Chapter 3 Jax
JAX
Ishould not notice the way she blushed when her stomach growled.
But I did. I notice everything about Sloane Winters, and that is a problem.
A big problem. I have been doing this job for seven years.
Seven years of emergency calls and rescue operations, and people making spectacularly bad decisions in dangerous weather.
I have pulled families out of ditches, talked down panicked hikers, and guided lost tourists to safety.
It was what I did. It is who I am. And in all those seven years, I have never once been distracted by someone I was helping.
Until now.
Until a woman with dark hair, sharp obsidian eyes, and a stubborn tilt to her chin rolled down her window and looked at me like I was either her salvation or her worst nightmare.
She has not decided which yet, and honestly, neither have I.
I busy myself with heating up the soup, clattering around the small kitchenette more than necessary.
Anything to keep from staring at her. From noticing the way, she has tucked her legs under herself on the couch.
From seeing how the firelight catches in her hair.
From thinking about how good she smells even after hours in a car.
Vanilla and something citrusy. It hit me when I reached past her to grab her bags, and it has been stuck in my head ever since. Professional, Reid. Stay professional.
“I’ve got like wine and cheese in the car, too,” she says, and I can hear the embarrassment in her voice. Her cheeks have turned that pretty pink color again.
“Sounds like you were planning a good night, then.” I chuckle, stirring the soup. Trying to keep things light. “Sorry to have spoiled it.” I give her a small smile, meaning it. I knew what it was like to need time alone. To need space to process things.
Her face softens slightly, and she returns the smile. “You haven’t spoiled anything,” she says. My stomach does something weird. Something I absolutely am not going to think about.
The soup is ready, so I pour it into two mismatched bowls and grab some crackers from the cabinet. The station dishes are a collection of random pieces accumulated over decades. Nothing matches, everything is chipped or stained, but they are clean.
“Dinner is served.” I try for a smile as I set everything on the table. “Five-star dining, ranger station style.”
She moves to the table, and we eat in surprisingly comfortable silence.
Every so often, I catch her stealing glances at me, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
If she is as aware of this weird tension between us as I am.
I need to give myself some space. Some air.
Some distance from her vanilla scent and her pretty eyes and the way she makes me want to know everything about her.
“I’m going to go grab the wine and cheese before they freeze,” I say, standing abruptly. “Make sure we’re all set for the night.”
She nods, and I grab my jacket and head back out into the storm.
The cold air hits me like a slap, and I welcome it.
Need it. Needing something to clear my head.
Reaching her car, I open the door, and her scent hits me again.
I let out a frustrated growl, trying to ignore my body’s reaction to it as I search for her things.
I find a cardboard box filled with six bottles of wine.
That is a lot of wine for one person. Is she an alcoholic?
I look back at the ranger’s station and then back to the box of wine.
She said something about going through it, so maybe she’s here to drown her sorrows.
Even more reason to steer clear of her. I see the grocery bag of cheese and grab it as well.
At least this beats what’s in the cupboards.
This is temporary. In a few days, the storm will pass, she will leave, and I will go back to my life.
And that will be it. That is all this can be.
I take a deep breath to steel myself, and head back inside with the goodies. Sloane is still sitting at the table, her phone plugged into the charger, a small smile on her face as she texts someone. Probably that friend of hers. Riley, I think she had said, she’s probably worried about her.
“Got your wine. There’s a lot of it,” I say, stomping snow off my boots.
“Great. Thank you.” She looks up at me with something softer in her expression. She’s less guarded. “No one was supposed to see that.” She winces.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” I place the box down on the kitchen counter. I pull off my jacket and hang it on the hook by the door again. When I turn back to her, curiosity gets the better of me. I want to know her story. Need to understand what has brought her up here alone.
“So,” I say, moving to lean against the counter. “Want to tell me what you’re really doing up here alone with all this wine?”
