Page 8 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 8

L ab Coat braced his hands on Gretta’s shoulders, and when she peeked up at him, his dark eyes flickered with confusion. To clarify things, she pressed her breasts against his ribs.

“What are you doing?” he rasped. He lowered his hands to her upper arms, squeezing them. He didn’t push her away.

Keeping her eyes on his, she slid her fingers along his waistband until she felt buttons. She flipped open the top one and gripped the outer placket, undoing the rest with one swipe. He reached for her wrists, but she was too fast.

A quick tug, and his pants landed around his ankles. A hard shove, and his ass planted in the dirt.

Gretta didn’t have time to admire his stupefied expression. She leapt past him and dove for the short, thick stick laying on the far side of the bench. As he cursed and struggled to rise, she slipped it into her back pocket.

Lab Coat got to his feet, still fumbling with his pants. Gretta’s impromptu plan was complete, but she blew past him, toward the path. No sense raising his suspicions by not trying to run away.

He awkwardly gave chase, and Gretta took a right, sprinting until she reached the dead end. Glowing soup soaked her shoes as she crept into the swamp. The water didn’t look all that deep, even in the distance. When it came time for her real escape, wading through it might not be so bad.

Something long and scaly sent water rippling around her ankles. Screeching, she hopped onto dry land. Lab Coat came down the path, one hand holding up his pants, the other parked on his hip.

Face stormy, he stalked her backward until the swamp lapped her feet again. “What the fuck was that?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.” Gretta searched the water, praying the creature had slithered off.

“Take a look around. Even if you did escape, you wouldn’t make it two hours out here.”

I would if I could fly, asshole. Not that she planned to wait that long.

“You made your point,” she said. “The swamp is big and scary. Can I get out now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should leave you out here tonight. See how far you get before you come banging on my door.”

Would he really do that?

The threat tempted her, but twilight would come soon. She’d stand a better chance heading out in the morning, when she could see what was underfoot and in the trees. Though, if he really planned to abandon her out there, she’d call it fate and take her chances.

A chill breeze murmured. Lab Coat looked at the sky. “Let’s go.”

Gretta splashed out of the water and followed him. He walked stiffly, a bit hunched, and as he fiddled with the rest of his trouser buttons, her eyes landed on his crotch.

“Oh my god!” she yelped, leaping as far from him as the path allowed. “You actually got hard ?”

And damn … She gaped at the bulge between his legs, too stunned to care if she flattered him.

His cheeks went pink above the tic in his jaw. “It’s a biological function I have little control over.”

“But I barely touched you!”

He jerked his untucked shirt lower and side-eyed her. “I live in an isolated swamp, Miss Hacker. I wouldn’t take it as some great compliment.”

“I bet you wish you wore your lab coat today.”

His cheeks got brighter, and she laughed. It probably wasn’t smart to torment a criminal about his hard-on while traversing a deserted path, but seeing him so uncomfortable was too good to resist. She considered whipping up a little-dick jab out of principle, but then he’d never take her insults seriously again.

He walked faster. When they got to the prison, the pixies were gone, and Lab Coat tersely opened the door for her. She followed him into the building’s dank bowels. After being outside, the dripping hallways seemed darker, more oppressive. The stick in her pocket consoled her.

They reached her cell, and Lab Coat mutely swung the door open. Gretta stopped outside the threshold. Her intense terror of confinement had dulled, along with the fear they intended to seriously injure her—to be honest, Lab Coat seemed more like a country moonshiner than a warlord—but her feet refused to take her inside.

“If you don’t believe I can survive the swamps, why can’t I have free rein like the other pixies?”

“Because you’re trouble.”

She regretted her rashness in his office more than ever. If she’d kept her cool and pretended to accept his offer, he might have let her roam the place until she found a boat, or something. Now picking up a stick required subterfuge.

Gretta pretended to mull his words, recalibrating her strategy.

She’d destroyed any chance of earning his trust. Open aggression was satisfying but pointless. The next option left was wearing him down with appeals to his questionable morality.

It was a long shot at best. But every so often, she caught glimpses of an actual person under his cold exterior.

“Please.” Her joined hands gripped his arm. “I really hate confined spaces. I know everyone does, but it’s a particular fear of mine.” She searched his face for a hint of compassion.

He hesitated, which was something. Then he pulled his arm free and jerked his head toward the cell. “Get in.”

Gretta sighed. She should have known he had no morals worth appealing to. She’d be better off getting to work sharpening her stick.

You still have one play left. Have you forgotten how you got that stick?

Right, except she’d rather break her teeth gnawing through the bars than fuck that miserable asshole.

…But who said she had to go that far? He’d all but admitted he was hard up. Did she have something to gain by dangling empty promises of sex the way he’d dangled promises of release? She definitely didn’t have anything to lose.

As Gretta eyed him up, he straightened in a menacing posture she didn’t take all that seriously anymore. She moved closer and put her palms on his chest.

He froze.

Cuffs tinkling, she petted him with stiff fingers. “So, uh. Maybe I could…I mean, you know. I might…”

Her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Instead of wasting her nerve on a clumsy proposition, she shoved her hands under his loose shirt and flattened them on his abs.

His stomach flexed at her touch. She stroked the sweaty skin there, avoiding his pants for fear it would remind him of her last ruse. Her fingertips slid along a narrow trail of hair, over firm ridges and compact muscle.

Huh. His body shouldn’t surprise her. She’d noticed he was big, and she’d elbowed him enough times to know he was made of granite. Still, she’d expect a scientist to be skinnier.

Out of morbid curiosity, she pushed her palms up his sternum and felt crisp hairs. His breath caught, encouraging her.

“What I mean is,” she said huskily, “I have more than pixie dust to—”

He grabbed her wrists and yanked them out from under his shirt. His eyes held no confusion this time, only chilly indifference edged with disgust.

Gretta’s neck grew hot. She let him pull her into the cell without resisting. When she presented her wrists through the bars, he quickly undid the cuffs and dropped her hands like they were covered in dog shit.

Brilliant plan, Gret. You’re a regular siren.

She waited for him to go, silently begged him to go. Apparently, he enjoyed her humiliation too much because he stayed there with an expression she could only interpret as judgmental.

Well, fuck that. Who was he to judge her? Seduction might have been a half-baked idea she wasn’t qualified to execute, but he didn’t get to make her feel bad about it. She lifted her chin, pointedly making eye contact.

He leaned in so close, his breath stirred her hair. “Never touch me again.”

Before Gretta could inform him she wouldn’t actually get near his dick without work gloves and a rusty hacksaw, he spun and left.