Chapter 10 Calder #2
No. That’s worse. She’d use it against me, use it to manipulate her way free. And then my father would kill us both.
This is the only way. Marriage, possession, claiming her as mine, it’s the only way to keep her alive. Even if she hates me for it. Even if she’d rather die than accept it.
Too fucking bad. She doesn’t get to die. Not while I’m still breathing.
Minutes pass. Could be five, could be twenty. Time loses meaning when you’re holding someone on the edge of death, willing them to come back. The fire crackles beside us, heat radiating across my back. I keep Saint pressed tight against my chest, my body a furnace surrounding her.
Every shift of her body against mine is torture.
Sweet, agonizing torture. Her skin is warming now, no longer the shock of cold but the slow return of blood flow, of life.
And with the warmth comes sensation, not just for her, but for me.
The soft give of her flesh under my hands.
The way she fits against me like she was made for this, despite the circumstances.
The little sounds she makes as her body fights hypothermia.
I’m hard. Fully, achingly hard. There’s no hiding it, no adjusting away from it. My cock presses against her hip, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it except hate myself for it.
She’s dying, and I’m turned on. She’s hypothermic, and my body wants to claim her. She ran into a blizzard to escape me, and all I can think about is how right she feels in my arms.
I’m fucked up. Completely fucked up.
Slowly, so slowly, her skin starts to warm. Soon enough, the deadly blue tinge fades from her lips and color creeps back into her cheeks.
She starts to shake.
Violent, full-body tremors rack her entire frame.
I hold her through it, relief flooding me even as the movement presses her against my erection.
Her breasts slide against my chest with each shudder.
Her thighs clench and unclench against me.
It’s innocence and sin all tangled together, and I’m drowning in it.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intend. “Come back to me, sweet girl.”
Focus on her face. On her breathing. On anything except the fact that this is the most intimacy I’ve had with her, and she’s not even conscious enough to know it’s happening.
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first and glittering with confusion. Then awareness returns, and with it, her memory. She stiffens in my arms, and that sudden tension presses her even more firmly against me.
She has to feel it now. Has to feel exactly what holding her like this is doing to me.
“Wh-where—” Her voice is hoarse, barely there.
“The cabin. You’re safe.”
“Not s-safe.” She tries to pull away, but her body won’t cooperate. The shivering is too violent, her strength completely sapped. Then she goes very still, and I know the exact moment she realizes our situation. Nearly naked. Pressed together. My obvious arousal digging into her hip.
Her eyes widen. “You’re—”
“I know.” I don’t apologize. Can’t lie about it. “My body’s responding. I can’t exactly control it.”
Color floods her cheeks, not from cold this time, but from embarrassment. Or maybe anger. Hard to tell with Saint. “Let m-me go.”
“Can’t do that.” I adjust my hold, trying to ease some of the pressure but only managing to slide her body against mine in ways that make my breath catch. “You’re hypothermic. You need body heat, or you could die. So stop fighting and let me warm you up.”
“D-don’t want—” She shivers again, violently and full-bodied, which presses her breasts harder into my chest. Her nipples, tight from the cold, drag across my skin, and I have to bite back a groan.
“I don’t care what you want right now. Right now, I’m keeping you alive whether you like it or not.” My voice comes out strained from the effort to maintain control.
She makes a sound that’s half sob, half laugh. “M-monster.”
“Yeah.” I tuck her head under my chin, one hand splayed across her back, trying to focus on what’s medically necessary rather than the feel of her soft skin under my palm. “The monster that saved your life. Again.”
We stay like that as her shivering gradually subsides.
Minutes stretch into an hour, maybe more.
The storm howls outside, but inside, there’s just the crackle of fire, our breathing, and the slow return of warmth.
Underneath it all is the tension—sexual, undeniable, and wrong as hell, given the circumstances, but it’s there, nonetheless.
I can feel every breath she takes. Every subtle shift of her body. The way her skin goes from cold to cool to warm under my hands. The softness of her pressed against the hardness of me. It’s agony. Beautiful, terrible agony.
