Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Owen
She worked all morning, locked in her little office. I wondered if she’d feel strange with me here, but if she does, she hasn’t let on.
But I can’t tell if she’s getting anywhere. It’s almost dinner now, and dusk paints the room in amber light.
“How’d it go?”
She only groans.
“Glass of wine?” I ask her.
“That sounds delectable,” she says, smiling up at me. “I think that ought to warm me through, hmm?”
“Aye.”
I rise and head to the fridge, and pull out a bottle of wine. The kind that costs more than I used to make in a week, but is worth every damn penny.
“This is my favorite,” she says, her brows lifting. “How did you know?”
I shrug, brushing her shoulder. “Lucky guess.”
I don’t want to terrify her. I want her to trust me.
“Before you went to the office, you were telling me about another memory,” I prompt gently.
Her expression shifts. “God, it’s not a happy one… but you just look kind of—” she stammers, cheeks blushing. “You look, I don’t know.”
“For a romance writer, you blush awful quickly, don’t you?”
“Sorry,” she whispers. “Somehow, it’s easier getting the words on the page than saying them with my mouth. Well. I mean, in theory. Not like I’m getting the words I need.”
I lean in closer, resting her feet in my lap again.
“Tell me the memory.”
She swallows. “It was a family Christmas party, right? I was—what was I? A sophomore in high school?”
“I think a freshman,” I say because I know exactly what she’s talking about. “We were outside. Chopping wood?”
“We?” She laughs. “You were. You were shirtless, chopping firewood with your cousins. All of you were kind of showing off how hard you could swing the axe. But I think… you were really showing off your abs.”
Her voice drops. “My mother caught me looking at you.”
I make a low rumble in my chest. “What did she do?”
“She…” Her voice trembles. “She pulled me away. It hurt. She pushed me against the wall and screamed at me. Said, ‘That’s your brother. You can’t look at your brother like that.’”
I shake my head.
“God. I’ve carried that shame for so long.”
“Why?” I ask her, meeting her eyes. “Jesus Christ. I was never your fucking brother. Why did they have to foist that on us? As if we were some goddamn happy family that sprouted from the damn ground.”
She giggles. “No. But you acted like it, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” I ask.
She shrugs in response.
I stare at her and wonder if she’s thinking what I am.
“You’re beautiful, you know,” I whisper.
“Are you flirting with me?”
My voice is husky and low. “I—of course I am. I’ve got you alone. There’s no one here to stop us now.”
“I suppose our parents did what they thought was right,” she says.
“But it wasn’t, was it?”
She shakes her head and whispers, “No.”
I rest my hand on her thigh.
“You say you’re blocked from writing a romance novel, hmm?” I swallow hard, licking my lips.
She does the same, then nods. “Yes.”
“Good,” I say, my voice quiet but sure. “I’m confident I know how to unblock you.”
Heat simmers between us. And then—ding—the kitchen timer goes off.
The lights flicker off, then back on again. Snow is piled against the windows, thick and heavy.
We’re snowed in. Completely.
“There’s no way I’m getting back to my cabin tonight,” I murmur.
“Oh,” she says, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “Pity.”
I lean in. “Looks like you’re mine for a little while, aren’t you?”
She swallows. “Yes.”
“I imagine if your husband’s been fucking another woman,” I say, my voice dark, “it’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of you that way, hmm?”
Her pupils dilate, and her breath catches.
“Come here.”
I reach for her and pull her into my lap.
She nestles right there—her perfect arse pressed against my cock, hard and aching beneath her.
I cage her in with my arms, bracing her on either side. Then, I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear.
“I’m thinking of a thousand ways to unblock you, lass.”
“Oh god,” she whispers. “Owen…”
I tilt her chin and make her look at me.
“Aye,” I whisper. “A thousand ways. And we’ll start with the first one.”