“Not particularly.” She focuses intently on a piece of lint on her pants, not meeting my eyes.
“Come on. We are about to spend the next three days together. I should know that I’m not sharing a cabin with an axe murderer.” I raise a brow at her, keeping my tone light. Teasing.
Her own brows pull together as if my question is absurd. “I’m not an axe murderer.” She scoffs, but I notice the corner of her mouth twitch.
“See, that is what an axe murderer would say to throw me off the trail.”
“You’re the one who knows how to use an axe, maybe it is you.” She suddenly stills, and I see the moment reality hits her.
Oh shit.
She thinks I might actually be a bad guy. Damn it. I meant it as a joke, but I’ve just made her realize she’s stuck in a remote cabin with a strange man she doesn’t know. Real smooth, Reid.
“Hey.” I move closer slowly, hands visible, non-threatening. “I’m just making light of the situation. I did not mean to freak you out. Here.” I pull out my wallet and take out my ID, handing it to her. “I promise I’m a firefighter working with Search and Rescue, and I’m just here to keep you safe.”
She takes the ID, studying it carefully. Her hands shake slightly. “Do you mind if I take a photo and send it to my friend? She’s worried about me.”
“Please.” I nod. “I want you to feel safe.”
She grabs her phone and snaps a photo of my ID. Almost immediately, her phone buzzes with a response. Her cheeks flush bright red, and she shoves the phone back in her pocket quickly. Too quickly.
“What did she say?” I ask, curious.
“Nothing,” she says, handing my ID back.
Our fingers brush. An electric zing shoots through me, sharp and undeniable.
I see her eyes widen slightly, then feel her pull back.
Did she feel it too? We both frown at the contact, the unexpected jolt, before quickly looking away.
Ignoring it, we pretend it didn’t happen. Except it did happen.
“All good?” I ask, tucking my ID back in my wallet.
“Yep. All good.” She gives me the most awkward two thumbs up I have ever seen, and I fight the urge to laugh.
She’s adorable. Completely, disarmingly adorable.
Stop it, Reid. “Great. Now we are emergency friends,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
Trying to get us back to the comfortable ground we were on before I made that lame joke.
She gives me a warm smile, and I relax a little, happy that I haven’t messed things up completely.
This was going to be a very long three days.
“So,” I say, moving to the small kitchenette to clean up.
“You said earlier you were going to spend the night in bed watching movies. What kind of movies are we talking about?”
Her brows pull together slightly at my question. Did I ask the wrong thing? “Christmas movies.” She says defensively, like she expects me to judge her.
“Cool. I like Christmas movies too.”
“I wasn’t talking about Die Hard,” she says sarcastically.
“Neither was I.” This catches her off-guard.
“You watch Christmas movies? You?”
“Can’t I watch Christmas movies? And you’d better not say because I’m a man.” I smirk, my eyes narrowing on her.
She shakes her head. “Just never met a man like you who likes Christmas movies.”
“My grandmother loved them. I grew up in a huge family. Five brothers. I’m, I guess, the middle child, third born.”
“Five brothers. Oh my gosh, your poor mother. It must have been chaos.” Sloane chuckles.
“It was. And full of injuries.”
“I can imagine.”
“When it was the holidays, we went to my grandparents’ farm.
And because I was sick of the sight of my brothers, when they went and did things with my grandfather, I chose to hang out with my grandmother.
Have some peace and quiet, and she loved Christmas movies.
So, she’d bake gingerbread and we would sit by the fire and watch them. ”
Sloane stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Wow. That is incredibly sweet.”
“And every holiday I still do it, especially since my grandfather has since passed.”
“My mom made me watch them with her every year growing up. I am pretty sure I have seen every single movie ever made.” She chuckles.
“Same.” I smile as I dry my hands on a towel.
“I’m a sucker for the small-town baker who falls for the big city executive.
Or the single dad who rediscovers the magic of Christmas.
