Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
And I definitely got satisfaction. My mountain man is a freaking beast.
Like serious man-beast. How could I have not thought sex was fun?
Ew, because I had the lamest partners in the history of copulation, that’s how.
I yank on Caleb’s sweatpants, walk to the door and pull it open for Bear, then shriek as snow tumbles in. Bear wags his tail like the snow is a friend who wants to play. It’s drifted almost to the top of the door, but there are six inches of daylight there, and the sun streams right into my eyes.
There’s nowhere for Bear to go, so he pees on the top step, where the overhang kept the snow from falling.
Caleb appears behind me and slaps my ass. “I guess it stopped.”
“Um, how do we get out?”
His chuckle is low and sexy. “Guess we’ll have to tunnel our way through it.”
Oh. Wow. It sounds so fun when he says it. Like it’s a game we’re going to play. Right before we build snowmen and an igloo.
I shut the door and throw down the towel he used last night to soak up the snowmelt all over the floor.
Caleb’s already headed to the kitchen where he washes his hands and then breaks eggs into a bowl.
I saunter over, drawn like a magnet to his body. “Whatcha making?”
“How do you feel about a salmon omelet?”
“Oh my God, are you serious? It sounds like something I’d die for.”
He turns and pins with me a dark stare. “Too soon.”
I laugh.
“No dying on my watch.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. In my cheeks, too. I guess I’m blushing. Caleb grunts that my omelet is ready.
I take the plate from him, which is piled high with potatoes and the best-looking omelet I’ve ever seen. “Thank you. I’m so excited. I’ve never had a salmon omelet.”
Caleb’s eyes crinkle.
It’s my new favorite thing.
I sit to eat while he returns to the stove to cook a second omelet. “So you really like fish? I would’ve thought a guy like you would be more of a red meat kind of man.”
Caleb shrugs. “I eat red meat. But I like to fish, so I eat fish.”
It’s such a straightforward answer from a straightforward man. I may have found him grumpy at first, but at least he never plays games. His intentions are always clear. I like that about him.
I get up and serve myself coffee, enjoying the comfortable way he moves over and lets me in. Like I belong here. Or I’m welcome. Like we’re roommates—with benefits.
That actually makes me smile.
I start humming to myself as I pour the two cups of coffee and add milk and sugar to mine. I noticed he took his black yesterday.
He sits down with his finished omelet and we eat together in a companionable silence—so different from yesterday’s awkward conversation gaps.
“So do you think I’ll get back to my cabin today?”
Caleb snorts. “Doubtful,” he says with his mouth full of food. “Depends on how bright that sun shines today. There’s a lot of snow that needs melting first. I don’t think we’ll manage to tunnel all the way there.” His eyes crinkle again with a smirk and my heart does a little flutter.
Wow. Thirty-six hours and I’m falling in love.
No! I can’t fall in love. This is just about sex. And research. And I hate men, anyway.
Except sex politics mean nothing in this cabin. There’s no status or posturing or trying to prove I’m as worthy. He insists on calling me Doctor, for God’s sake. Definitely not a man who’s intimidated by my degree or intelligence.
We’re just two people stuck in a cabin together.
We finish eating and I shower, then put on the clothes I was wearing when he rescued me. When I come out, I find Caleb wasn’t kidding. He’s already started tunneling out the front door and has cut a path about two feet wide and ten feet out. The snow walls are taller than I am. Bear barks with joy, running out into the snow and wagging his tail.
I laugh, my own joy matching his. It’s like our own Dr. Zhivago. A beautiful winter wonderland. Caleb moves with fluid grace and apparent ease, using a shovel to toss snow a full five feet to the banks on either side. I stop and watch his muscular ass in his jeans, admire the power behind his movements.
After a minute, I touch Caleb’s back. “Want me to take over?”
He’s wearing a knit cap, but otherwise isn’t overly bundled. I suppose shoveling is hard work. His forehead wrinkles with what appears to be incredulity and he frowns. “Ah, no, Doctor. No disrespect, but I got this.” There is a touch of pompous sexism in his words, but instead of offending me, they warm me. Because I can tell he thinks giving me the shovel would be unchivalrous.