Dominic
“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” I mutter.
My plans for a quiet winter day have just gone flying out the window. I’m going to be trapped in a small cabin with a strange woman who has delusions of love.
I’m grabbing my coat when I hear the crash.
“Fuck!”
I go out the back door just to give myself an extra second to calm down. She probably slid right into my truck. The old truck has its share of dents. One more won’t hurt.
I’m turning the corner of the cabin when the unmistakable scent of cinnamon hits my nose. My stomach growls, and a little of my irritation melts away. At least my grandmother sent someone with taste.
Then I see the porch. It’s toast. The steps are dust and most of the boards are broken. Worse, she’s totaled her car. It’ll need to be towed down the mountain.
“What the fuck?” The words leave my mouth before I see her.
But when I see her? All the words leave my head. I can’t think. Can’t fucking breathe. Not when her startled brown eyes land on mine. Her face is round with a button nose pink from the cold, and long eyelashes that cast shadows across her plump cheeks.
She’s gorgeous. She’s stunning. She’s…everything I could ever want.
“I’m so sorry,” she says voice trembling. She’s on the verge of crying and that won’t do.
“Get inside.” The words come out loud and sharp like I’m back to barking orders to a soldier under my command rather than a woman who just had a traumatic incident.
She jolts into motion, following me around the cabin to the back porch. Her steps are slow, almost reluctant, and I don’t blame her. Not after the way I’ve spoken to her. Can’t take back the words though.
Once we’re inside she stands by the door shaking like a newborn deer on unsteady legs. I’m not sure if it’s shock from the crash, the beginnings of hypothermia, or from being alone with me.
“Sit.”
She moves towards the kitchen table, her knuckles turning white as she grips the handle of her wicker basket. Her jeans are soaked from walking in the snow. Shorter than me, it came up to her thighs, the material darker where her body heat melted the snow allowing it to penetrate the denim.
Thighs thick enough to squeeze a man, they draw my eye to the soft curve of her ass. The supple flesh jiggles as she walks, even in the stiff denim. I could watch her walk all day. Every day.
She shivers, and I could punch myself for thinking of my own selfish desires when she’s wet and cold.
“By the fire.”
Halfway across the living space she stops. Turning, her sad brown eyes land on their only available target. Me. I can not handle her crying right now. Not when she’s cold. Not when she’s—
Her stomach growls.
“I made stew.”
She stares at me, like I’ve hit my head rather than offered her hot food.
“Fire.”
The word does nothing to move her closer to the biggest source of warmth in this cabin. She wasn’t outside for long but the longer she stares at me with confusion the more worried I become.
“Woman, you’re shiver—”
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“My name is Rachel.”
And I am an idiot. I was so wrapped up in getting her inside my cabin that I skipped a few steps.
“Dominic Barlowe.”
“I know. Yesenia told me.”
Even if I wasn’t already convinced she was the girl for me, the soft lilting way my grandmother’s name rolls off her tongue would seal the deal. The tone is telling. Full of warmth and love, it’s proof that my abuela chose well.
I might actually owe the old woman an apology.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel says shuffling her feet. We’ve tracked snow inside and it’s melting into dirty puddles all over my hardwood floors, but I don’t give a damn. I’ll clean the floors later. Right now, I just want to take care of her.
“Don’t worry, it’ll clean up just fine. Please get warm. The roads won’t be clear for a few days thanks to this storm. There’s no way down to the hospital if you get sick.”
“I don’t think cleaning the porch is going to fix it,” she mutters even as she moves away from me.
The porch. In the excitement of meeting my soulmate I completely forgot about the porch. Not to mention her car.
“The porch needed to be rebuilt anyway. It wasn’t stable.” It’s a small lie, but one I hope will ease her apparent guilt. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she stares at the fire, working the tender flesh in a manner that screams anxious.
Rachel is quiet. My words do nothing to soothe her as she stands by the fireplace still clutching her basket like it’s a lifeline. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to avoid conversation. Now I’m desperate to talk to her.
“Sit in the rocker.”
She doesn’t look away from the flame to see me pointing to the chair in the corner. It’s older than me, built by my paternal grandfather, and solid as hell.
I don’t want to leave her, but I do. Briefly.
I’m no use to her barking orders she either doesn’t hear or won’t obey.
The cabin is small, and I’m quick on my feet.
There aren’t many creature comforts in my home but the knit blanket my abuela made five Christmases ago is soft, and most importantly, warm.
It settles around Rachel’s shoulders like a red plaid cloud.
She jumps, startled, but when her eyes land on mine I don’t detect any sign of fear.
Good.
Dragging the rocking chair over, she plops down after I nudge her.
I’d rather get her out of those wet clothes and take a warm shower, but that would probably cross a line.
No matter how innocent the desire to see her safe and warm is, there’s no denying her effect on me.
The last thing she needs is a man with a hard cock telling her to strip.
When I come back with a steaming bowl of stew, I find her burrowed into the blanket, her head poking out when I get close.
“Thank you.” The words are soft, and I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to be grateful. This is the bare minimum of what I’ll do for her.
The bare fucking minimum.
I need to rein in these protective instincts. She’s not used to a man like me. I go after what I want, and I protect what’s mine.
Rachel doesn’t know it yet, but that’s exactly what she is. Mine.