Chapter 4
LEO
She's shivering in my cabin, puddles of snow melting around her feet, but she doesn't seem to notice. Her eyes are roving over the space as I coax the fire to life. We both need to be warm, quickly, or hypothermia could set in. And neither one of us needs that.
"You're going to need to get your clothes off," I grunt at her, only realizing what I've said when she gives me a quizzical look and shakes her head.
"I am not taking my clothes off in front of someone I don't know. You haven't even told me your name."
Her tone is teasing, and there's a lightness in her now that we're inside that draws me in. I want to ask her questions, find out more about who she is, and maybe even kiss the lips that are even now curving up as I glare at her.
"My name's Leo." I stand up, wincing at the pain in my knees as I move, then cross the space to my bedroom. "Now take your clothes off."
A pair of sweatpants and an old sweatshirt are easy to grab. They're not fancy, but warm and dry is the priority, so I don't think she'll complain about the faded logos.
When I step back into the front room. the sight of her tugging her jeans down makes my heart skip for a second. Want and need flicker to life in my belly and I'm tempted to scoop her up in my arms, to know what those legs feel like locked around my waist.
Rather than give in, I stomp over to her, holding out the clothes between us. "These are clean."
She kicks free of the jeans, the flickering flames giving her skin a golden glow, and takes what I'm offering.
"Thank you, Leo." My name on her lips lights me up in a way I know it shouldn't. Everyone I know has told me I've been alone too long. This is probably proof they're right. "I'm Celeste, by the way. So you don't have to call me Ma'am."
"Yes, Ma'am," I answer, and she gives me a smile when I shake my head and back away. "I'll go change."
When I'm alone in the bedroom, the door between us firmly shut, I lean against the solid wood and release a breath. My hands ache to know what it's like to touch her skin. She has curves, soft and perfect, and I can imagine how silky she'd feel as I mapped every inch of her.
I groan into the lonely darkness of the room and force my thoughts back into order.
Not much help to her if I don't get myself warm and dry, too.
It doesn't matter that I'm already half hard at the quick sight of bare legs when we'd both survived that trek through the woods and fighting down the desire to march back out there and unwrap the rest of her.
It's just pent up energy, denial of companionship, whatever I can think of to justify it.
She's not a Christmas gift.
At least, not one meant for me.