Her head jerked the other way.
There was still a big, inviting, deep-seated couch in front of a coffee table which sat in front of a roaring fire. The couch was still flanked by comfortable club chairs. There was a large sheepskin hide tossed casually over the corner of the couch. The rug all the furniture sat on was vast, thick, inviting you to bed down on it with a pillow, a book and a nice, comfy blanket.
But the furniture was different, newer, fluffier, sturdier, more rustic. They veritably screamed, “Take a load off and stay awhile.”
Her head swung forward and she saw the enormous, sleigh bed. Bigger, wider, longer, covered in a downy comforter, at the foot was a mohair throw.
Regardless of the changes, it was her parents’ cabin.
How could this be?
Her handsome wolf.
Her cabin?
She looked back at him.
“This can’t be,” she whispered. “Gregor told me the cabin burned down years ago.”
His face changed the second she uttered Gregor’s name but Sonia was too busy registering the fact that she’d clearly gone insane to let the frightening look that crossed his face penetrate.
“It didn’t burn down, little one,” he said softly, recapturing her complete attention as he moved from the bed. The instant he did she backed up two steps.
He stopped, standing at its side.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He replied immediately, “Callum.”
Callum.
Vaguely, she thought that was an interesting name. Equally distractedly, she thought it suited him.
She looked down and saw she had on the same cotton nightdress she’d donned the night before.
The memories hit her again, ugly memories, terrifying ones and she took another step back as her head snapped up.
“They were going to hurt me,” she told him.
He started walking toward her as he assured, “They won’t hurt you.”
She continued to retreat but he didn’t stop this time.
Her hand, with its palm still facing him, had started trembling.
“They were going to hurt me,” she repeated.
“They won’t hurt you,” he also repeated, but his voice was less gentle. In fact, it was not gentle at all. It was reassuringly firm.
His legs were longer (far longer) and he got close quickly.
She felt the logs of the cabin wall against her shoulders and stopped because she had nowhere else to go.
Then she felt his hard chest hit her hand and her hand slid up as he got even closer until he stopped, not an inch away.
She tilted her head far back and looked up at him. She felt her lips tremble and it mortified her.
She tried to stop their movement and couldn’t so through them she whispered, “Did you rescue me?”
His hands came up and she tensed but he placed them on the logs on either side of her head. He leaned down so they were face-to-face, so close, she could feel his breath on her skin.
“Sonia, no one will ever hurt you. Not when you’re with me.”
She felt a different kind of tremble slide through her body.
Because his voice wasn’t firm when he said that.
His deep, rich voice was rock-solid. Like those words weren’t just words, they were a sacred vow.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” she whispered and her tense body grew tight as his head got closer then veered to the side.
Then he did something bizarre.
And, she had to admit, it was strikingly beautiful in its tenderness.
With his temple, he nuzzled her own then down her cheek, to her jaw, up again and into her hair.
He stopped nuzzling her with his temple but, lips to her ear, he said gently, “Get showered and dressed, baby doll. I’ll finish with the wood. We’ll have breakfast. Then I’ll explain everything.”
Sonia stood, shoulder blades against the logs of her family’s long thought lost but always beloved cabin, her used-to-be most favorite place in the world, with the heat of her dream man’s body hitting her own, her fingers curled on the solid, very real, muscle of his shoulder, his stubbled cheek against hers, his lips at her ear, his glorious voice calling her his “baby doll” and she could do nothing but nod.
* * * * *
Sonia’s senses returned somewhat to normal when Callum stepped away from her but took her hand and led her to a plethora of shopping bags that were lined against the opposite wall.
He did a sweep and nabbed the handles all in one huge fist even though there were ten of them, some of them large. This proved her theory correct that he had every centimeter of his body under control and was stronger than an ox because she knew no man or woman (even expert shoppers) who could do that the way he did, effortlessly.
He carried the bags to the bathroom while never letting go of her hand.
He stopped her inside and dropped the bags by the wall.
Sonia stared at the bags idiotically, noting they nearly took up the remainder of space that Sonia and Callum weren’t occupying.
“Everything you need will be in these bags,” he announced, regaining her attention and she watched him cock his head to the bathroom counter, “or those.”
She looked to the counter to see three more bags there but those were smaller.
Then she looked back at Callum and nodded.
“When you’re finished, if I’m not in the house, I’ll be out back,” he went on.
She nodded again.
“You’ll need to make breakfast, little one. I’ll be a while. The kitchen’s stocked. Eggs, toast, bacon,” he carried on and this last sounded like a gentle order.
She was still too deep in all the weirdness that was surrounding her to do anything but nod to that too. Then he left the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him.
Incidentally, her parents’ rustic bathroom had been significantly updated. It still appeared rustic but it had a claw-footed tub that could easily seat two. The tub had an elaborate spout and spray system and a shower. The basin was finished with a fabulous concrete countertop that worked really well with the log walls and wood floor. Not to mention thick-pile rugs, fluffy, soft towels, and a big mirror over the basin with a great light fixture above it.