Or the woman who gets amnesia and thinks she is married to the guy who finds her,” she says, listing them off excitedly.
Then she laughs and it sounds uneasy, like she is embarrassed by what she just said.
“Love all of those. Did you want to set it up while I go have a shower?” I ask her.
“Are you able to have wine or are you still working?”
“I’m on call, so no wine for me,” I tell her.
She nods, understanding. “That must be hard. Being on call all the time.”
“It’s part of the job. You get used to it. Though, I will admit, watching a grown woman drink six bottles of wine over three days while I stay sober sounds like a special kind of torture.”
She laughs, that genuine sound again. “I’m not planning to drink all six bottles. I’m not that much of a disaster.”
“Could have fooled me. You did try to drive up a mountain in a blizzard,” I tease.
“Okay, fair point. But in my defense, I did not know it was going to be this bad.”
“The weather service has been warning about this storm for two days.”
“I may not have been paying attention to the weather service. I was a bit distracted by my imploding life.” She sighs.
There is something raw in her voice, vulnerable, and I want to know more. Want to understand what happened. Who hurt her? But I don’t push. “Well, you are safe now. That is what matters. Take your time setting up the movie. I will be quick.”
I head into the small bathroom, closing the door behind me.
The space is tiny, barely room to turn around, but it’s functional.
I strip off my thermal shirt and catch my reflection in the mirror.
What are you doing, Reid? I know what I’m doing.
I’m getting attached. I’m noticing things I should not notice.
I’m looking forward to watching Christmas movies with a woman I just met, instead of maintaining professional distance. I’m screwed.
The shower is hot and feels amazing after being out in the cold.
I let the water run over me, trying to wash away the tension, the awareness, the attraction I absolutely should not feel.
It does not work. My dick comes alive beneath my fingers.
Fuck. Three days. I just have to make it three days without doing something stupid.
My dick isn’t listening. I should release my tension, it might help me not cross a line that I can’t uncross.
“Fuck.” I curse, banging my hand against the tiles.
I can still smell vanilla and citrus. As I wrap my other hand around my cock, sliding up my hardened shaft, I tease the tip with my thumb and a moan falls from my lips.
I can still see those eyes looking up at me.
The image then shifts to those same eyes looking up at me from her knees.
Fuck. Those cheeks flushed pink with arousal.
Plump lips, open and ready for me. Shit.
I shouldn’t be thinking this. This is wrong, Reid, so fucking wrong.
But my cock and hand have minds of their own as they continue to torture me.
I can still feel that electric spark from when our fingers touched earlier.
Dammit. I wonder what it would feel like for those same fingers to be on me now.
Images of her fingers running over my skin, appreciating the work I put into maintaining my body in peak physical condition.
Those long slender fingers running through my hair, gripping the threads as I bucked into her, filling her with my cock as she rides me, her breasts bouncing as I make her scream with my cock.
“Fuck.” I moan again.
The images swirling through my mind have me coming quickly. I hang my head in shame as I clean myself off. Three days, Reid. I towel off and pull on clean sweatpants and a T-shirt from my bag that I left in the bedroom. I give myself a pep talk in the mirror.
Be a fucking gentleman, Reid.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Sloane has transformed the couch area.
She has pulled the coffee table closer, set up her laptop, and arranged blankets and pillows.
There is a glass of wine on the table for her and a bottle of water for me.
The fire crackles, the lights are low, and it looks cozy. Intimate. Dangerous.
“Ready? she asks, excitedly patting the couch beside her.
No fucking way am I ready. But I suck in a deep breath and settle onto the couch, maintaining a respectable distance between us.
She hits play, and a familiar movie starts.
Small town, big city executive, inevitable romance.
Except I can’t focus on the movie. Cannot focus on anything except the woman beside me, slowly relaxing as the wine kicks in, her walls coming down bit by bit.
And I have a feeling, when it is over, nothing is going to be the same.