Hold Me, Cowboy

“I’m fine,” she said, because somebody had to say something.

“You are not. Get your suitcase—come over to the cabin. We can flip the lights on, and then if we notice from across the driveway that your power’s on again, you can always come back.”

It was stupid to refuse him. She knew him, if not personally, at least well enough to know that he wasn’t any kind of danger to her.

The alternative was trying to sleep on the couch in the living room while the outside temperatures hovered below freezing, waking up every few hours to keep the fire stoked.

Definitely, going over to his cabin made more sense. But the idea filled her with a strange tension that she couldn’t quite shake. Well, she knew exactly what kind of tension it was. Sexual tension.

She and Sam had so much of it that hung between them like a fog whenever they interacted. Although, maybe she read it wrong. Maybe on his end it was just irritation and it wasn’t at all tinged with sensual shame.

“Why do you have to be so damned reasonable?” she asked, turning away from him and stalking toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped, turning to face him. “To change. Also, to get my suitcase. I have snacks in there.”

“Are snacks a euphemism for something interesting?” he asked, arching a dark brow.

She sputtered, genuinely speechless. Which was unusual to downright unheard of. “No,” she said, her tone sounding petulant. “I have actual snacks.”

“Come over to my place. Bring the snacks.”

“I will,” she said, turning on her heel, heading toward the stairs.

“Maybe bring the Yahtzee too.”

Those words hit her hard, with all the impact of a stomach punch. She could feel her face turning crimson, and she refused to look back at him. Refused to react to that bait at all. He didn’t want that. He did not want to play euphemistic board games with her. And she didn’t want to play them with him.

If she felt a little bit...on edge, it was just because she had been anticipating sex and she had experienced profound sex disappointment. That was all.

She continued up the stairs, making her way to the bedroom, then changed back into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt as quickly as possible before stuffing the little red lace thing back in the bag and zipping everything up.

She lugged it back downstairs, her heart slamming against her breastbone when Sam was in her line of sight again. Tall, broad shouldered and far too sexy for his own good, he promised to be the antidote to sexual disappointment.

But an emotionless hookup with a guy she liked well enough but wouldn’t get emotionally involved with was one thing. Replacing him at the last moment with a guy she didn’t even like? No, that was out of the question.

Absolutely and completely out of the question.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s go.”

* * *

By the time she got settled in the extra room in the cabin, she was feeling antsy. She could hide, but she was hungry. And Maddy didn’t believe in being hungry when food was at hand. Yes, she had some various sugar-based items in her bag, but she needed protein.

In the past, she had braved any number of her father’s awkward soirees to gain access to bacon-wrapped appetizers.

She could brave Sam McCormack well enough to root around for sustenance. She would allow no man to stand between herself and her dinner.

Cautiously, she made her way downstairs, hoping that maybe Sam had put himself away for the night. The thought made her smile. That he didn’t go to bed like a normal person but closed himself inside...not a coffin. But maybe a scratchy, rock-hewn box that would provide no warmth or comfort. It seemed like something he would be into.

In fairness, she didn’t really know Sam McCormack that well, but everything she did know about him led her to believe that he was a supremely unpleasant person. Well, except for the whole him-not-letting-her-die-of-frostbite-in-her-powerless-cabin thing. She supposed she had to go ahead and put that in the Maybe He’s Not Such a Jackass column.

Her foot hit the ground after the last stair silently, and she cautiously padded into the kitchen.

“Looking for something?”

She startled, turning around and seeing Sam standing there, leaning in the doorway, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. She did her best to look cool. Composed. Not interested in his muscles. “Well—” she tucked her hair behind her ear “—I was hoping to find some food.”

“You brought snacks,” he said.

“Candy,” she countered.

“So, that made it okay for you to come downstairs and steal my steak?”

Her stomach growled. “You have steak?”

“It’s my steak.”

She hadn’t really thought of that. “Well, my...you know, the guy. He was supposed to bring food. And I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly think about the fact that whatever food is in this fridge is food that you personally provided. I was protein blind.” She did her best to look plaintive. Unsurprisingly, Sam did not seem moved by her plaintiveness.

“I mean, it seems cruel to eat steak in front of you, Madison. Especially if I’m not willing to share.” He rubbed his chin, the sounds of his whiskers abrading his palm sending a little shiver down her back. God knew why.

“You would do that. You would... You would tease me with your steak.” Suddenly, it was all starting to sound a little bit sexual. Which she had a feeling was due in part to the fact that everything felt sexual to her right about now.

Which was because of the other man she had been about to sleep with. Not Sam. Not really.

A slow smile crossed his face. “I would never tease you with my steak, Madison. If you want a taste, all you have to do is ask. Nicely.”

She felt her face getting hotter. “May I please have your steak?”

“Are you going to cook it for me?”

“Did you want it to be edible?”

“That would be the goal, yes,” he responded.

She lifted her hands up, palms out. “These hands don’t cook.”

His expression shifted. A glint of wickedness cutting through all that hardness. She’d known Sam was mean. She’d known he was rough. She had not realized he was wicked. “What do those hands do, I wonder?”

He let that innuendo linger between them and she practically hissed in response. “Do you have salad? I will fix salad. You cook steak. Then we can eat.”

“Works for me, but I assume you’re going to be sharing your candy with me?”

Seriously, everything sounded filthy. She had to get a handle on herself. “Maybe,” she said, “but it depends on if your behavior merits candy.” That didn’t make it better.

“I see. And what, pray tell, does Madison West consider candy-deserving behavior?”