It wasn’t until after she’d discovered the three bags on the countertop had her favorite shampoo, conditioner, bath wash, lotion, and perfume as well her brand of razor and a variety of her cosmetics with the exact right shades and included brushes.
It wasn’t until after she’d perused what was in the ten shopping bags and found a variety of girlie outdoor gear. Corduroys, jeans, belts, long-sleeved thermals, long-sleeved tees, henleys, sweaters, fleeces, poofy vests and thick socks that were all in her exact sizes. But not her colors. She usually wore white, black, gray or silver. There was none of that and, of course, she never wore outdoor gear and hadn’t in thirty-one years.
It wasn’t until after she’d found sexy, lacy, satiny, silky lingerie for sleeping in and even sexier lacy, satiny, silky underwear for wearing (and not a piece of it her usual classic, but utilitarian, undergarments) were also in the bags.
It wasn’t until after she’d lotioned, spritzed perfume, gunked smoothing elixir into her hair and put on a light coat of makeup.
It was when was blow-drying her hair with a blow dryer she found in the cabinet. She was doing it while standing in front of the mirror in a demi bra made of pale green-yellow silk topped with beige lace and matching Brazilian cut panties. Neither of which she’d even glance at in a store, but, she had to admit, they were beautiful and made her feel a little bit saucy. It was then that her mind shuffled logically through last night and this morning and everything that had happened.
Last night, while she was innocently sleeping (for all they knew), men invaded her house.
They grabbed her, scared her nearly to death and discussed raping her.
Then Callum came in and, obviously, saved the day.
> However, afterward, he did not phone the police.
She did not wake up in a hospital bed or shaken by a uniformed officer.
Most importantly, she was not introduced by a proper authority to Callum as the man who just happened to be walking past her house and heard her scream (which, she also noted, she never screamed so how on earth had he known to come in at all!). Therefore, upon hearing her scream, he gallantly burst forth to wrest her from the clutches of evil.
This morning, when she’d woken thinking she was in a dream, he had not informed her firmly that she was not, indeed, dreaming. And Callum, she also noted, could be very firm.
Instead, he’d not acted like a gentleman and he’d taken advantage of her obvious confusion and vulnerability and kissed her and other things as well.
Now she found out that he knew her preferences for toiletries and her size.
He’d been prepared for this.
Very prepared.
She knew why and she thought it was a cruel, cosmic joke that the man outside splitting logs (she could hear the axe and the logs dropping into the snow), looked like her dream man.
It was a sadistic maneuver for that jerk to bring her here.
She’d figured that out too.
Because Gregor, for some demented reason, had systematically removed every hint of her mother and father and the life she had with them. Except her stuffed wolf and the Christmas decorations, but only because she’d thrown an almighty, six-year-old fit.
He’d obviously gotten rid of the cabin too and didn’t have the courage to tell her he’d sold it.
After she got away from Callum, she was finally going to demand some answers from Gregor. Then she was going to tell his son Yuri once and for all that she was not going to sleep with him and definitely not going to marry him. Last, she was never speaking to another man again until the day… she… died!
Except, of course, Gregor, after she forgave him because, even though he was remote, she still loved him. And Yuri, after she forgave him too, because, even though she knew he thought differently, she’d always thought of him kind of like a brother and she loved him too.
She put on a pair of fawn colored low rider cords which she was not going to think were cute (even though they were). She added a brown leather belt with daisies stamped into the leather which was something else that she determined was not cute (even though it was). Then she donned a bright pink, long sleeved henley that had a ribbon with flowers sewn down the buttoned slit at the collar which didn’t fit her like it was made for her, wasn’t surprisingly the perfect color for her and didn’t make her look really good even though she’d never have guessed it (even though it did all that).
She also tugged on a pair of thick socks that were not warm and snugly (even though they were).
She found there were no shoes but she didn’t need shoes.
Yet.
She walked out of the bathroom and grabbed the bags (taking three trips) and carted them back into the big room.
She made the bed (angrily) as she heard Callum chop, chop, chopping outside. Sometimes, she’d hear him stop and approach the house and she’d get tense but he did it only to stack the logs on the back porch because he never came inside.
She found coffee, poured herself a cup and yanked open the refrigerator to find Callum had stocked it only with full-fat milk.
Of course.
He knew her clothing size but he didn’t know she religiously had to drink skim in order to fit in it.
Jerk!
She made breakfast for the both of them and surprisingly she heard the backdoor open the minute she was done.
She heard his boots on the floor as she was busily taking the plates from warming in the oven.
He stopped at the mouth of the u-shaped kitchen.
She didn’t turn. If she did, she might throw something at him.
Or cry.
Or both.
“Sonia?” he called.
“Yep,” she said, flipping the oven closed with her foot and still not looking at him.
“You okay?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Jerk!
“Much better,” she replied, busily loading food on their plates. “Breakfast is ready.”
