Page 123 of Rough and Rugged

Chapter Three

Nora

Hemakeshisbed.

Four pillows are perfectly placed on the sheets that are folded over at the top of a forest-green quilt. He’s got one tall wardrobe and an end table.

Minimalist.

I make a clear line to his bathroom, craning my head and tapping the wall until I find a light switch. Once I do, the space illuminates and the gentle hum of a fan sounds.

A large mirror hangs over the vanity sink, which matches the standing shower’s earthy tone. It looks like it was grouted in polished stones and large sand-colored floor tiles, and my mouth drops when I see the ceiling-mounted showerhead with a dual handheld attachment. I’ve always dreamed of using one like this one.

This bathroom is ten times better than the one in my cabin, and I’m instantly jealous.

Peeling the cold, wet shirt off and letting it fall to the perfect floor with a plop, I stare at myself in the mirror. All that covers me now is a pair of shorts I threw on before coming over here and my black see-through bralette, both soaking wet. I wonder what the lumberjack out there would think if he saw me looking like this. Brown nipples tight against the mesh fabric, goose bumps covering my skin. The way he looked at me earlier almost had me forgetting I was freezing cold.

A warm breeze falls over me, and I realize the bathroom fan has a heat setting.This is the nicest fucking cabin on this lake.

I shed the rest of my clothes, dressing in the warm sweats he provided me. Pulling the strings on the sweatpants I’m swimming in and tying the T-shirt on my hip so I don’t look like I’m wearing a nightgown. I gather my things and wipe up the floor of his perfect bathroom before heading back out toward him. Just as I reach the doorway, a crack of thunder has me jumping.

His head tips up from the book he’s reading, his ankle balanced over his knee as he coolly asks, “You good?”

“Yeah.” I let out a nervous laugh and step closer to him, wanting nothing more than to sit in front of that beautiful fireplace. “Storms here.”

His brows raise as if to tell meno shit, captain obvious.I offer an embarrassed smile as I approach him. He gives off a chilled-exterior vibe, almost like he’s unapproachable. And maybe any other sane person might take it that way, but there’s something beneath the surface that draws me closer to him. Something that makes me want to be against his skin. It attracts me.Intriguesme.

The man is downright attractive.

“What?” he asks, his eyes following my strides toward him.

“Can I stay here and wait out the storm?” I look down at the dry wardrobe I’m wearing. The strings on the pants are stretched and tied within an inch of their life, and my shirt’s been perfectly knotted against my hip. “Would be a shame to get these dry clothes all wet.” I stare as he fights against the smirk trying to break through.

“If you’re quiet.” He dips his chin, his eyes hesitant to go back to the pages of the book set in his lap.

I turn to the built-in bookshelf on the left and scan the books. A few classics, but mostly fantasy—something I don’t generally read but am sure I would enjoy. I reach out and grab the one that pulls at my attention,Cyprus Kingdom.

Cyprus is my newest favorite color, the rich, deep green with a touch of blue. It’s really elevated a few of my paintings, and the idea of adding a metallic gold to my current work of art makes my heart skip a beat. I take a seat on the couch near him and open the book, doing my best to immerge into the story rather than the delicious smell of the man next to me.

“Which one did you pick?”

His question pulls me away from the Orcish raid on an Elvin kingdom. Finiel, my favorite character so far, is rushing toward Norfir with a magical artifact. And I have a hard time pulling my gaze up to look over at him. “Cyprus Kingdom.” I turn the spine of the book toward him.

His brow arches, and he gives me the first genuine grin since I’ve shown up on his doorstep. “My favorite.”

“Really?”

“I’ve read it three times. I identify a lot with Finiel.” He nods.

Before I can respond, a loud beeping sounds from the kitchen. His head tips in its direction before he stands and moves toward it.

“What’s that?” I ask, following after him, curious about the sound. Lightning flashes, and everything outside brightens for a nanosecond before returning to the dark storm.

“I made a pot roast.”

“Oh.” I pause, feeling guilty. I didn’t want to intrude; I’d assumed he was all alone and wouldn’t mind some company. But clearly, he’d had a quiet evening planned for himself, and I, for one, know the importance of a solo evening with one’s self.

“There’s enough for two.” His voice strains as he pulls the pot from the oven and sets it on top of the stove. He busies himself with pressing buttons on the oven before lifting the lid, and I realize I’d been so distracted by him that I hadn’t even noticed the smell of food cooking. Moving around the kitchen, he plates food for us, but when I look at the small round table sitting against the tall windows, I only find one chair.

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