Chapter three
Greyson
What a fucking joke. If there was a prize for the most ridiculous kidnapping-come-rescue mission, I think I may be winning it.
My boots crunch on the fallen branches as I weave through the dark forest.
Tilly hangs on my back like a monkey, her arms wrapped around my throat as her thighs clamp my waist.
My mind wanders to the fact that the practically see-through dress she’s wearing is hitched up to her waist, and that my arms supporting her legs at this moment in time are only centimeters from the red thong she’s wearing.
She shivers, her body vibrating gently against my back. After we crashed, I gave her my jacket from the car, but the temperatures are below zero in the Highlands at this time of year. I doubt it will do much good. The ground is wet, but it's getting colder, and everything is beginning to freeze.
Her bare toes wiggle by my sides as her breath tickles my neck.
Walking through the woods with a beautiful woman on your back while trying to evade being shot certainly isn’t as sexy as it’s made out to be in the movies, but I suppose it could be worse.
I could be carrying a three-hundred-pound man who hasn’t washed in days. Tilly is a perk of the job.
“We need to find shelter, Miss,” I whisper over my shoulder. “And a phone.”
Hunter is going to love this when I tell him I am somewhere in the Scottish Highlands being shot at with his niece. No doubt he’ll laugh at first, then bollock me verbally for ending up in such a position. But he has the means to send someone to help us, and that’s what I need right now.
As we progress, the trees start to thin, and I am aware of snow falling through the branches onto my forehead. The flakes land, chilling each small area of skin.
“It’s snowing,” Tilly says excitedly. “How magical.”
I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of a genuine smile on her lips.
Her face is lit up with sheer joy as the snow falls around us.
It makes me feel somewhat unsure—perhaps my opinion of her may be wrong.
I’ve only ever seen the selfish, demanding Tilly; the girl on my back seems more real, more genuine.
“And that means we need to find shelter urgently,” I repeat. “You’ll freeze out here.”
“Not wrapped around you, Greyson. This back of yours is like a furnace. My tits feel toasty.”
“I think that’s the jacket rather than my back,” I mumble, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make such comments; let’s keep this professional.”
She wriggles, then swings her legs, so I have to lower her to the forest floor.
When I turn around, she’s standing on the now white ground, her dress still hiked up with my jacket open but drowning her small frame, and her hands on her hips.
Her blonde hair is a mess of tugs and knots, and the makeup she’s wearing is smeared across her face.
With the trees sparse now, the moonlight reflects off the snow, highlighting her in the dark night.
“Greyson,” she says sharply. “This evening you’ve kidnapped me, tied me up, thrown me in a car, touched my ass, and carried me on your back for miles. Do you think that is professional etiquette?” She cocks her head to the side and smiles naughtily.
“In my line of work, Miss, yes, I do,” I tell her bluntly. “Now, climb back on and we’ll find somewhere to sleep.” I spin back to face in the direction we were walking and bend my knees. She hops on my back once more, then we continue our search for a safe place to rest.
After another half an hour of trudging over partially frozen mud, we come across a lonely brown farmhouse nestled in a patch of conifers. The whole place is in darkness. It looks as if no one has been there for some time.
“That will do,” I say to myself, making a beeline for the small, crooked front gate hanging on one hinge.
“Will there not be an alarm?” Tilly hisses in my ear.
“We’ll find out once we break in. Either way, it will give us a line to civilization.”
I stop at the gate and place my companion back on her feet.
Her toes look deathly white even against the snow beneath us.
My eyes scan the property—no sign of an alarm.
I won’t mention at this point that I can’t see a phone line or electricity either. Fucking great.
The house isn’t derelict—all the doors and windows seem intact—but there’s definitely a sense of lack of use.
I signal for Tilly to stay where she is until I take a closer look.
I walk up to the front door, and as I try the doorknob, I am aware of a presence at my shoulder.
Tilly stands beside me. Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles weakly.
“Sorry,” she says. “I feel safer next to you.”
I nod, trying to ignore the little joy that information brings me before returning to push on the door handle.
“Most people lock their doors when they aren’t home,” Tilly whispers.
