Chapter 7 Darby
DARBY
Idally in the bathroom so long I feel stupid walking back out. What if they think I’ve been pooping all this time? So embarrassing.
The reality is I’ve been staring at myself in the mirror giving myself a pep talk. Or rather, a stern talking-to.
You’re reading too much into what happened in the kitchen.
You must have been mistaken.
Yet I can still feel the tickle of his beard on my skin and the soft pressure of his lips on my forehead. It makes me tingle all over, my cheeks pink, my eyes blazing in the mirror. I don’t even recognize the woman looking back at me.
Darby Barclay, divorced assistant loan processor, would never allow a strange man to put his finger in her mouth.
Like what the hell? I’m thirty-three years old.
My desire to date carelessly and share quickie one-night stands are far in my past. I can’t even blame alcohol or drugs on such bizarre behavior.
I don’t know the man. We’re not dating. We weren’t even flirting.
Were we?
Am I so out of the dating game that he was coming on to me, and I didn’t even realize it?
Hardly. He was rude and brusque, treating me like someone he didn’t trust or even like. Until…
I’m still confused about how he went from apparently hating me to touching me. Holding my throat in his palm. The rough pads and calluses at odds with the gentle kiss on my forehead.
Shivering, I watch as I lick my bottom lip in the mirror. Wishing Ren had waited just a little bit longer before tromping in from the cold.
Why was Henrik so rude in the first place? He has no reason to distrust me—let alone hate me on sight. I certainly don’t know him either.
Yet staring at myself in the mirror, I’m transfixed by the look in my eyes. The life. The fire glowing back at me.
I haven’t looked like this since… I can’t even remember.
I feel alive, my veins burning with fever, my heartbeat fast, pumping me up with energy and adrenaline. I want to go back in there and spar with him. See if I can rattle the stoic, guarded look off his face.
Maybe get his giant palm wrapped around my throat again…
My cheeks burn even hotter. I’m not into shows of dominance in the bedroom.
Am I? A soft voice asks. How would I know?
Kirstin tried to set me up after the divorce.
I refused. I told her I was over the hill.
On the shelf. Out of commission. The thought of setting up a dating profile and swiping left or right on a bunch of random men makes me want to throw my phone in the deepest part of the ocean.
Meeting some jerk for a cup of coffee and making small talk until I can escape—exhausting.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I’m forced to see the truth. I can’t lie to the woman with shining eyes and pink cheeks and racing heart.
I’ve been scared. Too terrified to even think about putting myself out there.
I’ve never been one of the cool, easy-breezy girls who flirt effortlessly. I don’t have a cute aesthetic or even a distinctive style. I don’t know how to make small talk, let alone come up with eloquent flattery.
The truth is…
I’ve only ever been with one man.
And he destroyed me, both emotionally and financially.
The last thing I ever wanted is to risk going through all that heartache all over again.
Maybe that’s why I’m able to respond to Henrik.
He may appear to be dangerous—but he’s safe because I’ll never see him again.
I can try—and fail—and never worry about running into him at the coffee shop on the way to work or in the aisle at the grocery store.
He doesn’t know my name, let alone where I live or work.
Even if I make a fool of myself, no one will ever know but him and me.
And maybe Ren, if he’s still here. Henrik doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who’s going to run to his buddies and brag about a notch on his bedpost, let alone laugh over a beer about how ridiculous I am.
One night and I’ll be gone on my way to Vegas. He’ll never see me again.
For the first time in my life, I’m entranced by the idea of a one-night hookup. If I have the guts to try. If he’s even interested.
Some of the light banks in my eyes. I didn’t come prepared to seduce a man.
The very thought is laughable. I packed sweats, leggings, and hoodies for the road trip, and then lighter clothes appropriate to wear around my parents.
My underwear and bra don’t even match. I forgot to bring a razor.
I can’t shave my legs, let alone my crotch—which is an absolute bush.
The last thing I’ve thought about is maintaining the kitty with the thought of anyone except my gynecologist looking at my nether bits.
It’s full-on winter in Colorado. I’m as hairy as Henrik with his wild-man hair and lumberjack beard.
Which shouldn’t turn me on so much.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to admit the truth, at least to myself. I’m attracted to the beast of a man who’s barely said two words to me—but those two words were like an epic George RR Martin novel between us. “Good girl.”
I feel sexual and desirable in a way I never thought possible.
