Mitchell loosened the knotted shirt, the forlornness in her eyes getting to him before she masked it with cool acceptance. He had never fucked bareback, not with anyone except Abbie. He enjoyed the wet clasp of a woman’s tight muscles massaging his bare flesh as much as any guy, but it was an intimacy he’d only shared with his wife. So why the prickle of regret for turning Lillian down now?
The shirt fell down to her sides and she turned around, standing before him with unabashed concern as he raked his eyes over
her breasts and down her body. The neatly trimmed auburn curls between her legs offered just a peek at the still puffy folds he’d traced with his fingers, her frontal nakedness as enticing as her soft buttocks and long legs.
Hoping to lighten the sudden tense silence, he said, “Maybe we can take this further next time. You should try to get some more sleep.”
Without rising to the bait or saying anything else, Lillian walked around him, went into the bathroom for a few minutes and then got back into bed. Mitchell caught a glimpse of the edge of her pink panties and figured she needed to don as much armor against him and what he’d given her as she could. Given how badly he wanted to take that short scene further, or devise another one, it was a good thing they would go their separate ways later today. He wasn’t interested in another relationship, and coming off an abused one, he doubted she was either. Besides, vanilla and BDSM don’t mix well, regardless of his success in pulling her mind off her troubles for a short time by giving her a taste of the control he liked to exert during sex.
The rescue crew couldn’t come soon enough, Mitchell thought as he settled in the recliner, shut his eyes and the first thing to pop up was Lillian’s flushed face, dark eyes and the tight clutch of her damp muscles around his fingers.
“Thanks, Grayson. We’ll head over.” Mitchell clicked off the satellite phone and nodded at Lillian. “They’ve about got you dug out so I’ll walk you back.”
For the first time since waking a few hours ago, Lillian’s tense muscles relaxed. She was more than ready to get going and put as much distance between her host and herself as she could. With her body still humming from his touch and her dreams of him smacking her butt even harder followed by driving his cock into her body over and over still way too vivid in her head, she needed alone time to get herself under control. “Great. I’ll get my coat.”
Mitchell arched a brow as he handed her her coat and reached for his. “I see you’re as happy about leaving as I am about getting my place back to myself.”
Lillian paused in pulling on her gloves. “It’s not that I’m not grateful. But last night, well,” she struggled for what to say and he didn’t offer to help. Jerking on her glove, her frustration came through as she grumbled, “It was just the tense circumstances, not like either one of us wants a repeat.”
“No, we definitely wouldn’t want that,” he murmured, the look on his face indiscernible. “Let’s go.”
He took her hand and didn’t let go as they left the warmth of the cabin and traversed through the knee-high snow toward the woods separating them from the road. Halfway through the trees, they spotted the blinking yellow lights on a large snowplow truck and the swirling blue strobe of the county sheriff’s cruiser.
Mitchell squeezed her hand and gazed down at her, frowning as those observant eyes roamed over her still bruised face. “You need to stop at a clinic and get checked again in a few days, just to ensure your ribs are healing. I hope you’re planning on staying as far away from whoever hurt you as possible.”
Lillian nodded, glad he hadn’t pestered her for details these past few days. “Don’t worry, we’re done for good.” With Liana gone, there was nothing left for Brad to blackmail her with.
“Good to know.” He tugged her forward, lifting a hand in a wave and Lillian saw a tall man wearing a Stetson, a toothpick nestled in the corner of his mouth return the greeting.
It wasn’t until they crossed the now packed-down, snow encrusted road and were within a few feet of the man that she noticed the law enforcement stenciling on his leather jacket. Beneath the lowered brim of his hat, the sheriff’s gray/green gaze turned flinty as he zeroed in on her bruised face. He pinned those anger swirling eyes on Mitchell so fast, Lillian shifted toward her host in an unconscious show of support.
“Explain,” the sheriff demanded, his tone short and clipped.
Mitchell shrugged. “She came that way. I’ve checked her over.”
Irritated with the show of machoism, she yanked her arm out of Mitchell’s hold and ground out, “She’s right here and can answer for herself.”
With a wry twist of his lips, Mitchell drawled, “Sheriff Grayson Monroe, this is Lillian…” He paused and lifted a brow.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Lillian grew warm from embarrassment as Grayson’s stern look changed to one of amusement. It was mortifying to realize she’d just spent over two days with a man and an hour last night with his hands all over her naked body, his fingers deep inside her, and they knew very little about each other. She hadn’t even given him her last name. She’d never indulged in casual sex and still couldn’t fathom what had gotten into her last night. The temptation to accept the temporary diversion from her grief he’d offered in his deep, seductive voice had been impossible to resist.
“Gillespie,” she said, holding out her hand to the sheriff as the plow truck driver joined them.
Grayson took her hand, holding onto to her as he asked, “Ma’am. Is the person responsible for those bruises from around here?”
The other man scowled as he noticed her face. “No. I left him in Utah.” Turning to the truck driver, she asked, “Am I good to go?”
“’Fraid not, ma’am. I’ve got you dug out, but you’ve got a broken axle. I’ve called the shop in Willow Springs and Mort’s son, Andy is on his way with the tow truck. Don’t you worry none.” The burly man reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Mort’ll get you up and running in no time.”
Lillian’s shoulders slumped. She’d been hoping to get back on the road again. She wasn’t far enough away from her memories to suit her yet. “How long will it take, do you think?”
The sheriff nudged his hat back and blew out a white puff of breath. “I know he’s backed up with this weather causing several mishaps. You can get your things out of your car and I’ll take you to the motel, then you can give Mort a call.”
“Come on, I’ll help you,” Mitchell offered.
At least she wouldn’t be stuck at his cabin any longer, she mused as the three of them tromped to her car. With the men insisting they could get everything, including her artwork and supplies, she was left to stand aside and watch them transfer her belongings to the back of the SUV cruiser. It would be good to change clothes and lose herself in painting again, provided her oils were still usable after being frozen. At least being stranded this time around she would have something to pass the time besides trying to figure out how Dr. Mitchell Hoffstetter could arouse her to such a degree when she found him so bossy and irritating.
Taking a deep breath as the last of her things were loaded in the cruiser, she turned to Mitchell with her hand out, which seemed lame after the orgasms he’d given her just a few hours earlier. “Thank you for everything. I owe you.”