“Why don’t you just let me stay?” I venture. “Nobody knows I’m here, right?”
“My brother knows you’re here,” he answers. “I just told him on the phone. You heard me.”
“Tell him I left,” I shrug. “Tell him my friends came and got me or something. I don’t care what you tell him. Just let me stay.”
He winces, almost looking pained. As he stares at me, I can see that he really wants to do the thing I’m asking him to, just because I asked it. That makes me soften toward him. He is soft-hearted, I can tell. Underneath all that gruff demeanor and masculine hair, he’s got a tender space for me.
“Why should I do that?” he murmurs.
Moving over on the leather armchair, I pat the seat next to me. “Come on, sit down next to me,” I suggest.
He looks around for a few seconds like a confused animal. Like this instruction does not compute for him. But then, grudgingly, he does it. He tries to fit his mass between me and the other arm of the chair. But he’s too big, and I wriggle to get over him, ending up sitting across his lap as he tries to relax into the easy chair.
“I’m not too heavy for you am I?” I ask coyly, dangling my ankles over the arm of the chair.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. “You don’t weigh anything. You’re like a doll.”
I love that he feels uncomfortable. Instead of being slick, trying to flirt with me, trying to trick me, he acts as though he hasn’t been near a woman in years. Like he doesn’t realize I’m throwing myself at him. Like he doesn’t have any idea how to act now.
It’s completely adorable.
And it might be wrong, but I like it. I like the way he stiffens when I sigh and rest my head against his shoulder. But lying here across his large body, this is the safest I have felt in forever. It might be wrong since I seem to have the upper hand, but what’s the harm? Can’t I just pretend for just a little while that everything is okay in the world? Can’t I just lay my head on a lumberjack’s chest and feel safe for a minute?
“You can put your arms around me if you want to,” I whisper, shifting slightly. If I raise my chin, I can inhale the musky scent of his chest from under his beard. It’s earthy and spicy, smelling like a combination of pine and beef jerky.
He doesn’t answer me, so I take his large, heavy arm and drape it over my hip. With my eyes closed, I try to get a little smaller, to nestle more securely against him. After a few seconds, I’m fairly certain I can feel something hard against the back of my thigh. Something hard, and massive.
“See? This isn’t so bad, is it?” I whisper. “You could just leave me here in the cabin. You could go back to wherever it is that you came from, and it will be our little secret. I won’t make a fuss, I promise. I can even reimburse you for any supplies that I use. I just need a little break, is all.”
“I really wish I could,” he sighs.
“But why can’t you?” I pout. I look up into his eyes, locking my hands behind his head. He presses his lips together hard but doesn’t pull away.
“There are people looking for you, Lola. If they’re looking for you, they’re going to find you. Sooner or later, everybody gets found.”
“Maybe it will be later? Much, much later?
” I whisper hopefully.
I can feel his breath drifting over his beard, landing on my lips. I drink in the smell of him, suddenly feeling kind of tipsy. Maybe I’m still tired, but this is all like a dream. Here is this gruff, frightening woodsman who took me in and healed me. He’s been a perfect gentleman, too. Almost too perfect.
“How’s your ankle?” he asks suddenly.
“It hurts,” I answer honestly.
“Then I suppose I will have to carry you,” he shrugs.
From the tone in his voice, I can see there’s no arguing with him. This isn’t a man who is accustomed to debate, I can tell. He’s not going to let me stay here. Not at all.
But something flickers deep inside me. Carry me? He says it as though it’s no trouble at all. As though whatever it takes, he’s prepared to do it. Something about that determination sends a thrill to my core.
I just fell off a cliff and landed in the middle of nowhere. Is it possible I found a real man by mistake? Do they still exist?
“I feel like this is all some kind of dream,” I confess, watching his eyes lingering on my lips as I talk.
“It’s not a dream,” he says inscrutably.
“You should let me stay,” I say yet again, still hopeful that there’s some way. “It is a dream, and I don’t want to wake up. Is that so wrong?”