Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CORDELIA
"No cell reception?" I repeat, staring at Deacon in horror. "What do you mean you don't have cell reception?" Is that my voice? Surely that's not my voice. Why is it so loud and squeaky?
"I mean, Sunshine," he growls, "that little contraption in your hand is about as useless as tits on a bullfrog out here. The only thing you're calling with it is the spirit of Paul Bunyan."
Oh, he's never letting that go.
Tyr, his adorable Siberian Husky, thumps his tail against the side of the couch, watching us intently. He's a sweet dog.
"I feel like this would have been relevant info yesterday, Deacon."
"You didn't ask."
I splutter, trying to convince myself that I'm a grown professional and I can handle this.
Except…I don't feel very grown or professional right now.
I feel like a crazy person, stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with the world's hottest—and most infuriating—mountain man.
Part of me wants to strangle him. The other part wants to throw myself at him.
I need to talk to the girls. This is an emergency of the highest order.
Hello, Paul Bunyan? I think I want to sleep with my infuriatingly hot boss. Also, I've never done that before so could you be a pal and help a girl out with some guidance? Kthnx.
Argh!
"How did I call you yesterday?"
"Landline."
Thank you, Baby Jesus!
"May I use the landline to make calls while I'm here?" I ask. See? I can be a grown professional. Go, team me.
"You'll only be here tonight, Sunshine."
"What?" I set my phone on the coffee table to plant my hands on my hips.
"Now, listen here, Deacon Cromwell. You can't fire me before I even start!
Sure, maybe I haven't made the greatest first impression today.
And sure, maybe you do know what my underwear look like.
And yes, maybe I don't have the first clue how to be a mountain person, but I've seen your office. And your office needs Jesus."
"That's not—"
"Actually, I'm not even sure Jesus could find anything in there.
You haven't filed a single thing since 2017.
2017! And don't even get me started on your desk because I'm still not convinced there's actually one in there at all.
" I've seen trainwrecks in better condition than his office.
If a trainwreck and a tornado had a baby, it still wouldn't compare to the state of the small, detached building he uses as an office.
"We're going out to prep some of the cabins, Sunshine," he says. "We've got hikers coming in for Valentine's Day. We'll stay there overnight, then head back down in the daylight."
"Oh," I say ruefully. And then what he said sinks in. "Um, how are we going?"
"We'll drive part of the way, then hike in once the trail ends."
I gulp, my stomach churning.
"It's an easy hike, Cordelia."
"That's…not the problem," I wheeze, sinking down onto the sofa as anxiety claws through me. I lower my head, taking deep breaths as spots swim before my eyes.
"Fuck," Deacon growls, stomping toward me. He places his hand on my back, pressing firmly. "Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths, baby."
I don't know what in our short history makes him think I'm capable of contorting my body into that position. Maybe he missed the size of my boobs and belly, but they don't exactly make contortionism easy!
"Do it, Cordelia," he orders, his voice cracking like a whip.
I slump forward, doing my best to obey.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now breathe for me, baby. Deep breaths."
I suck in a breath and exhale it. The black spots in my vision slowly disappear.
"Better?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good," he growls, plucking me up from the couch like a ragdoll. His hands sink into my hips, his furious gray eyes meeting mine as he lifts me to my feet. "I don't know what the hell you're so afraid of, but you're going to tell me. Now."
"Paul Bunyan, save me," I whisper, caught in the maelstrom swirling through his eyes. They're the color of gunmetal now, shooting off sparks. They're so pretty. And so is he, like a fiery, furious Viking warlord.
He curses, his breath washing across my face.
"Deacon."
"Say it, Sunshine."
"Say..." I don't know how I know what he means, but something sinful and seductive flickers in his eyes and I realize exactly what he wants me to say.
My core clenches, some wanton woman inside breaking free.
I place my hand on his chest, anchoring myself, and whisper the word he wants to hear right now. "Sir."
"Fuck." His rough hands tighten on my hips in a possessive grip, his mouth slanting down on mine.
I forget about my fear. I forget that he's my cranky boss. I forget everything but the way he sips at my lips as if he's never tasted anything sweeter. He controls the kiss, controls me, as he drags me closer, pressing me up against his body.
There are boulders, and then there's Deacon. He's a mountain himself, as hard as his kiss, as fierce as that growl. And that definitely is not a sock in his jeans because I can feel the hard ridge of it against my belly.
My brain short-circuits. I'm in sensory overloading and it is awesome!
His rough hands. His strength. The way his tongue strokes mine, coaxing it into an erotic, sensual dance.
The feel of his beard against my face and his cedar and brandy scent swirling around me.
He's everywhere at once, as if he's seeping into my pores.
I press closer, dragging my hands up and down his chest in a shameless attempt to touch as much of him as possible. Right up until my hand wanders a little too far south anyway and lands right on his massive erection.
"Goddamn, Sunshine," he rasps, ripping his mouth from mine.
We glance down at my hand at the same time. I see it on his erection. My brain tells me this is bad. But my body and my brain are apparently not speaking the same language, because instead of yanking my hand away, I squeeze his dick.
"Fuck!" he growls.
The next thing I know, I'm bent over the arm of the sofa with my dress up around my waist. His rough hand comes down on my right cheek in a hard smack.
"Deacon!" I sob, a powerful pulse shooting straight to my clit.
He spanks my left cheek and the same powerful sensation rips through me. My knees tremble.
"Next time you touch my dick, you better be ready for the consequences, little girl," he growls, plastering himself against my back.
His hand sinks into my hair, craning my head back.
He tugs the strands, pulling just enough to make my stomach quiver with need.
"You'll be choking on it while you're riding my face. "
Paul Bunyan, don't save me. Leave me right here with this wicked, cranky, dirty man, please and thank you.
"Y-Yes, sir," I whisper.
"Good girl," he practically purrs, pressing an intimate kiss to the side of my throat before he releases my hair and slides his arms around my waist, cuddling me as if he didn't just completely knock my world out of orbit. "Now, tell me what you're so afraid of, Sunshine."
"The woods." I lay my head back against his chest, squeezing my eyes closed. "Mountains. Forests. Camping. Hiking. Wild animals."
"That's quite the list."
"That's only the first half," I mutter. "I went camping once. Two days in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest near Mt. Rainier sounded fun until I got lost."
"Fuck," he whispers, tensing.
"I was out there for four days before the search party found me. I've been terrified of anything outdoorsy ever since."
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen." I laugh tremulously. "Drunk Me decided it was time to get over it."
"You took this job to help you get over it?"
"Yes. Drunk Me makes terrible decisions. She's not allowed to drink anymore," I grumble, which makes him smile for the first time since I got here. "I decided ten years was long enough to be afraid to step foot in a forest or a patch of trees bigger than a Christmas tree farm, so here I am."
"Here you are," he says.
"I can do this job. I'm just a little anxious about the nature parts. Please don't fire me."
"I'm not going to fire you."
"You aren't?" I ask, relieved. Now that I'm here, I really don't want to leave... and it has nothing to do with our crazy pact. It's him. I want to stay because of him.
"No. I'm going to help you."