actually, we have been experiencing some weird occurrences at the station recently.”
I glare at him. “Cut it out. I’m freaked out enough because of the storm. You don’t need to make it worse.”
“You’re the one who brought up monsters.”
A strong gust of wind hits the tent, sending a violent shiver through me. Dove looks down, concern etched on his face.
“Seriously, you okay?” he asks.
His eye contact and genuine concern send a different kind of shiver through me. I feel a heavy pulse of heat even with all the cold around us. Fuck. He really is an attractive guy, isn’t he? I banish the thought and clear my throat, forcing a smile onto my face.
“Yeah, I’m great. I’m having a delightful time. Definitely going to give it a full five stars.”
There’s a charged moment where we’re still looking at each other. My heart races as I watch him slowly wet his lips. He’s not going to…kiss me, is he? No. That would be absurd.
“Keep talking,” he says, his voice low.
I bristle. “Why do I have to be in charge of the conversation?”
“I’m keeping you warm. You need to keep us distracted from the storm.”
He has no idea how distracted I already am by the solid strength of his muscles around me. If he knew where my thoughts were right now, would he still hold me like this? I push the thought away, searching for something, anything, to say.
“Do you like poetry?” I ask.
“Depends on the poem.”
“Do you know ‘Hope is the thing with feathers’ by Emily Dickinson?”
“No.”
“Want to hear it?”
He looks surprised. “You have it memorized?”
“Well, I certainly don’t have a copy of it in my pocket.”
A faint smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“So...” he pauses, searching for the right word, “ you .”
I smile. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Do you want to hear the poem or not?”
“Sure.”
I begin to recite it, pulling the words from my memory, savoring each line and taking my time. The rhythmic rise and fall of the words fills our small shelter, creating a bubble of warmth that feels immune to the howling winds outside. When I finish, Dove is watching me with an intensity that wasn’t there before.
“How did you do that?” he asks.
I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s just a hobby of mine. I try to memorize a new poem every year.”
“You say that like it’s not a big deal, but it’s impressive.”
“I’m sure you could do it too.”
“Maybe. But I’d rather listen to you recite more poetry.”
I let out a gentle laugh, pleasure warming my cheeks. “Wow. You genuinely enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Believe it or not, I actually liked it.”
“And how about me?” I tease him. “Do you like me yet?”
He wets his lips, weighing his answer carefully. “Damn it. I guess I do like you.”
I break out into a grin. “Aww. The grump makes a friend. Am I your first?”
He scoffs. “Do you really think so lowly of me, Ellie?”
“So you do know my name.”
“I don’t forget simple information.”
“Hey. Watch it. I’m one of those people who blank on the name of someone I met five minutes ago.”
“You can memorize a poem but not remember someone’s name?”
“They’re completely different neural pathways. Poetry follows patterns. Names are just arbitrary labels attached to faces.”
“Fine. I’ll give you a pass.”
“Thank you, Dove.”
“Look at you, with that name recall.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Here’s the real test, though,” he says. “What’s my last name?”
Shit. I chew on the inside of my lip, trying to remember. “Calloway?”
“Close. It’s Callahan.”
“Right. Now I remember.”
“After I told you? Convenient.”
I marvel at how different Dove is now that we’re no longer at each other’s throats. Talking to him now actually feels…well, nice .
“I think I already know the answer to this,” I say, “But do you remember my last name?”
“I do, Miss Sheridan.”
I scoff. “How presumptuous of you. I could very well be a Mrs. Sheridan.”
“Are you?”
“No. But that’s beside the point.”
“Does that mean you’re single, Miss Sheridan? Or is there someone waiting for you back in civilization?”
My stomach tightens unexpectedly. “There’s no one waiting for me.”
“Then I won’t be stepping on any toes if I kiss you.”
Heat rushes through my core. “Again, awfully presumptuous of you, assuming that I want you to kiss me.”
“Fair enough. So tell me what you want, Ellie.”
Feverish desires rush through me. The truth is that I want to feel his skin against mine. I want him to pin me down under him, ravish me, do all kinds of things I shouldn’t want from a man I barely know. The absurdity of it only makes the wanting sharper, more overwhelming.
“Maybe we should kiss a little,” I say. “You know. Just to warm up.”
“Right. Just to warm up,” he repeats.
And then he kisses me—a slow, powerful kiss that he takes his time with. I melt into him, his kiss igniting something primal inside me. This isn't like any kiss I've ever experienced—it burns through me, turning my blood to fire.
I grab onto his chest with my gloved hands, wishing we didn’t have to be wearing so many damn layers. My thoughts scatter as our kiss deepens, my mind going dizzy with desire. Oh, god. I can feel him grow hard beneath me, his cock huge and throbbing.
We pull apart and I’m panting. The connection between us feels raw and electric. I want so badly to feel him inside me, to know what a man like him feels like in the most intimate of ways.
Another gust of freezing wind batters the tent, reminding me where we are.
“I’m not taking my clothes off in the middle of a blizzard,” I say breathlessly.
He responds with a deep growl. “Who said anything about taking your clothes off?”
And then he’s tearing off one of his gloves and thrusting his hand beneath my layers of clothes. When his hand touches my stomach, I draw in a sharp breath. His hand is warm, his touch focused. We hold each other’s gaze as he moves his fingers down further between my legs, finding the wetness waiting for him there.
I let out an audible gasp and press my hips against his hand. As he touches me, circling his fingers over my swollen clit, I bring my lips back to his. His other hand rises to wrap around the back of my neck, and he holds me hard against him, kissing me deeply as he touches me, his fingers stroking, stroking, stroking until I explode.