Page 11 of Kidnapped for Christmas

I blow out a heavy breath as he steps into the room. It’s early, but he’s already dressed for the day. Dark jeans, red flannel, big wool socks. His hair is brushed back into place and his beard is shining, still wet from the shower.

He nods toward me and makes his way toward the coffee maker. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I, ugh, I slept some.” He pulls down the grounds of coffee and pours them into the back before filling the machine with water and flicking the button on. His cabin isn’t modern by any means, but it has its charm. This morning, it’s easy to see why he chose this spot.

Huge picture windows line the back wall and give way to the most insane winter wonderland I’ve ever seen. The valley below lights with fire as the sun rises.

Balsam and pine, mountain peaks, and all that fresh snow. It’s a scene from a movie or a Christmas snow globe.

“Did you build this place yourself?”

He nods. “Took me a few years.”

Okay. I guess I expected him to elaborate a little. Maybe he’s not a morning person.

I glance toward the clock. It is only seven a.m.

“Are you excited to cut down a tree today? Where do you think we should go? Is there a go-to tree cutting spot around here?”

He nods again. “There’s a spot to the west of here that’ll be good. You want coffee?”

“Yes, please.” I stand from the chair and make my way back toward the kitchen, leaning against the butcher block counter as he hands me a mug brimming with hot liquid. “Everything okay this morning?”

His gaze darts mine and now I know something isn’t right.

“Yeah, everything is good.” He sips his coffee. “Why don’t you go get changed. I left some clothes for you on the edge of the bed.”

It’s none of my business if he’s having a bad morning. I mean, maybe he’s irritated that he brought me here. I’m sure he didn’t plan on keeping me for days. The storm kind of messed that up. Then again, maybe he’s quieter at home than he is at work. I get like that sometimes. Too much socialization makes me exhausted.

I pinch my lips together and head toward the back room, taking note of the oversized sweatpants and flannel waiting for me. He’s even set a pair of snow pants out, which I appreciate.

“Heading out,” he hollers into the back. “I’ll meet you on the west side of the property.”

Considering I failed geometry or math or history or whatever class was teaching directional knowledge, east and west means nothing to me. I holler back, “Is that left or right?”

“Left.”

What’s going on? Did I really expect he was going to wake up with the same desperation to fuck me that I have for him? Did I think he was going to wake up obsessed with me and eager to touch me everywhere?

I blow out a heavy breath and slide on the clothes he’s left out. Maybe I should rub one out before I get out there. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to get rid of a few of these urges.

I sit on the edge of the bed fully wrapped in his scent. His musky, woodsy, hot fucking scent.

I could tuck my hand into these pants and spin circles around my soaking clit until I come against his pants.

I’ve all but decided to lay back for a quick orgasm when a heavy thump hits the side window.

I glance up to see Arnie staring back toward me through the slats in the shades. He’s not peeking through them, rather he’s knocked twice and backed away. He must need something.

I make my way over and pull up the shades, cracking the window so I can hear him. A cold breeze blasts inside.

“Grab the sled from the barn on your way out.” His tenor is brash, and again, I wonder what the hell is going on. He’s never like this.Not ever.Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man in a bad mood. He’s always happy. Last week he dumped an entire pot of spaghetti sauce on the floor ten minutes before dinner service and he pivoted last minute, made an alfredo one, and laughed about the whole thing.

Before I can answer his question, he turns away and heads out toward the west… east… left side of the property. Then again, I guess he wasn’t really asking me a question. He was telling me what he needed.

Good Lord… I wonder if he’s like that in bed.

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