Can I really go out there and seduce the lumberjack before continuing my way to Vegas? Have sex with a person I don’t know like it’s no big deal?
My nipples are rock hard, rubbing against the sweatshirt material. Hopefully it’s heavy enough to hide the fact that I didn’t put my bra back on. Heat coils through my core. My body is certainly willing to try.
As long as I can get out of my own way.
If he’s even interested.
As soon as I step into the kitchen, two pairs of male eyes lock onto me. One set of brown, the other a light silvery gray, but both intent and laser focused.
On me.
My knee-jerk response is to hunch my shoulders, drop my gaze, and quietly slip into the living room. I’m not used to having so much attention focused on me. It’s nerve wracking. What ifs rapid-fire through my head.
What if you trip and fall on your face? Mumble? Stutter? Can’t even talk?
What if you say something stupid? Awkward? Try to make a joke and nobody laughs?
What if you try to strut your stuff and they don’t even notice? Or worse, they laugh in your face?
What if…
Wait one fucking second. They? Since when did he become they?
Just because two men watch me slip out of the bathroom and lay my damp clothes on the stone hearth in front of the fireplace like it’s the most interesting television drama they’ve ever seen. There is no “they” in this equation. I’ll be lucky to pull off one.
Which makes me silently laugh—at my own stupidity.
They both can’t possibly be interested in me, and if they are, it’s the situation. How many Hallmark holiday movies have I watched where the heroine gets snowed in with the hunk? A ton. Though funny enough none of them have the heroine trying to jump the lumberjack’s bones the very first night.
Let alone his friend.
Besides, I’m not even attracted to Ren.
As if she can read my mind, Skadi yowls a long string of doggie talk I’m pretty sure means, “Yeah, right.”
He’s got a lot more going for him than the cocky grin.
He removed all the outer layers, including the stocking cap he’d been wearing outside, revealing a haircut more appropriate for a rock singer than a lumberjack or snowplow driver.
One side is shaved to the scalp, revealing some kind of symbols tattooed in his head with the number thirteen. Nordic runes, maybe? I have no idea.
The other side of his hair is long enough to fall to his shoulders, blending in with his beard, shorter and better trimmed than his friend’s.
His fingers and the backs of his hands are also tattooed, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his flannel.
Before I met Henrik, I would’ve said Ren’s tall and well built, but he looks small next to his friend.
Who’s actively scowling at me.
Great. This seduction is going swell.
I bite my lip nervously and focus on Skadi. I took long enough in the bathroom that she finished all her food. I grab her collapsible water bowl out of my bag and her dirty food bowl and walk as confidently as possible toward the kitchen sink.
Henrik passes behind me toward the six-burner gas stove just a few feet away. He doesn’t say anything at all but my nape prickles at his nearness. Remembering the way he trapped me against the island. His bulk behind me. Caging me.
Fighting the urge to look at him, I set the filled water bowl down on the floor and return to the sink to clean the other bowl. Wracking my brain, I try to think of something to say. I could have washed the damned bowl a hundred times—
“Do you like rabbit?” Henrik asks.
The low timbre of his voice resonates through me, vibrating my spine. “Yeah.” That would have been enough of an answer, but nerves make me babble. “I haven’t had rabbit since I was a kid before we moved to California. My grandparents had a farm in Louisiana. Dad and Papa often went hunting.”
I lock my jaws, stemming the flow of words. They don’t need to know my life history. Not that there’s much to tell.
He doesn’t say anything else but the invisible wire between us sparks, tugging us closer together.
Or maybe it’s my imagination. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this.
Long enough I doubt whether I ever felt such fierce attraction for anyone.
Michael and I married right out of high school.
Just babies, honestly. Young, dumb and naive.
Did I burn for his touch before we dated? I can’t remember.
Henrik steps closer to drop a pair of tongs into the sink. He doesn’t touch me, but he radiates heat. My pulse jumps in my throat, my eyes fluttering shut. Imagining his weight on top of me. The power in every inch of his impressive body. He’d probably break me in half.
Oh god. I wish.
I can’t help but turn toward him, watching as he grabs a folded towel and easily hefts a gigantic iron skillet into the hot oven. Straightening, he tosses the towel down on the counter and turns toward me.
Catching me staring. Drooling.
He rolled his sleeves up to his elbow, revealing just as many tattoos as Ren’s.
