And so I do what comes natural to me. I pick a fight. I stride over, attempting to look intimidating, even though I’m a foot shorter. The smile fades from Wes’s face as I take one hand and push him as hard as I can. He doesn’t move, obviously. My other hand is still holding up the fleece blanket.
“Did you drug me? Again?? And then did what? Got me naked? Played dress up? Did you…” The words get stuck in mythroat as I picture myself naked on the bed behind me, Wes running his huge hands over my body, maybe using one of his thick fingers or his tongue?—
Fuck!
“I didn’t touch you in any inappropriate way. I promise. I would never.” His holds his hands out, eyes wide and deeply concerned.
Annoyingly, I kind of believe him. And I’m the tiniest bit disappointed, which is interesting to me. It seems like my brain is wholly accepting a new side quest to break my good girl spell before I leave Portland. Anyway, touching me while I’m passed out would be a deal-breaker. When I’m awake? That’s a different story.
“And I’m sorry about the sedative. I didn’t mean to make you pass out completely. I just wanted you to relax.” He twitches his face to one side. “No, that’s not true. I did mean for you to pass out.”
“What the fuck?” I push him again, and this time he steps back. But I’m ninety-eight percent sure it wasn’t because of the strength of my one-handed push that he retreats to just outside the bedroom door.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It was poor decision making on my part. I have trust issues.”
But when I step forward and go to push him again, he grabs my wrist and turns my body so my back is against the doorframe, and my wrist is secured above my head and against the doorframe in one of his hands. My other hand flies up to try to yank his hand off, but he just grabs that one as well.
And the blanket falls off my waist.
“Sorry? Fuck sorry.” My last two words come out as a whisper. Heart racing, I stare up at him. I’m aware of the fact that with my hands above my head, the hem of the t-shirt isabove my ass. My nipples harden and there’s a tightening between my legs. I should not be getting turned on by this man roughhousing me. What the fuck is wrong with me?
He drops my wrists and steps back, hands out in front of him, palms up.
“I’m sorry about that.” Wes’s eyes flit down my body and land on my bare legs. “Last night, I thought you’d try to drive home, and there’s no way I could allow you to leave my cabin in that kind of snowstorm. You wouldn’t have gotten far.”
“Because you were going to chase me?”
“No, I was thinking it would be because your car would’ve gotten stuck and what—” He swallows. “Would you want me to chase you?” The last words come out roughly.
I find myself leaning toward him, and for a second I really want him to chase me and kiss me and then hopefully fuck me until I die.
What? No. No!
“No, obviously not.” NowI’mwhispering again.
He shakes his head as if to get dirty thoughts out and steps backward toward the kitchen.
“So, coffee?” Wes clears his throat and I nod. “How do you take it?”
“Cream and one sugar.” I bend down for the fleece blanket, re-securing it around my waist.
Wes raises his eyebrows before turning to the kitchen.
“What was that look for?” I touch the doorframe, sort of wishing he still had me trapped against it. “And where are my clothes?”
“What look?” Wes turns back to me, hand on the refrigerator door handle. “Your clothes are in the top drawer of the dresser.”
I don’t answer his question, instead shutting the guestroom door. I get dressed, then take my time straightening the bed, folding the fleece blanket and Gin Blossoms t-shirt, and giving myself a pep talk. Just act normal. He’s kind of acting normal. Nothing bad happened, aside from him knocking me out twice. Undressing and dressing me. Looking sexy as hell.
It’s the smell of coffee and something sweet that finally pulls me out of the bedroom.
Wes is sitting at his cozy table in a dining room area, which I hadn’t noticed last night during all the chaos. He’s got his fingers wrapped around a mug that says something about hackers. There’s another steaming mug of coffee across from him, this one with Lake Savage written on it in script. Wes watches me approach the table. Not scrolling mindlessly or even looking at a phone. Just me.
“I should leave,” I say.
“Have coffee first.”
It’s a suggestion, not an order, but I can’t resist the hot drink, so I decide to stay. But first, I fold my arms and scowl at him.