My cock hasn’t softened. If anything, as she warms up, as her body returns to life, the ache grows worse.
I don’t move. Don’t act on it. Just hold her, torturing myself with the promise of what could be mine if circumstances were different.
If she wanted this. If I hadn’t destroyed any chance of her coming to me willingly.
Eventually, she stops shaking, and her breathing evens out. She’s still weak, still exhausted, but no longer in immediate danger.
And she’s definitely aware of exactly what pressing her nearly naked body against mine has done to me.
“Why?” she asks suddenly, her voice small against my chest.
“Why is my dick so hard I can’t see straight?”
She huffs through her nose. Was that a laugh? “Why did you c-come after me? Why not just l-let me die?”
It’s a good question. One I’m not sure I have a good answer for, or at least not one I’m willing to say out loud.
“I didn’t go through all of this trouble to let you die in a snowstorm,” I tell her, keeping my response direct, even if it’s not the whole truth. “I know it’s difficult to accept, but death isn’t the answer.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, then replies, “I’ll n-never stop trying to escape.”
“I know.”
“I’ll never f-forgive you for this.”
“I know that too.”
Another pause. “And you’re still g-going to make me marry you?”
“Yes.”
She sags against me, the fight draining out of her body. Not surrender, not yet. But acceptance of the immediate reality. She’s alive because I saved her. She’s warm because I’m holding her, and she has nowhere to run.
“I hate you,” she whispers.
“So you’ve said a time or five.” I brush strands of her silky blond hair back from her face, feeling the warmth returning to her skin. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll marry me, anyway. Tomorrow we will go to your father. Get the license and make this official.”
“He won’t believe it. He knows I wouldn’t choose this.”
“He’ll believe what we make him believe.” I meet her gaze in the firelight. “I want you to tell him you love me. Tell him we’ve been seeing each other in secret for months. And you want this marriage.”
“I c-can’t—”
“You can’t or you won’t? Because there is a difference, and if you don’t, then I’m going to have to look like the monster you claim I am. I’ll have him out of that church and homeless within a week, and we both know that’s not what you want.”
Tears fill her eyes. “You’re c-cruel.”
“I’m practical.” I wipe away a tear with my thumb. “The sooner you accept it, the easier all of this will be.”
“It’ll n-never be easy.”
“Maybe not,” I agree. “But there’s a chance it might be, and I want to take the easiest road possible with you.”
She closes her eyes, fresh tears tracking down her cheeks. I hold her through it, letting her cry, letting her grieve the life she thought she’d have. The freedom she thought she’d keep.
When her tears finally stop, she’s limp in my arms and exhausted beyond measure. The near-death experience, combined with emotional devastation, has completely drained her.
“Sleep,” I tell her, adjusting the blankets around us. “We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow.”
“Can’t s-sleep here. With you.”
“You don’t have a choice. Moving you right now would be stupid. Your body needs to stay warm.”
“But—”
“Saint.” I catch her chin, making her look at me. “You ran into a blizzard to escape me and nearly died. I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night. So accept it. Close your eyes. Go to sleep.”
She stares at me for a long moment, war waging in her blue eyes, and finally she gives in to exhaustion and closes them.
I don’t sleep, and couldn’t even if I tried.
I’m too worked up, my thoughts racing. I stay awake, hours ticking by through the night, while I hold her close, keeping her warm and ensuring her breathing remains steady.
The wound on my head has stopped bleeding, but it still throbs with a vengeance. I wouldn’t be surprised if I need stitches, and if so, that will have to wait till morning.
Right now, all that matters is the woman in my arms.
The woman who’d rather die than be mine.
The woman I’m going to marry, anyway.
As the storm rages outside and the fire burns low, I make a silent promise: I will keep her alive. I will keep her safe. I will make her mine in every way that matters.
Even if she hates me for it.
Even if it destroys us both.
Because the alternatives—watching her die or letting her go—are not something I can do. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. I’ve made my choice. Made her choice too. And that’s just something she will have to learn to live with.