That had made his heart like her. His loins liked her already. Liked her so much it would not let him forget about her, even in his sleep.
He’d tried so hard not to look at her while they waited for all the members of their hike to show. But then she had dripped the apple cider onto her chest, the sight of which had made him light-headed. His first thought was that she’d known exactly what she was doing, letting the liquid stream from her mouth, down her lovely neck, and lace right between her breasts. That she’d done it to torment him. As if he were not already haunted by lewd—and creative!—images flashing through his brain at inappropriate times. But Miss Brewer’s face betrayed mortification as she wiped at the rivulets of apple cider that he so wanted to lick away with his tongue. To have his mouth on her. Any part of her. Mixing with the sweet tartness of the apple cider—he had to stop. He could not think like this.
He'd never minded sleeping on the ground, but here, knowing she was essentially sleeping in a room two floors directly above him was torment. He had to wear himself out so that he wouldn’t be so craven as to relieve the pressure in his body in the dining room at night.
Not to mention that she was a client and a guest,andrichandBritish, with a father no doubt powerful enough to make his life a misery should Karl put his hands where they didn’t belong.
He gritted his teeth, trying to make thoughts of her go away. She was a nice girl—in her own way—and didn’t deserve the lewd machinations Karl put her through in his mind.
His cock was heavy and ached to be relieved, but he was not doing that in the dining room of his uncle’s establishment.The more he resolved not to relieve himself, and instead work himself to exhaustion the next day, the more his lower half screamed for attention. He tried to think of anything else. Goats. Fences. Turds. Then his stupid cock gave him the idea of Fräulein Brewer sneaking downstairs again in the middle of the night, hair unbound, dark eyes wide and uncertain. He groaned and turned on his stomach, doing his best to smother the painful erection. He thought of Luc Meynet. His uncle. The ice-cold temperatures of the river water beneath the layers of thick ice. It worked long enough for him to fall asleep, eventually. But it was work to stay there, as his dreams featured dark hair and expanses of pale skin against green summer grass.
**
Justine had almost fallen asleep at dinner. Yet she was wide awake at five in the morning, according to her timepiece. She slipped into her woolen stockings and skirts, grabbed her hat and mittens on the hooks by the door, and went downstairs, ready to wait for Karl and mock him for his tardiness.
But bloody hell, he was already there, arms crossed in the dim light of a lamp, leaning against the newel. It couldn’t be five thirty yet.
“Ready?” he asked, not acknowledging the early hour or her early arrival.
He was positively infuriating. She gritted her teeth, unwilling to give him credit for besting her. “Ready.”
They hiked up steep switchbacks, her toes numb in her boots as they splashed through loose scree on the shoulders of the mountains that surrounded the valley. They returned, and Justine went to her room and fell asleep. Again, Herr Brunner offered her a round bread she learned was called a Brötli, sliced and stuffed full of cheese and dried meat. She again ate it so quickly there was a lump in her throat, and the group hikedagain. Justine made it through most of the dinner course before Ophelia had to nudge her.
The next morning, she awoke at a quarter to five in the morning. She crept down, and he was there, arms crossed, waiting for her. This time it made her angry. But she said nothing, and neither did he as they once again went out for a steep walk. Her thighs burned and her calves ached, but she made it, and kept up. Again, she missed breakfast but was there, ready for the afternoon hike, as was Herr Brunner with his Brötli.
She skipped dinner to sleep.
The next morning, she rose at half past four, certain that this time—this time!—she’d catch him snoozing. But no. Again, he was there, powerful arms folded across his wide chest, ready. Damn him. It was the same as it had been. No talking, just hiking. They didn’t speak a word. But Justine kept pace. Her thighs wobbled on the way down the mountain, and she was scared that her body might give out on her, but it didn’t. She carried on as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
And went to bed instead of breakfast. She showed downstairs for the afternoon hike, and Herr Brunner had her Brötli ready for her. She was shaky with fatigue. Prudence was down early and had to touch her shoulder to get her attention.
“You look exhausted, Justine.”
Justine smiled, her mouth full of cheese and meat and bread. Food was both amazing and a pain to keep chewing. If only there were a quicker way to get this into her body. She didn’t have the energy to reply to her friend.
“Have you been going on morning hikes all week?”
Justine nodded, taking another bite. She couldn’t waste time talking. Food needed to be consumed before it was time to walk again. She could do this. The afternoon hikes were easier anyway.
“Maybe you should go back upstairs and rest this afternoon.”
Justine shook her head. There was nothing anyone could say that would make her stop. If this was what this arrogant guide needed her to prove in order to get her up the Matterhorn, she would do it. He wasn’t going to run her down. It wasn’t possible. She was stronger, she knew it. She’d have to act more energetic than she felt, but that took energy she didn’t have either.
To prove to everyone that she was doing absolutely perfectly well, she made sure to be in the middle of their pack while hiking. With Prudence’s new concern, Justine was afraid she’d tell Ophelia, and they would make her stop. But she wasn’t stopping until Karl Vogel stopped. When he was run down, she was run down. She could go just as long, just as hard.
Today, however, she could see him leading them up the trail, and it gratified her to see how his boots scuffed certain rocks, how slowly he was taking them up this gently graded hill. He was as tired as she was. Or at least close to it.
Over the past week, she’d become very familiar with his hiking style, how high he lifted his boots, his sure-footedness, even when and if he needed to stretch out his arms for balance. He was not quite so sure of himself now.
At dinner, she was able to make it to the pudding course, her spirits buoyed by the knowledge that Karl Vogel was flagging, too. She would win this unspoken contest. There was no way she could ever be as strong as him, but she could prove that she had just as much mettle and commitment as he did.
**
His Onkel caught him by the arm as he returned the rag to the kitchen. He’d wiped down the tables and put what few chairs they had upside down on the tables so he could sweep and mop before laying out his pallet in front of the fire.
“How are you doing with the ladies?” Onkel Peter asked in German.
“Fine.” Karl could barely think straight. His strategy of exhausting his lust was working in some respects. He didn’t have the time to get an erection before he fell asleep now, but his dreams were somehow all the more vivid for it. And every dream featured her. Every dream she smiled at him, every dream she had her shoulders and feet bared, and frequently, much more. It was a struggle to be awake early enough to be at the reception desk waiting for her, but he was. There was no way he was going to lose her unspoken challenge.
