Chapter Three
Knox
I brake so hard that the truck slides a little as I pull up next to the cabin. The heat is on full blast, and I'm starting to sweat in my layers of winter gear and thick coat, but I couldn't care less .
In the back seat, Rose is practically blue, though the color's starting to come back into her face. Thanks to Logan taking off most of his clothes and holding her tight in his arms, her face now pressed against his chest .
I glare into the rearview mirror .
Of course I'm worried about her. Of course I want her to get warm. She was probably a few minutes from going into hypothermic shock — it's a fucking miracle we stumbled across her when we did .
But that doesn't mean I want it to be Logan she's leaning against like that, his arms around her. Rose is fucking stunning , the kind of beautiful that makes your mouth go dry and your dick stand up instantly .
The kind of girl I want .
As I turn off the ignition, a quick memory flashes across my brain, suggesting itself to me .
Logan and I have shared before. Only once, and the girl didn't work out, but watching her nearly overwhelmed by taking on the two of us at once was fucking incredible .
For an instant, as I get out of the truck, I glance into the backseat. Rose's eyes are half open, sky-blue and watching me .
And I wonder what she would look like overcome with pleasure, sandwiched between Logan and me. I go rock hard instantly at the thought of those eyes, hazed over with pleasure, her head thrown back .
Then I shake my head, trying to chase the thought out, and open the back door .
"Come on," Logan is saying softly to Rose. She sits up straight, his coat enormous wrapped around her small frame, and then scoots over toward me .
I don't even ask if she can walk, I just scoop her into my arms and then kick the door shut, heading for our cabin. She's light, soft, and supple, and she snakes one arm around my neck, holding on .
I grit my teeth and thank every fucking saint on the planet that we saw something moving strangely out on the trail and didn't just ignore it. Even though Rose has barely said a word yet, the presence of someone so small, delicate, and helpless sparks a deep protective need inside me .
The cabin isn't big or glamorous, but it's our home for the winter, and it does pretty nicely for us. I put Rose down in front of the radiator and crank it all the way to high as Logan comes in the door, stomping his boots free of snow on the mat .
"Give me your hands," I tell Rose .
She obeys, looking up at me with those crystal-blue eyes. Her hands are still freezing, the fingers slightly blue, and I turn them over carefully in my own, searching for signs of frostbite .
She wasn't even wearing gloves , I think. What the hell was she doing ?
Even though she's stopped acting like a zombie, she's still moving slowly, like she's half-asleep. I've seen it before in people close to hypothermia — hell, I've felt it myself. As soon as she warms up she'll snap out of it .
"Her clothes are still damp," Logan says .
He's standing by the front door, just watching Rose and I, the lines of his jaw set hard .
"Go find her something dry," I say, as he pulls his boots off, then walks in his thick wool socks toward the bedroom we share .
We have separate beds, of course. We only share a bedroom because the cabin's not very big .
I look down at Rose, who's blinking now, like she's coming out of a daze, her wide blue eyes looking around, taking in the cabin's rustic wood walls, the furniture from the 1970s, the raw wood furnishings.
Most of what's here is either forty years old or has been made by forest service rangers who stayed in the cabin at some point, so it's mish-mash of things .
"Rose," I say, and she looks up at me .
Something tightens in my chest .
"We need to get you out of those clothes," I say. "They're still damp from the snow, so you're losing body heat by wearing them ."
"Right," she says, her voice still soft but less soft, like she's finally getting some spirit back. "Is it okay if I borrow something? I don't really have a change of clothes on me ."
I almost smile. Logan comes back into the main room of the cabin, carrying a pile of garments that all look like they're plaid flannel, along with a fur blanket draped over one shoulder .
"I think this will all be way too big," he says, setting the pile on a chair. "But it's what we've got ."
Then he pauses, and we look at each other. I stand a little straighter, and so does he .
"Why don't you make a fire?" I suggest, my voice coming out lower and more dangerous than it usually does .
His gaze flicks to her. After a moment, he smiles .
"Sure thing," Logan says .