Page 2 of Bloody Bargain
“Promise they’re clean,” he grimaced, scratching the back of his head.
A smile broke across my frigid face. “Thanks,” I laughed under my breath.
“I expect everything in your bag is soppin’,” he shrugged, fighting the grin curling his lips. He put his hands in his pockets, straining the fabric across his groin, where the flat front of his hips displayed a mouthwatering bulge. I swallowed, suddenly thirsty.
“Swear you’re not going to look either?” I teased. He dipped his chin, then turned around with a grin that could melt panties.
“So what is an American like you doing all the way out here in Eryri in weather like this?” he asked, rocking on his heels.
I lifted my sweater and t-shirt over my head, damp skin prickling in the wet, chilly air. When I surfaced, he caught my eye and glanced away quickly. Fire bloomed in my abdomen.
“Taking in the sights?” I ventured, wringing my hair out over the puddles at the entryway.
“Ah, a hiker,” he hummed.
My jeans peeled off inside out like a second skin. My flesh prickled against the air. I couldn’t feel my fingers on my thighs, my legs were so cold.
“That’s right. Get a little adventure in before life forces me to settle down.”
“So what’s your name then?”
I kicked my wet clothes up against the door and shook out his sweater. The least my sodden hiking gear could do was keep the draft at bay for the night. I dove into the warmest, coziest cable knit I’d ever worn with a sigh of relief.
My head popped out of the top and our eyes met. His stare gleamed more like fire than honey now, but his smile was sweet. Conversational. He leaned against the wall, pressing his smile between his teeth, waiting for me to reprimand him for looking.
The corner of my mouth curled up as I kept his stare locked in mine and unfolded his sweatpants, sliding one pale leg in after the other.
“Carmen,” I said with a shrug. I pulled up his flannel bottoms, tied them as tight as possible, and rolled the waistband to keep them from dragging the ground. “Yours?”
“Matthew. Pleasure to meet you, love,” he purred. My pussy clenched with interest. He slipped a kitchen towel from a hook on the wall and handed it to me. “For your hair.”
“Thanks.” Our fingers brushed and I bit my lip, rubbing my messy chin-length waves until they were matted but mostly dry. “So what’s a modern Welshman doing in an old cottage in weather like this?” I hedged looking around the barren room.
Matthew laughed comfortably. “It’s an old family farmhouse. Not much to look at, I know. I come here to get away from London when the noise is too much and I need a break.” He took the towel from me and stepped into my space, his wide shoulders crowding out the chill. The warmth radiating off his chest enraptured me, and his scent. It was whatever Old Spice wished it could be. When I fluttered my eyelashes up at him, his smile was easy. Sexy.
“Come by here, you’ll get cobs in your hair like that,” he murmured, squeezing my locks gently. His knuckles brushed the back of my neck and a shiver of lust raced down my spine.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
“Mm,” he rumbled. “Fancy a cuppa? Or something stronger maybe? Whisky’d warm you right up.” He left the towel on my shoulder and switched on the little stove with aclick click click click click.
Turning away from me, he pulled a couple of tea bags from a tin and set the kettle on a hot plate as a blue flame stirred its coil into a red heat. I put on his socks and massaged the ice from my toes. “Anything’ll do,” I sighed, rubbing the tops of my feet. “I don’t think I’ll get warm anytime soon.”
“We could always keep each other warm tonight.”
Our gazes caught as my panties turned slick. My heart raced as he looked down his clothes on my body, imagining things we could do if I took them off again. Then he turned back to the stove, tongue tracing the corner of his mouth. “If that’s the sort of adventure you’re interested in.”
“Depends,” I asked, reaching into the long side pocket of my duffel to access the cushioned laptop sleeve. “How much of an adventure can that twin bed handle?”
He chuckled, pulling two mugs from hooks beneath the canned food shelf. “If you want an adventure, we don’t have to use the bed at a–”
Matthew’s words erupted in a gurgle. The mugs slipped from his grip and shattered into porcelain pieces on the rotting wood floor. He attempted to hitch his elbow on the little table as he fell, but ended up taking the towel and tin of tea bags with him.
I withdrew the knife from his neck with a yank, probing the back of his neck with my thumbs as he lolled and choked. I held his hair in place once I found the divot between his vertebrae and jammed the knife in with my foot like I was hopping on the step of a shovel’s blade. He twitched, but the flailing ceased.
The kettle whistled as I caught my breath. I set the knife on the table and poured myself some tea.
02