“I know.”
That got a reaction. She turned to look at him and was reminded of the gargantuan joke the cosmos was playing on her because he was way, way, way too darned handsome.
She buried that thought and asked, “How did you know?”
“Smelled it. Heard it,” he replied and turned while finishing, “I’ll be there after I wash up.”
Since he was turning, he didn’t see her mouth had dropped open.
Okay, she was cooking bacon. You could smell bacon from a mile away.
But he heard it?
How?
She, of course, could hear the final preparations of breakfast.
She watched him disappear into the bathroom as she felt a shiver run up her spine and decided to bury that too.
He couldn’t know of her gifts so he could pretend to have ones as well. Even Gregor and Yuri didn’t know. Sure, she’d often messed up around them. Still, they’d never cottoned on.
She’d found placemats and napkins and, by the time he was done in the bathroom, she was putting his plate on a mat on the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
He slid onto the stool and looked down at his plate.
As usual, Sonia stood at the kitchen counter across from him (the last part not as usual, obviously) and ate while contemplating how she was going to get out of this mess.
Would it take a million dollars?
Two?
Three?
What would he accept to give up his game?
“What’s this?” Callum asked, his voice tight in a way that sounded like he was restraining some impulse and, when she looked at him, his face was carefully blank.
“Eggs, bacon and toast,” she answered.
He looked back down at his plate.
Sonia continued eating.
“I recognize the toast,” he commented with forced politeness and she looked up again to see he was holding a piece of toast between a very attractive thumb and forefinger. “Is there butter?”
“Butter is fat,” Sonia replied and took a bite of her dry toast.
Callum watched her chew like it was fascinating in a watching the devastation of an earthquake in slow motion on TV kind of way.
“What’d you do to the bacon?” Callum enquired after she swallowed.
“I cut off the fat,” she informed him. “The meat is good. Protein. The fat is bad.”
His brows went up and he went on, his voice no longer polite but coated in disbelief, “You cut the fat off bacon?”
“Yep.”
He looked down at his plate. “The eggs are white.”
“That’s because I threw away the yolks. They’re filled with cholesterol.”
She trained her eyes on her plate and kept eating but she lifted her head when she heard him move.
Then she watched with surprise and not a small amount of annoyance as he rounded the counter, went straight to the trash bin and dumped everything on his plate inside it.
Then she watched with even sharper surprise and an ungodly amount of annoyance when he walked to her, grabbed her plate out from under her, pulled the remnants of toast right out of her fingers and dumped that in the bin too.
Sonia stood staring at him wordlessly as he opened the fridge, nabbed the bacon, dumped a huge lump of it into the skillet and turned on the burner. Then he gently moved her away from the range and grabbed the box of eggs she’d left on the counter.
Then, as he started cracking eggs into a bowl, she spluttered, “You just… you just… just, threw away my food.”
“That wasn’t food,” he replied.
“It was breakfast,” she shot back.
“It wasn’t that either.”
“Callum –”
He turned to
her as the bacon started sizzling. He advanced, quickly. She retreated, not quickly enough. Her hips hit the counter and he closed in.
His hands on the counter on either side of her, he leaned down so they were face-to-face. “You’re too skinny. You need to eat. Not egg whites, not dry toast and not fatless bacon.”
He thought she was too skinny?
Was he blind?
Sonia couldn’t move but, even so, her mouth dropped open.
He ignored her astonished look and kept talking. “No more of that shit, Sonia. Not for me and not for you either.”
“Are you…” she paused, not thinking she could say it then she said it, “Telling me what to eat?”
“Damn right,” he replied, not having any problem saying what he had to say.
He pushed away from the counter and turned back to the range.
She watched in growing horror as he cooked breakfast all in one skillet.
He didn’t not only not cut the fat off the bacon and separate the yolks, he didn’t drain the bacon grease before he dumped the eight (yes, eight!) scrambled eggs into the skillet with it. Not done, he also chucked a handful (and his hand, as Sonia had noted on several occasions, was large) of pre-grated cheddar cheese on the lot and sprinkled it all with garlic salt.
Further, he slathered the toast in so much butter it was the added stroke on top of the heart attack that was the egg-bacon-cheese mess.
He served this all up on the plates, got himself a fresh cup of coffee, poured a warm up in hers, dashed it with not a splash of milk but a glug and handed both plate and mug to her.
Then he picked up his own plate, rested a hip against the counter, leveled his blue eyes on her and ordered, “Eat.”
She looked at her plate.
She had to admit, it looked really good.
And it smelled fantastic.
Then she looked at him.
“I can’t eat this.”
“Eat,” he repeated.
“This is… I can’t –”
“Sonia,” he said her name slowly in a way that denoted strained patience. “You can eat it or I’ll feed it to you.”
She felt her eyes grow wide before she asked, “You’re joking, right?”
He shook his head.
She looked at the plate.
He was, essentially, a kidnapper.