Chapter 5 - Ruby
The snow caught in his beard makes him look like some kind of winter god.
Little crystals of ice cling to the dark strands streaked with silver, and droplets of melted snow glisten on his face, catching in the creases around his eyes.
He's beautiful in the most rugged, masculine way possible, and I can't stop staring.
My body's reaction is immediate and embarrassing. The throbbing between my legs has been a near-constant since I woke up surrounded by his scent, but now it's almost painful—an insistent pulse that makes me want to press my thighs together for relief.
What I really want to do is slip my hand beneath the blanket covering my lap and touch myself right here, watching those intense hazel eyes as I do it.
God, what is wrong with me? I'm not this person.
I've never been this overwhelmed by attraction, never felt this kind of primal need.
Twenty-six years old and still a virgin, not because of some moral stance but because the right opportunity never presented itself.
And now here I am, practically dripping at the sight of a man who's made it abundantly clear he wants to be left alone.
I force my eyes down to my plate, pushing the last of my eggs around with my fork. "These are really good," I say, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything, other than the sound of my own ragged breathing. "You're a good cook."
"Basic survival skill," he says, his voice doing that gravelly thing that sends shivers down my spine.
"Not for everyone. My dad can barely make toast without setting off the smoke alarm."
A hint of something—amusement?—flickers across his face. "Your father still around?"
"Yeah, both my parents are alive and well. They're in Arizona for the winter. They retired early. Both were executives at the same insurance company." I take a sip of coffee. "We're not particularly close, though. They always had... expectations I couldn't quite meet."
I don't know why I'm telling him this. Maybe it's the isolation of the cabin. Maybe it's because I don't think he'll judge me. He's clearly dealing with his own demons.
"What kind of expectations?" he asks, surprising me by engaging.
I shrug, setting my empty plate on the coffee table.
"Oh, you know. Get straight As. Be thin but not too thin.
Look pretty but not so pretty that I'm distracting.
Get a practical degree. Marry a suitable man.
Preferably a doctor or lawyer. Have exactly two children and a house in the suburbs.
" I give a rueful laugh. "Instead they got me.
Average student, definitely not thin, marketing degree, perpetually single, and recently fired. "
He's staring at me, those hazel eyes missing nothing. "They sound like assholes."
The blunt assessment startles a genuine laugh out of me. "They're not that bad, really. Just... conventional. They wanted me to have an easier life than they did, and they had very specific ideas about what that should look like."
"And what do you want it to look like?"
The question catches me off guard. What do I want? I've spent so much time trying to fit myself into other people's expectations that I'm not sure I know anymore.
"I don't know," I admit. "Not what I had, that's for sure. I was miserable at that marketing job, but I stuck with it because it was the responsible thing to do. Look where that got me." I gesture to my injured ankle. "Having a breakdown in the mountains."
His mouth quirks in what might be the ghost of a smile. "Could have ended worse."
"Thanks to you." I meet his eyes directly. "I never properly thanked you for saving my life. So... thank you, Cole."
He looks uncomfortable with my gratitude, shifting in his chair and glancing away. "Anyone would have done it."
"But anyone wasn't there. You were. And from what you've told me, you went out of your way to avoid people, yet you still came running when you saw me fall."
He's silent for a long moment, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Some instincts you can't turn off. Wasn't going to let you freeze to death on my property."
"Still. I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything." He says it firmly, almost harshly. "Especially not... that."
I realize with a flush what he must think I'm implying. "I didn't mean. I wasn't suggesting—"
He stands abruptly, taking my plate and his to the kitchen. "I know. Forget it."
Well, that was mortifying. As if I'd offer myself as payment for rescue. Even if the thought of his hands on me makes my pulse race, even if I did wake up from dreams of him touching me in places no one has ever touched.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, he returns to sit across from me again, his face serious.
"What about siblings?" he asks, clearly trying to move past the uncomfortable moment. "You have any?"
"No, just me. My parents weren't kid people, really. I think one was enough of a challenge." I pull the blanket higher over my lap, still feeling exposed despite being covered. "What about you? Any family?"
His jaw tightens. For a moment, I think he won't answer. Then he exhales slowly. "Mother's still alive, far as I know. In Florida. Haven't spoken to her in years."
"And your father?"
"Dead. Good riddance."
The venom in those two words tells me volumes. "Not close, then."
Cole's laugh is harsh, nothing like humor in it. "He was a mean drunk with fast fists. Used my mother as a punching bag until I got big enough to stop him. Then he used me instead."
The casual way he describes what must have been a horrific childhood makes my heart ache. "I'm sorry. That's terrible."
He shrugs, like it's ancient history not worth discussing. "Made me strong. Taught me how the world really works."
"How does it work?" I ask.
His eyes meet mine, and the darkness I see there frightens me. "The strong hurt the weak. That's the natural order. The only thing that stops it is choice."
"Your choice," I realize aloud. "That's why you're up here, isn't it? You're afraid of hurting someone."
His expression shutters completely. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I think I do. You said it yourself yesterday, that it's better this way. Better than what, Cole? Better than being around people you might hurt?"
"Drop it, Ruby." My name comes out as a warning, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.
But something makes me push. Maybe it's the vulnerability I glimpsed, or maybe it's just that I want to understand the man who saved my life. "Is it because of what happened in the military? You mentioned Special Forces. Did something happen there?"
He's on his feet quickly, towering over me, his face tight with barely controlled anger. "I said drop it."
I should be scared. Any rational person would be intimidated by six-foot-plus of obviously furious man looming over them. But instead, all I feel is a rush of heat, my body responding to his proximity in ways my brain knows it shouldn't.
"I'm sorry," I say, not breaking eye contact. "I didn't mean to pry."
He stares down at me for what feels like an eternity, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. I can almost see him fighting for control, forcing the anger back down. Finally, he steps away.
"Going to check the generator," he says tersely. "Stay off that ankle."
And then he's gone again, the door closing firmly behind him.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, my heart pounding in my chest. This man is dangerous.
Not to me, I don't think, but to himself.
He's caged himself away from the world because he doesn't trust what he might do.
The realization should make me wary, should make me grateful I'll be leaving as soon as the storm clears.
Instead, it makes me ache for him. Makes me want to show him he's not the monster he thinks he is.
I adjust my position on the couch, trying to ignore the persistent throbbing between my legs. The combination of fear and attraction is new to me—a cocktail I never expected to find intoxicating. But there's no denying it. Every interaction with Cole leaves me more fascinated, more aroused.
I'll have to take care of it myself tonight, alone in his bed surrounded by his scent. The thought makes me blush. I'll be quiet about it. Discreet. It's just physical release, after all. Nothing to do with the brooding mountain man who's watching over me.
That's what I'll tell myself, anyway, as I slide my fingers beneath my panties and imagine they belong to someone else entirely.