Chapter 8
Warm Apple Pie
CALLIE
I’m still half asleep when I reach down to scratch Honey Bunny’s head, but when I go to stroke his long ears, I find them… short.
My eyes fly open, and I prop myself up on my elbows. Where the fuck am I? A black cat is lying along my side and while I’m watching, he stands, arching his back with a big stretch and yawning so wide I can see down his throat.
Oh my god.
I shoot to a full sitting position, and the cozy fleece blanket I’m under falls down.
And what the flying fuck am I wearing? It’s an old oversized concert t-shirt for—I pull out the front so I can examine it…
Gin Blossoms?—and my underwear. That’s it.
Where are my clothes? Where the fuck are my pants?
I’m in a strange bed.
In a strange room.
In a strange cabin… oh.
I leap onto my feet, the blanket tangling in my legs and almost bringing me down onto the cool wooden floor. The cat hops down gracefully and casually strolls out the partially open door.
My heart’s racing, and I take a second to get my bearings.
The room is pretty stark, just a queen-sized bed, one tall dresser, and a desk that doesn’t look like it gets used very much.
On the wall there are paintings of… pies?
The radiator along the wall turns on with a few loud ticks and I startle.
Then a man’s voice sounds from the other side of the door.
“Would you like breakfast, Sir Fluffy?”
Sir Flu—again, what the fuck.
I place my hand on my thumping chest as everything comes back to me.
Standing outside Maine Coffee Co. Making the highly questionable decision to follow Wes to his cabin. Crouching behind a tree in the snow flurries and passing out. Warm fire. Zip ties. Capable hands helping me to the couch. Hot chocolate.
Oh. Hot chocolate? Is that why I don’t remember the end of last night, or why I’m in a strange t-shirt and underwear? The drink tasted like heaven, and we were discussing finding Shane.
Then nothing.
I don’t remember getting changed into this shirt or going to bed.
I don’t remember agreeing to sleep here.
I dash to the window and push aside the curtains.
I’m blinded by the bright sun. I’m looking out at the side of the cabin, with a partial view of the frozen lake.
The sun is shining on a fresh layer of snow on the ice, and it glistens like a billion diamonds.
If I had to guess, there’s a foot of snow on the ground.
I really didn’t have a choice about staying here, unless I was going to snowshoe home or sleep in my car, both of which would’ve probably landed me in the morgue.
But he didn’t have to fucking drug me.
“There you go, kitty. I’m going to go check on our guest.”
Oh, fuck. My eyes dart around for pants. Nothing.
There’s a light knock on the door.
“Callie?”
I dash over and reach for the fleece blanket, wrapping it around my waist like I’m a dude who just got out of the shower. Only a squeak escapes my throat. I stare at the door and watch in horror as it slowly swings open.
Wes sees me by the window and a wide smile crosses his face.
He looks aggravatingly hot. Stupidly attractive in a fresh blue hoodie and the same gray sweatpants from last night.
The hoodie hugs his broad shoulders just snug enough that I wonder if it’s even comfortable.
While I’m watching, he takes his hand, pushes up his sweatshirt, and scratches his abdomen.
My jaw drops at the brief sight of his chiseled muscles. I swallow the lump in my throat.
No. I am not hot for my kidnapper. Definitely not.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks in a gravelly voice. “How do you take your coffee?”
I dart my eyes back up to his face, the one with a jawline that could cut glass and those crystal blue light eyes, and he’s still smiling at me like this is a completely normal situation and I’m an invited guest in his house.
I want to strangle him. And fuck him? It’s confusing.
And so I do what comes natural to me. I pick a fight. I stride over, attempting to look intimidating, even though I’m a foot shorter. The smile fades from Wes’s face as I take one hand and push him as hard as I can. He doesn’t move, obviously. My other hand is still holding up the fleece blanket.
“Did you drug me? Again?? And then did what? Got me naked? Played dress up? Did you…” The words get stuck in my throat as I picture myself naked on the bed behind me, Wes running his huge hands over my body, maybe using one of his thick fingers or his tongue—
Fuck!
“I didn’t touch you in any inappropriate way. I promise. I would never.” His holds his hands out, eyes wide and deeply concerned.
Annoyingly, I kind of believe him. And I’m the tiniest bit disappointed, which is interesting to me.
It seems like my brain is wholly accepting a new side quest to break my good girl spell before I leave Portland.
