1
Tatum
I don’t think I’m asking for much when it comes to getting to my destination. Getting some fresh air and distancing myself from everyone else are the only two things on my list.
Yet Mother Nature seems set on making those things a difficult challenge. Rain is pelting down from the sky in a heavy never ending wave. My Honda has been sliding for the last twenty minutes, tires fighting for purchase on a road that’s quickly becoming a mudslide. One wrong move and I’ll be tasting pine needles at the bottom of a ravine.
At this point, once I get to this cabin, I really am going to be stuck there.
The ad I found online promised enough food and water for an entire week’s stay. So if the rain wants to keep everyone else out, I am entirely on board. But first, I need to make it to my destination in one piece.
Squinting through the repetitive sideswipe of wipers, I try to pinpoint exactly where I’m at. On this mountain, every curve looks the same. The trees are nearly identical. Navigating all of these paths isn’t easy, especially when my GPS doesn’t know where I am, either.
Using my phone to the best of its ability, I continue my crawl up the mountain until finally, I see it. The cabin I’ve been drooling over for the last month. The one that has kept my sanity intact.
On the outside, it looks just as rustic as it did in the photos. No, maybe a little more weathered down. Either way, it’s perfect. Even if the inside doesn’t match what those photos captured, I don’t think a little disappointment will be enough to ruin this trip for me.
All I need is a week in solitude—just one week of peace and quiet. Without it, I might start pulling out my hair and go bald.
Parking my car, I put it out of its misery by cutting the engine. Enjoying the pitter-patter of rain for a few seconds, I let the realization soak in that I made it. My vacation is a mere twenty feet away. No thunderstorm is going to get in the way of my plans.
Getting out and immediately feeling the relief of cool water against my flushed skin, I have to fight the urge to just stand here and enjoy the difference. With the size of the drops and how hard it’s coming down, it’s hardly surprising how quickly my clothing starts clinging to my limbs. Up here, the air is cooler, even on a summer day.
I’m going to need a hot bath as soon as I’m settled. A fresh set of dry clothing, too.
Retrieving my luggage from the back and carefully avoiding the large puddles surrounding the land, I finally reach the porch. The old wooden steps creak under my weight with each step Iclimb toward the physical form of my freedom. Despite getting out of the rain, the cool air still bites at my bare skin.
“Where is that key?” Murmuring to myself, I’m leaving my stuff behind to look for my way inside. The guy mentioned there’d be a lock box with a pin, but I don’t see one. The only thing on this porch is a wooden bench, a plant that looks like it could use some of this rain, and a dirtied rug right in front of the door.
Maybe the last person put the key somewhere else? Not wanting to fight my cellphone’s poor service to call the renter just to find a key, I kneel and look beneath the rug first, hoping to find a spare. Surely, there will have to be one somewhere to play it safe.
Just as I flip it to the side and reveal a thick layer of dirt, there’s a loud creak in front of me.
The door is open, and from my view, I’m looking at some thick boots that are worn down at the tip. Lifting my gaze and following a pair of jeans that are torn at the knees, I swallow hard.
My brain and heart catch up as I hit flannel covering a bulky chest. Unsure what to think, my heart isn’t as confused as my brain. It’s pounding hard in my chest, banging around against my ribs as I finally meet the gaze of a man staring back at me.
Green eyes, the same shade of the pine needles, pin me in place. He’s staring at me like I’m an intruder. Like I’m the one who doesn’t belong. All lowered brows and a scowl cut so deep, I’m surprised he doesn’t start growling at me.
The wind howls at my back, like a warning given far too late. Rain lashes the porch, hitting that thirsty plant and the back of my shoes. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but exist, kneeling on the porch like an offering, while this mountain of a man fills my entire world.
Breathing in, I’m hit with the scent of sandalwood. Flooding my lungs, my head starts spinning.
This probably looks bad. Really bad. This guy is going to think I’m some kind of thief trying to break in! Did I get the wrong cabin?
Of course you did, Tatum. There weren’t any huge bearded men in the photos!
“Uh…”
He blinks at the sound of my confusion, and when he opens his mouth, his voice rolls over me—deep and rough and so low it vibrates in my chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Now would be the perfect time to explain this misunderstanding, but I’m currently at a loss of words. I’ve just never met a man like this before. Not up close like this. Not on my knees, either. Just looking up at him makes him look that much bigger. Not in a threat-like manner, but in a way that makes heat bloom across my cheeks and my sex clench at the thought of meeting him under different circumstances.
Telling him that I’m arguing with my legs to remember how to work would be really silly. Instead, I try to cling to a more logical response before I lose the ability to use my tongue, too.
Taking a breath, I swallow hard and kick myself into gear before this can go even further in the wrong direction.
“I know this looks pretty bad, but I think there was a mix-up or something.” Moving to stand, my limbs feel like those of a newborn calf. Underneath the weight of his stare, I bet he can pin down every nervous twitch and shift of my body. “You’re not renting this place, are you?”