Only his arms are thick and corded with tendons as if he’s a weightlifter.
His shirt hugs his body, straining to contain the bulging muscles of his shoulders and chest. If he flexed, it wouldn’t surprise me to see buttons pop off and fly in all directions.
“See something you like, babe?” He drawls out, his voice impossibly deep with an undercurrent of amusement.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to wipe my mouth and lick my lips. “I’m starving.”
“Well, the rabbit won’t be ready for an hour. It needs a good long, slow roast in the oven.” He steps closer, his voice dropping even more. His eyes heat like melted chocolate, implying he means much more than how to prepare wild rabbit. “How about an appetizer to tide you over?”
Wordlessly, I nod, clasping my hands together in front of me to avoid reaching out to touch him. For one thing, I’m sure his friend is watching avidly, and for another, Henrik may not—
His big hands wrap around my elbows, and he tugs me closer. “Ren, get the fuck out.”
“I’m gone,” Ren says with a laugh.
As the door shuts, Henrik pulls me up against him. My breasts press against the solid wall of his chest. My pulse throbs frantically in my throat, my heart a fluttering bird trying to escape my ribcage.
Slowly, he lowers his head toward me. I tip my face up to his, my neck strained back because he’s so tall. Holding my breath, every muscle tight with anticipation.
“Am I reading this right?” He murmurs, his fingers kneading my triceps. “Is this alright with you?”
It takes me several tries to get my mouth to connect to my brain enough to talk. “Please.”
One big hand comes up to cradle my cheek. “You’re not… scared? Of me?”
The haze of desire clears a little, enough for my heart to ache for him. His face hovers over mine, his eyes dark with anguish and desire both. Old hurts and shadows, regrets and broken dreams.
Just like me.
I’ve been downright terrified. Alone, broken, adrift on the ocean without a paddle, clinging to the shattered remnants of my dreams. Afraid to try again. Afraid to get close to anyone. It’s better to be alone. At least no one can hurt me then.
Except I still hurt. Every day.
I uncurl my clenched fingers and flatten my palm on his chest. His heart thunders as hard as mine.
Muscles flex beneath my touch but he doesn’t make any advance.
Allowing me to touch him hesitantly, both hands running over his chest, up his broad shoulders, the rock-hard bulge of his arms. “I’m scared of a lot of things.
Most recently, I was sure we’d die in a terrible crash at the bottom of the exit because I got stuck in the snow. But I’m not scared of you.”
His brow wrinkles in a vicious scowl. “Why the fuck not? I did my best intimidation routine to scare you away before it was too late.”
I can only laugh breathlessly. “I don’t know.”
His thumb rubs over my bottom lip, and my pussy clenches hard enough a soft sound escapes my lips. “I’m not Ren. I’m not easy. I don’t do one-night stands.”
“Me either.” My cheeks heat. I fight to hold his gaze rather than drop my eyes with embarrassment, but something tells me it’s important for him to know the truth.
“I’ve only ever been with my husband. Ex-husband,” I clarify quickly at the narrowing of his eyes.
“We’ve been separated for a couple of years.
He’s completely out of the picture, thank god. It was a long, ugly fight.”
His jaws work, his cheek flexing. “He hurt you.”
I shrug it off. “Not physically.”
But spiritually, emotionally, financially, he wrecked me.
Skadi whines softly, reminding me of her presence. I pull back slightly so I can see her sitting politely, her tail swishing against the floor. “I need to take her out first.”
“I’ll take her, if she’ll go with me. The temperature dropped almost ten degrees in the past hour.”
I dread going back out in the snow and cold but it’s important to me that I tend to her needs myself.
“I’ll be fine.” Smiling over my shoulder, I move toward the door where I left my coat.
“As long as I keep her on her leash, it’ll just take a few minutes.
Once the storm breaks, I’ll let her have a nice long session in the snow. ”
Henrik doesn’t object as I drag on my coat and gloves. Points to him for not minding my dog cockblocking him, especially when things were just starting to heat up. Skadi complains vocally about the leash, but she knows the drill. If we were home…
Phantom pain slices through me. The home Michael and I shared had a huge privacy fenced yard with ample trees and space for her to play outside as long as she wanted and still be safely contained. We also lived next to a park with magnificent trails.
Not my small city apartment with a tiny strip of fake greenery for potty trips and busy streets.
We haven’t been home in a long time.