He often woke up there, in the middle of The Dream, cursing his stupid brain for not allowing him to finish. Although when hedidfinish, he usually woke up to damp sheets.
Last night, or early this morning, rather, he’d awoken during an even earlier part of The Dream. Harper had seated herself on his cock and was sitting there with a smug, seductive look on her face. She obviously knew she was driving him crazy with lust.
He’d tried to remain in The Dream as his conscious mind began to invade the unconscious, but he came to a sudden wakefulness when he realized he wasn’t alone in his own bed at home. He was plastered against Harper, all along her back and legs, with his cock nestled right between the cheeks of her round, lush ass.
And his hand was splayed over her stomach, his thumb dangerously close to the underside of one perky breast.
Chase stopped breathing for a few moments. Then he carefully withdrew his hand, thankful he hadn’t actually cupped her tit. At least his conscience was relatively clear.
He got out of bed and dressed in clean clothes, thanks to Harper’s efforts the night before. Looking out the living room window, he saw there was a break in the falling snow.
However, when he fired up the app he’d installed to stay on top of road conditions, the news wasn’t good. There were patches of black ice between here and Lake George.
He’d driven over black ice once, several years before. It was spring and the roads looked clear. The Rover had spun around, sliding through two lanes, narrowly missing a pickup in the laneright next to his before coming to a rest on an embankment, unscathed.
There was no way he’d risk Harper’s safety. They would hunker down here another night.
Even though he’d been looking forward to spending Thanksgiving weekend with the Sinclairs, there was a lightness in him at the thought of staying here with Harper a little longer.
He pulled out his phone and shot off a text to Jackson. “Bad news, man. Black ice out there. Hopefully we’ll be able to finish the trip tomorrow.”
It was only a few moments before his phone buzzed with an answer. “That sucks, dude. Is my sister driving you crazy yet?”
Chase laughed ruefully to himself.Yes, but not the way Jackson meant.“She’s fine. We’re just trying to find ways to kill time.”
“There’s always my old familiar pastime: pranking her. The hand in the warm bowl of water, freezing her clothes, and my favorite—the time I made her think that aliens kidnapped our parents.”
Chase just shook his head. Jackson was a good friend, but it sounded like he’d been a pain in the ass to Harper. Like any self-respecting big brother. “I won’t be doing any of that. Tell your parents for us?”
“Will do, but Mom wants to speak with Harper.”
Tapping the thumbs up, he sighed and looked around the kitchen. Might as well make some coffee if they were going to be stuck here for the day.
He was drinking his second cup, having quickly drained the first, when the bedroom door flew open, Harper skidding out in her socks, rattling out a flurry of words that he didn’t think were going to stop. He held up a hand.
“There’s no need to rush, Harper.”
Her fierce frown at his answer was adorable. He barely managed to restrain himself from a grin he knew would only aggravate her.
After he explained, Harper spun away from him and grabbed a mug. Was she upset with him? Maybe she really did blame him for running over whatever it was that had halted their journey last night, when they were still able to travel pretty safely.
“Did you let my family know yet?”
Harper didn’t sound upset.
“I texted Jackson. He said your mom wants you to call.” He was already smiling by the time Harper looked at him.
Her sheepish expression melded into a smile of her own.
When she went to make her call, Chase glanced out the window. No snow falling currently.
Pulling on his hiking boots, he grabbed his keys and made his way to the Range Rover, now under a good four inches of snow. Hecouldcarry the rest of their luggage from here, but it would be much easier if he could drive there to unload. Plus he still needed to change the tire, and it would be far less brutal doing so under cover. He popped open the trunk and dug around until he found the pair of work gloves he kept there.
Trekking back the way he’d come, he inspected the tree that was still at the half-mile mark. It wasn’tthatbig of a tree, and he bench-pressed 350 pounds when he lifted.
As he stretched his arms, shoulders, and legs, he eyed the tree, determining the best way to move it out of the road. The trunk was narrower than the width of the treetop, but it was also much denser and heavier. If only he had a damn furniture dolly in the Rover. This would be much easier.
Walking to where the branches thinned a little, he squatted and grasped onto two that he thought would hold the weight of the rest. Lifting with thighs he’d developed playing hockey, he raised the tree a few inches off the ground and began to swivel it.
