CHAPTER 33
Evander
I’m a patient man.
So I give Phoebe time to collect herself. I make her another mug of my special imitation hot chocolate electrolyte drink, since I’m back to being concerned about the risk of dehydration. But not due to hypothermia.
She just orgasmed so fucking hard all over me that she needs a refueling.
I grab a mug of water for myself and find that I can’t stop smiling. That was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
And then I serve up this evening’s dinner menu to both of us—a can of green beans and the delicious ready-to-eat packages of turkey tetrazzini.
I watch Phoebe eat without enthusiasm.
“It’s pretty bad,” I admit. “What’s your favorite thing to eat?”
“Well, I love a good enchilada in mole sauce. Or fresh trout with lemon butter and herb sauce. Peaches right off the tree have always been a favorite—when the juice just rolls down your forearm. Nothing better than that.”
She sighs. “What’s your favorite meal of all time? Like your death-row-last-meal level of favorite?”
“You mean besides the one I just enjoyed when you sat on my face?”
Her spoon pauses in mid-air. Her eyes widen.
I take a moment to just appreciate her. She’s wearing my much-too-big sweater, her thick wool socks, and nothing else. She sits cross-legged in front of the fire, holding the cracked mug. The light has wrapped her in an aura of gold.
Phoebe’s the most captivating creature I’ve ever seen.
She recovers, trying to hide her smile. “How about your second favorite, then.”
“This line of questioning is cruel and unusual.” I shove my tarnished spoon into my turkey, if that’s really what it is.
“But I’d have to say the paella in L’Arrosseria Xatva Les Corts in Barcelona.
Or Mustafa’s Gemuse Kebab in Berlin. Or any of the great sushi restaurants of Tokyo or maybe the gambero rosso di Sicilia at the Armani Ristorante in Dubai.
But nothing beats a Wagyu beef ribeye steak from Yosemite Ranch, since I try to avoid carbs whenever possible. ”
She stares at me, blinking.
“I like food,” I say.
“Seems so.”
“I like the best food. Kind of like my preference for the finest suits, the smoothest scotch, and the absolute best in blizzard companions.”
That gets a big smile out of her, and the force of it rocks me back. What is happening here?
Phoebe said she wants me to teach her.
I think she may have gotten that shit backward. Maybe I’m the student. It could be that I have a lot to learn from Phoebe’s wholehearted enthusiasm.
Her candor.
Her curiosity.
And her capacity for bliss. She’s still pretty wobbly from cumming all over my face. And maybe slightly embarrassed.
I’ve also noticed that she’s shy about watching me walk around with nothing on. She may have to get over that. Especially if we ever get back to civilization and the wonders of central heating.
I clean up while Phoebe disappears into the back room. I know these aren’t the best accommodations, but she hasn’t complained once. She’s a trooper.
She sits down by the fire again and I join her. Her eyes follow me as I sit on the blankets next to her. “Come here, sweet Phoebe.”
I turn her to face away from me, then pull her between my legs so that her back is near my chest.
“Does it hurt your butt to sit like this?”
“I don’t know. I’m still numb from the waist down.”
I chuckle and slip my fingers into her hair, loosening a few wavy tangles. “Tell me if it feels uncomfortable.”
“I will.”
“Do you mind if I do this with your hair?”
“Not at all. It feels really good. I don’t have a brush with me.”
She almost purrs as I use my fingers to comb through the brunette strands. Her hair hits right at her shoulder blades. Though I’ve most often seen her wear it pulled up in a messy bun or a ponytail, I like it down like this.
It suits her. Soft. Unpretentious. Natural.
“Your hair is so pretty, Phoebe.” I drop my nose to the gentle waves and inhale her scent.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Evander.”
“I’m counting on it.”
We sit like that for several long moments. She relaxes into me, tilting her head to one side and then the other as my hands smooth out her tousles. I drop a kiss on the side of her neck and bring my lips to her ear to whisper.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” She sets down the mug and caresses one of my legs.
Her warm fingers stroke my shin, my calf, my ankle.
Why does her touch feel so comfortable? Familiar? I can’t figure it out. She’s never touched me there, at least that I’m aware of. Maybe when she was my nurse, but not since, surely.
I find my way back to what I wanted to ask. “So, what were you doing so far away from Travis Ranch in a blizzard?”
“You first, Evander. Why were you so far away from Yosemite Ranch in a blizzard?”
“Well, that’s a funny story.” I gather her hair in my hand and hold it up so that I can drop a kiss at the nape of her neck. She smells like warm skin and girl juice. “So, Finn and Emma are getting married in a few days. You were invited, right?”
“I was.”
“Good. Emma has mentioned a few times how much she likes you.”
“I like her, too.”
“So you’re coming?”
“Of course!”
“I’m glad.” I drop her hair. It swishes over her shoulders. “To answer your question, the reason I was out when the storm hit was because—get this—Emma wanted a winter wonderland-themed wedding.”
“Nice timing.”
“Not really, because she decided this when there was no snow in the forecast, which caused Finn to freak out. So, he dispatched Special K to Tahoe to pick up an industrial-sized snow-making machine.”
She’s giggling.
“And I was sent out to Prospector’s Point to cut down this one specific, allegedly unique spruce that Finn wants to use as the centerpiece of his reception décor.”
“Wait—he’s planning the reception? The decorations and everything?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s hopelessly in love.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Plus, he’s a hopeless control freak.”
“An affliction shared by all MacLaine men.”
“That stings.”
“The truth hurts, Evander.”
“Indeed.”