She swatted my hand away before I could even get close.“Don’t even think about touching me, Gray,” she hissed out.“Ever again.”
Her slap had some meat to it, sending a twinge of pain up my already bruised forearm. I backed away, taking the hint. She clearly wasn’t feeling any affection for me, maybe never would again, but I wouldn’t let that stop me from trying my hardest to change her mind.
Mark my words, Betty Beaumont will be mine.
Ethan was handling things for me back in New York. When I checked in at the last town, he’d already arranged for people to clean up the break-in: fix the doors, remove the blood, and put the room back in order. Ronny and Derek the refrigerator had escaped shortly after we left. I’d left them tied together on the bedroom floor, but not in any way that they couldn’t escape, just enough to buy us time to get away unfollowed. As far as I could tell, we’d vanished without a trace.
I gestured for Betty to get back on the snowmobile.
She sighed dramatically, but conceded and climbed aboard, grabbing the handlebars and wiggling her perfect butt on the seat. Damn, she looked good with a diaper butt. I found it amusing and sexy, and I wasn’t even sure she knew she’d done it.
“Fine, but I’m driving,” she announced.
I smirked and cleared my throat.“Have you ever driven one of these?” There was obvious doubt in my tone. New Yorkers weren’t drivers. It was a fact. That, and I’d seen her skills, and they left much to be desired.
“Well… I’m not lettingyoudrive,” she retorted.“It’s not like there are cars out here I can run into.”
Or hot dog carts,I thought to myself.
I climbed onto the snowmobile behind her, my legs pressing against hers as we settled. I wrapped my arms around her middle to reach the starter and show her the basics.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She jerked away dramatically, her face set in that familiar scowl.“What part of‘don’t touch me’do you not understand? Do I need to spell that out for you?”
I hated this.
Itching to antagonize her, I pressed closer against her back, wanting nothing more than to dish back the attitude.“You have to start the engine here,” I said, pointing to a large button on the dash.
She grumbled, brushing my hand away and pressing the starter with punishing force. It turned over sharply; the engine roaring with a burst of exhaust. She took hold of the handlebars, once again shaking her butt on the seat and shoving me back in the process with her sharp elbow.
A grunt escaped me, her arm jabbing into my gut and making her point. I exaggerated the wince to get another rise out of her. This wasn’t going as planned, but I could be patient.
“Don’t hold on to me,” she growled.“Don’t even breathe on me, and sit the fuck back, asshole, there’s plenty of room.”
That mouth.
I reached for the back handles that were just below my thighs, giving in to her demands as I leaned away from her. I’d do what she wanted for now, but it wouldn’t stay this way.
Testing the front skis by twisting the handle, she saw them respond. She was intelligent and grasped the machine’s mechanics quickly. My only genuine worry was her driving, something I’d already witnessed from her CCTV footage last fall when she came looking for me. That incident had involved at least one pedestrian injury, a squashed hot dog, and some ill-fated stop signs.
She fiddled with the throttle a few times, making the sled lurch forward and then stop. I kept my comments to myself. Gradually getting the feel, she eased us ahead until we were going straight at a decent speed, about forty miles per hour. Soft snow spiraled behind us, and I glanced back to make sure the sled and cats were still there after all her jostling.
Betty turned her head so I could see the side of her face, focussing on her lips as she asked,“Which way?”Her voice was barely audible above the engine’s din, and her diamond and pearl earrings caught the last rays of the sun over the looming mountains.
I leaned in, speaking close to her ear. My lips grazed her skin for a fleeting second before she recoiled, as if I were an unwelcome insect.
Her glare could melt steel.“Which way?” she snarled again.
I laughed inwardly, not daring to let my amusement show; I’d end up tossed from the seat.“I’ll tell you when we have to turn,” I yelled.“But keep going straight.”
She nodded and looked ahead again, shutting me out.
The open field gradually gave way to a denser forest. The slope grew precipitous, and the engine’s hum deepened as it strained over the ever-steepening hills. She maneuvered through the trees, easing off the gas only when the terrain dipped, I’m sure trying to smooth the ride for her cats.
Mr. Beans had stopped his caterwauling, or so it seemed. A quick look back revealed wide, scared eyes and a bobbing head, crouched low in the kennel. He was going to be a mess after this. Luckily, the quiet forest offered excellent trauma therapy.
After a few more hours of navigating the terrain, carefully avoiding the bare ground where the snow had already melted, we were almost there. It was a transitional time for the forest, but thankfully, enough fresh snow remained from the night before to keep us going. The worst-case scenario was abandoning the snowmobile and hiking in with the cats, returning for the supplies later, which risked the wildlife getting to the food. As we climbed higher, the bare patches became less of an issue. Around this time of year, I usually switch to a four-wheeler, but the snow had been hanging around longer than usual.
We reached the river, the one that flowed by my cabin. I told her to follow it.
