Page 36 of Mason

The man grunts and pushes my hands aside, working the buttons himself. “You’re going into hypothermia. You need to take this off now.” He tosses the coat to the ground once fully undone, exposing my dress-clad body to the frigid air. He blows out a stream of curses that rival the ferocity of the storm above as he hooks a finger in one of my dress’s straps. “You need to take this off too.”

“No!” My hands move to shield my chest in a panic. No man’s seen me, and he won’t be the first, dammit. He’s already taken my freedom. I won’t let him have this too.

But arguing isn’t an option as he reaches into his pocket and extracts a folding knife. I scream—expecting the worst—but he cuts my dress rather than my flesh, slicing through its straps and sending the bodice tumbling down. The only thing that saves my shreds of modesty are my hands cupping my breasts, catching the fabric.

All he does is scoff. “I’ve seen tits, Emily. Yours are nothing special. Get over yourself.”

I gape at him. What a world-class prick.

He waves a hand to hurry me along while sliding the knife back in his pocket. “We don’t have all day, princess. You’re going to turn into a popsicle.”

I have little choice. As bizarre as it is, my exposed flesh is warmer than what’s still shrouded in my dress. So I let the bodice fall, making sure my hands still cover my breasts the best they can while the dress collapses to my waist.

He doesn’t wait for me to stand, pulling me up and propping my body against the log. The move lets the dress fall to the ground, and I’m suddenly next to naked in front of him in a thong, my hands desperately clutching at my chest. He doesn’t bat an eyelash at the miles of skin, waiting patiently as I fumble each arm into his suit coat’s sleeves, using the other to cover my breasts in the meantime.

The black wool swallows my frame as he fastens the buttons. The warm fabric envelopes me in his heat and scent—warm spice and man. It’s heaven. I let out an involuntary sigh of pleasure as his fingers graze my chest and he coughs back a laugh. “Control yourself, kid.”

I scowl and push against his shoulder. “As if.”

I’d neverfeel thatway about him. It’s just a relief to feel warm. To know I won’t die as frozen as a Thanksgiving turkey.

His grip falls to my hips and hoists me high before I know what the hell he’s doing. I shriek as he tosses me to his shoulder like a rolled carpet. “Stick to your side of the pool. You’re in way over your head, little girl.” One of his arms hooks over the back of my thighs once I’m in place.

“Do you have to be such a condescending asshole?” I sneer, reluctantly grabbing at his back so I’m not left jostling around like a bag of potatoes. His body is hard and hot beneath my fingers, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate it. He’s the giant heating pad I needed in this frozen wasteland.

“Just giving you a bit of advice. You’re looking at me like a piece of meat.”

My face burns. “I. Am. Not.” Each word comes out more forceful than the last, but all he does is chuckle.

* * *

We don’t speak as he hikes back to the cabin, breezing through the brush that held me back.

Instead, I dangle over his shoulder and try to suppress the urge to vomit as I’m gifted to a dizzying view of the ground.

It’s slow-going, but he tackles the trip better than I did. He should, seeing that he has shoes on and all. Shoes misted in what looks like blood that definitely didn’t come from me or his trek through the snow. It’s also on his pant legs, the crimson tint to the fabric fanning out in a spray high above the small tears from the thorns. Apparently not only is this man a kidnapper, but he might very well be a murderer, too.

My stomach is in knots when he climbs the porch stairs, a squeak in a step making my heart practically leap out of my chest. It’s getting dark, and rain shows no signs of letting up. He fishes out keys and unlocks the front door, shouldering through before setting me on the floor in a discarded lump. He doesn’t spare me another glance before buzzing around the living space, grabbing two logs from a nearly empty lumber rack and tossing them in the fireplace. He drops to a crouch in front of the hearth and pulls a lighter from his pocket.

I could run again. The door is less than two feet away and unlocked. But now that it’s dark, I’m still half-frozen, and I noticed that blood on him, it seems like a near-certain death wish to make an escape attempt. If I can thaw a little, I might be able to whack him over a head with a log or something. That’ll buy me time, and I can steal his keys.

“You smoke?” I ask, wanting to fill the nothingness between us with something. Idle chatter. Anything. Maybe if I’m friendly, he won’t be too harsh when confining me again. He might be less willing to kill me if the thought crosses his mind, too.

He doesn’t turn around, but I hear the disgust in his voice with his answer. “Hell no.”

“Oh.” I push to sit up, pulling his coat close. Despite the long walk, it’s still warm and smells like him.

“You’ll need a bath,” he says, fussing with logs and a scrap of paper from his pocket. A receipt, maybe, based on its size. “You need to get your body temperature up and soak your wounds.”

He’s probably right, but I refuse to look at my legs to confirm. I also can’t imagine willingly climbing in a bath using what came out of the faucet earlier. “The water’s like ice and will probably give me leprosy.”

“I’ll warm up a few pots first, obviously,” he grumbles. “And it’s well water. It’s only that color and smell because of the iron and cedar in the area.”

I’ve never heard of water like that before. “Where are we?”

He ignores me, still fussing with the fireplace’s contents. “I’ll grab supplies at first light.”

That makes me sit up straighter. “You’re staying the night?”

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