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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Royal

I give her space.

I know I owe her at least that much, considering how close I came to kissing her.

Except, I promised no hanky-panky.

My lips twitch because her whole no saying naughty words thing is cute as hell, but just as quickly, my smile fades.

Because I promised no sex.

And it took me all of a couple of hours to almost break that promise.

Fucking asshole.

That’s me, in case it wasn’t obvious.

Groaning, I shove the last of the food into the fridge then study the menu on the counter, wondering how in the hell I’m going to pull off dinner.

It’s simple cuisine—because I don’t have the patience for pretentious bullshit—but it’s also completely out of my wheelhouse.

I don’t cook. Unless boxed pasta and jarred sauce and some of those breadsticks that come in a can count. And, in this case, they don’t. There’s fresh tomatoes and mozzarella, a container of homemade pasta that needs to be cooked.

But no cans or jars in sight.

And apparently, we no longer have a chef coming in.

He dropped off the bags of food while I was giving Jade “space” and told me that the storm will prevent him from driving out to cook for us.

Speaking of which, it’s getting dark, the stormfront drawing close.

I need to go and find her.

I snag my jacket from the hooks by the front door, shove my feet into my boots, and hope to hell that she isn’t going to prove my earlier thought about it being nearly impossible to get lost on the resort wrong.

There’s one path that leads off from the cabin, and I follow it, searching for any sign of her, and heart sinking when I don’t find anything for several long minutes.

But then I round a gentle corner and see footprints in a patch of snow.

Fresh prints.

Made by small feet.

Thank fuck.

I pick up my pace, listening intently, gaze searching, but it takes another five minutes for me to spot the blond of her hair amongst the trees.

She’s sitting on a boulder, her legs bent, her chin resting on the tops of her knees, her arms banded around her shins.

She paints a lonely picture, sitting up there like that, all by herself, and my pace slows as I take in the sight of her, as I drink in the ethereal image she makes. Need burns through me—to climb on behind her and wrap her in my arms, to lift her hair to the side and kiss her nape, to strip her naked and fuck her on that rock.

I’d deal with the cold and let her ride me.

My lips twitch as I move closer—oh the humanity, oh the sacrifice of having to be beneath Jade as she rides me to completion, those tits bouncing, her pussy a hot clasp around my dick…

I’d survive.

Just barely.

I start to make my way to the front of the boulder when I’m close enough to notice something I’ve missed—and it’s something that eliminates every ounce of amusement I’ve been feeling.

She’s shivering.

Fuck, I’m lusting after her like a teenage boy and she’s…cold and alone and?—

“Jade,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle her.

She jumps anyway, whipping around on the rock and promptly losing her balance.

I lunge toward her, snaking an arm around her body, catching her before she tumbles from the boulder.

It’s not graceful in the least, and even though my arm is around her shoulders, it’s really my body that’s keeping her from falling.

“R-Royal,” she stammers.

And I know.

I feel it too.

She’s pinned between my body and the rock, our fronts pressed together, and?—

My dick twitches, something I know she feels because her eyes go wide and she mutters, “Fiddlesticks.”

Cute.

Too fucking cute.

“Sorry I scared you,” I murmur, adjusting my grip so I can lower her to the ground.

Slowly, so I don’t drop her, I allow her front to drag along mine, inch by torturous inch…and loving every second of the contact.

Yes, I’m a pervert.

No, I can’t stop myself.

When she finally has her feet beneath her, I shift back enough so that I can slip my coat off.

“What are?—”

But she doesn’t finish the question because I’m shifting again, this time to wrap my jacket around her.

“You’re cold,” I say softly.

“I’m fine,” she whispers back.

“You’re trembling.” I reach for the buttons and do them up. “And only wearing that thin shirt.”

It’s long-sleeved, but clearly not doing much to protect her from the elements or the storm coming in.

Her eyes drift to mine, and she studies me for several long moments before quietly asking, “Why did you come find me?”

She’s trembling so hard, even with my jacket, that I grind my teeth together and clench my hands into fists—the good one anyway, the useless, fucked-up one only creates a loose approximation of something that resembles a fist. I shove that thought away, resist the urge to draw her close, to wrap my arms around her, to rub my hands up and down her back, warming her so she stops shivering.

“You were gone a while,” I say, tilting my head down the path. “I was worried.”

“I was fine.”

“I know,” I tell her as we start walking, wondering how often she reassures the people around her that she’s fine…

And how often she really isn’t.

Focus.

“But I need to talk to you about the storm that’s coming in.” I point up at the gray sky, the dark, almost black clouds creeping along the horizon in the distance. “Everyone’s saying it’s supposed to be a bad one”—I glance down at her—“so much so that roads might be closed.”

Her brows lift. “But don’t they have plows and stuff?”

I nod. “They do. But Dave—the owner of the resort,” I explain when confusion drifts across her fact, “says they might take a couple of days to clear everything enough for us to be out of here.”

She’s quiet for a moment then shrugs. “Well, that’s fine. We’re planning on holing up and writing music, not sightseeing.”

“True.” I glance down at her. “Full disclosure?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Dave told me that each cabin has a generator, so we’ll have power if it goes out. And there’s plenty of firewood, so we’ll have heat.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

I nod in agreement. “We also have food because the chef dropped it off…” And here’s the part that might have her calling her driver back so she can get the fuck out of here. “Right before he told me he won’t be back during our stay because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to safely make it back until the storm passes and the road’s clear.”

“Having food also isn’t a bad thing,” she says as we round the corner and the cabin comes into sight, her brows furrowing into a vee I’m suddenly desperate to kiss.

“You’d think so,” I say dryly as we approach the front door. “But that’s before you’ve had my cooking.”

Her mouth quirks.

“So,” I say before she can reply, “if you want to abandon this weekend and try for another time so you’re not stuck here with me, I wouldn’t blame you.”

She pauses with her hand on the knob then glances up at me. “Something like this isn’t easy to reschedule.”

“No, it isn’t.” I nudge her out of the way and open the door, shepherding her inside. “But I know your schedule’s packed and if there’s a chance that we won’t get out of here on time because of the storm…”

She pauses in the hall, fingers fiddling with the buttons on my coat. “Then we’d have time to write even more music.”

But the words are lacking confidence.

And I know that’s because of me.

“About before…”

She stops fiddling.

“I shouldn’t have done that—” Storm cloud gray eyes fly to mine and my heart skips a beat, knowing that I’m going to write some lyrics about her gorgeous eyes—hell, maybe I’ll pen an entire song or album or a fucking Iliad-length epic poem about them. Just…not right now. “I promised you this would just be work,” I say, “and I broke that promise.”

She sucks in a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

She’s quiet for an eternity—a torturously long eternity.

“No bullshit,” I say into the silence. Because I owe her at least that much. “It won’t happen again. I’ll make certain of that.”

More quiet in response.

More torturous silence.

More stormy gray eyes.

But then she seems to unstick, her fingers working on the buttons on my coat again—this time to undo them before she slips the material from her shoulders and hangs it onto the hook.

“Right then,” she says, brushing her hands together. “Should we get back to work?”