Anyway, touching me while I’m passed out would be a deal-breaker.
When I’m awake? That’s a different story.
“And I’m sorry about the sedative. I didn’t mean to make you pass out completely. I just wanted you to relax.” He twitches his face to one side. “No, that’s not true. I did mean for you to pass out.”
“What the fuck?” I push him again, and this time he steps back. But I’m ninety-eight percent sure it wasn’t because of the strength of my one-handed push that he retreats to just outside the bedroom door.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It was poor decision making on my part. I have trust issues.”
But when I step forward and go to push him again, he grabs my wrist and turns my body so my back is against the doorframe, and my wrist is secured above my head and against the doorframe in one of his hands. My other hand flies up to try to yank his hand off, but he just grabs that one as well.
And the blanket falls off my waist.
“Sorry? Fuck sorry.” My last two words come out as a whisper.
Heart racing, I stare up at him. I’m aware of the fact that with my hands above my head, the hem of the t-shirt is above my ass.
My nipples harden and there’s a tightening between my legs.
I should not be getting turned on by this man roughhousing me. What the fuck is wrong with me?
He drops my wrists and steps back, hands out in front of him, palms up.
“I’m sorry about that.” Wes’s eyes flit down my body and land on my bare legs. “Last night, I thought you’d try to drive home, and there’s no way I could allow you to leave my cabin in that kind of snowstorm. You wouldn’t have gotten far.”
“Because you were going to chase me?”
“No, I was thinking it would be because your car would’ve gotten stuck and what—” He swallows. “Would you want me to chase you?” The last words come out roughly.
I find myself leaning toward him, and for a second I really want him to chase me and kiss me and then hopefully fuck me until I die.
What? No. No!
“No, obviously not.” Now I’m whispering again.
He shakes his head as if to get dirty thoughts out and steps backward toward the kitchen.
“So, coffee?” Wes clears his throat and I nod. “How do you take it?”
“Cream and one sugar.” I bend down for the fleece blanket, re-securing it around my waist.
Wes raises his eyebrows before turning to the kitchen.
“What was that look for?” I touch the doorframe, sort of wishing he still had me trapped against it. “And where are my clothes?”
“What look?” Wes turns back to me, hand on the refrigerator door handle. “Your clothes are in the top drawer of the dresser.”
I don’t answer his question, instead shutting the guest room door.
I get dressed, then take my time straightening the bed, folding the fleece blanket and Gin Blossoms t-shirt, and giving myself a pep talk.
Just act normal. He’s kind of acting normal.
Nothing bad happened, aside from him knocking me out twice.
Undressing and dressing me. Looking sexy as hell.
It’s the smell of coffee and something sweet that finally pulls me out of the bedroom.
Wes is sitting at his cozy table in a dining room area, which I hadn’t noticed last night during all the chaos.
He’s got his fingers wrapped around a mug that says something about hackers.
There’s another steaming mug of coffee across from him, this one with Lake Savage written on it in script.
Wes watches me approach the table. Not scrolling mindlessly or even looking at a phone. Just me.
“I should leave,” I say.
“Have coffee first.”
It’s a suggestion, not an order, but I can’t resist the hot drink, so I decide to stay. But first, I fold my arms and scowl at him.
“Am I allowed to leave? Have any plans to drug me or zip-tie me today?”
“No, Callie Callahan.” He has the common courtesy of hanging his head and looking remorseful. “And I’m sorry about both of those things.”
“Three of those things. You drugged me twice.”
“Right. I’m sorry about all three of those things.
” He bites back what I’m guessing is an adorable smirk.
“To make it up to you, I brought your car over last night and cleared the snow off it again this morning. Plus ran the snowblower so you can actually get out of my driveway. The roads have been plowed but are still shit, so you need to drive home carefully.”
He did what now? I slide into the chair across from Wes and blink at him as I take my first glorious sip of coffee. Amazing all around. Then another smell hits me. Something sweet and warm and sugary.
“What’s that smell?” My stomach growls loudly to emphasize the question.
“Oh! Right.” Wes heads back into the kitchen and pulls open his oven. “Perfect.” He slides on an oven mitt and produces a gorgeous apple pie, the pastry top a perfect golden color crisscrossed on top of moist, sweet slices of apple pie covered in sugary goo.
“Holy shit. You made a pie?”
Wes nods. “I’m working through top crust options so I can beat Ruth Roy at the Portland Springfest apple pie competition in six weeks.”