She’s stepped forward and has risen on tiptoe.
Her lips touch my skin, and I freeze from her proximity.
I’m highly aware of soft breasts touching my arm, and so is my cock.
“Maybe we should try a window.” I close my eyes, then step to the side so her body no longer touches mine.
“Good idea,” I tell her, turning to the nearest window. It is one of those old wooden structures with small panes of glass, and you have to push the lower section upward to open it. I vaguely remember one hitting me on the head as a child as I tried to escape one of my mother’s rages.
Staring through the worn glass, I can see a living area laid out with a single sofa and other basic furniture.
The place is in darkness, so I assume no one is inside.
I slip my finger through the small brass ring on the window designed to aid its assent and pull it up.
Amazingly, it opens without any objection.
“Come on,” I call, flicking my eyes to Tilly.
She looks tiny, standing beside this old house in my oversized jacket.
“I’ll help you inside.” She walks over, then nimbly jumps inside the house with no help.
I get a direct view of her almost bare ass in the process.
When she lands, she turns and smiles widely.
“It’s okay. I’m still young, so I’m quite flexible.”
“I bet you are,” I say back before I can stop myself, and her mouth drops open a fraction. She rearranges her face within seconds into a somewhat scowl.
“Now who’s being inappropriate, Greyson?” she asks, placing delicate fingers on her hips. “You didn’t even call me Miss.”
Ignoring her jibe, I climb in behind her.
The room we stand in is basic. There are only a few pieces of furniture, including a battered sofa stacked with folded blankets, a bookcase stuffed with books that don’t look to have been read in years, and a coffee table in the center with a vase of long-dead flowers.
In the corner is an open fireplace, and precut logs and small sticks are stacked to one side.
A bucket of coal sits on the opposite side, along with a box of matches.
On the walls are paintings of landscapes from around Scotland. They cover the yellowed paint beneath
“What is this place?” Tilly asks under her breath, and I shrug.
My gaze moves over each item in the room, and my previous concerns are validated.
There are no electronics in sight—no televisions, phones, or lights.
On one wall, there appear to be sconces, each holding a partially burned candle.
I grab the box of matches and light what I can see in the low moonlight.
I pick up a small candle to use as I investigate the rest of the property.
Tilly watches me intently as I walk toward an open doorway at the rear of the room.
Within moments, I’m aware of her light footsteps behind me.
We step into a hallway. A small kitchen with what looks like limited basic equipment sits to our left, and there is a rickety staircase leading upstairs on the right.
We make our way up to the higher floor, but all we find are empty rooms and a bathroom.
I turn a tap, and water flows out by some miracle.
That’s one relief, I suppose. I question how this is possible without power, but I decide it doesn’t matter.
We have water, that is more important than how it got there.
“What do you think this place is?” Tilly asks again.
“A retreat of some sort,” I muse. “No electric, limited comforts. It strikes me as somewhere people come to get away from it all.”
“Get away from it all,” she scoffs. “You mean to live in the dark ages.”
“I’ve seen worse,” I tell her. “I’ve lived it.”
Not inviting any more conversation, I slide past her and return downstairs. She follows me like a lost puppy in need of direction. I suppose I’ll need to pretend to know what the fuck to do. It’s part of my job description.
We arrive back in the living room. I walk over to the old sofa piled with blankets and start arranging them to form some comfort.
Tilly watches me and moves to sit on the chair when I signal to her.
Without speaking, I unzip the jacket she’s wearing and slide it from her shoulders.
My focus drops to her pert breasts, barely contained in the ruined fabric of her dress; when my eyes return to her face, she’s glowering at me.
I throw a blanket around her shoulders before moving to the fireplace.
The house is a puzzle. It’s not lived in, which is clear enough, but it’s set up so that if someone came here unexpectedly, there would be enough comfort to get by for a few days.
Grabbing some logs and small sticks, I set about starting a fire.
We may not have guaranteed light, but at least we can be warm.
“You get some sleep,” I say to Tilly, who has pulled the blanket around her tightly but sits with her bare feet on the old wooden floor. “Once daylight comes, we can see exactly what the situation is and get some food.”