Cabin Fever (6 page)

“
I
’m bored with movies
.”

Genevieve rinsed the last dish from breakfast. They’d had fun watching four movies yesterday, breaking for meals and the chores she’d half-fabricated so he’d sleep. Normally she hated talking during movies, but the cheesy action flicks had lent to a teasing commentary running back and forth between them. After the second film, it had seemed easy to curl up next to his pallet. By the time the fourth movie rolled around, his arm had been around her shoulders. It had been a natural progression.

It was like some sort of spell was over the cabin. She could almost believe the real world didn’t exist outside the snowed-in home. He wasn’t really the police chief; she wasn’t the town witch.

She hadn’t even quibbled about sleeping in the same bed with him last night. As much as he might exchange sexual banter with her and touch her with easy familiarity, he was very careful to keep their touch platonic in bed. Until they fell asleep and their subconscious took over. Genevieve had found herself lying on top of Alex in the early hours of the morning, treating him like her very own mattress.

She shook herself out of that pleasant memory when he spoke. “What can we do today?”

Her lips quirked. The man was showing definite signs of mending. As much as she knew he’d enjoyed their film marathon yesterday, such a virile guy was not well suited to lying around in bed. “Here’s an idea…how ’bout you rest?”

“All I do is rest.”

“Stop touching your bandage.”

He grunted behind her. “How do you know I’m touching my bandage?”

She turned around as he dropped his hand away from his shoulder with a guilty look. “Lucky guess.”

“Got any cards? Or board games?”

“A little of both.”

“Excellent. Bring them.”

“You’re assuming a lot, that I can just drop all my stuff to entertain you.”

“Please? I’m going to die of boredom if you don’t help me.”

The man was just too hard to resist. She wavered under his pleading eyes. “A couple of rounds of cards. That’s it.” She brought a deck of cards from one of her cupboards to where he sat.

Without her assistance, he hauled himself up higher on the pillows. His face was alight with anticipation. Despite his easygoing attitude, Genevieve had a feeling Alex was probably about as competitive as she was, which made her happy. “How ’bout we make this a little more interesting?” he asked.

Ahh yes, maybe even more competitive. “How much you talking about?”

“Clothes?”

She laughed. “You lose right now, then.”

Alex looked aggrieved. “It’s not my fault I’m naked. Some chick cut all my clothes off and won’t give me any more.”

“Won’t give you…I don’t have any more, idiot. None that’ll fit you at least.”

“That’s your story. Admit it, you just like to stare at my chest.” He puffed out his aforementioned chest, and then winced.

She snorted in an effort to control the drool collecting in her mouth. “Yes, your manly, beat-up chest.”

“Well, now that we’ve established we can’t play strip poker ’cause you like to look at my nipples”—he raised a hand and spoke over her sputtering—“then I say we play for information.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of information?”

“For every game you win, you can ask me any question in the world. For every game I win, the same rules apply.”

Genevieve hesitated. As attractive as the proposal sounded to learn a bit more about him, there were some areas she just wasn’t at liberty to talk about. “What if there’s something one of us doesn’t want to answer?”

“Then you pay a forfeit.” He grinned wickedly. “A kiss.”

Well, hell, she’d forfeit right then and there. “In your dreams.”

“Hopefully. What are you worried about, anyway? Just don’t lose. Think about it. You can ask me anything you want, and I have to answer it.”

“Fine. What game?”

“Lady’s choice.”

“Rummy.” That was her game, and she would beat his figurative pants off.

Sure enough, she slapped her hand down in less than ten minutes and grinned. “That was easy.”

“Show-off. Okay, what’s your question?”

She paused. She had planned to ask him about his family, but her mouth opened and instead she heard: “Describe your ideal woman.”

“We’re getting personal? Nice. In looks or temperament?”

She wanted to squirm with embarrassment. She should laugh the question off, ask something else… “Both.”

“In looks? Like you.”

“If you’re not going to be serious, we can play for peanuts or something.”

“Why do you think I’m not serious?”

“You’re just flirting with me like you’ve done since you woke up.”

“And why do you think that is? I don’t sleep around, and I don’t have hundreds of girlfriends. I’m being dead honest. I think you’re beautiful. The way you look is perfect—your body, your hair, your eyes. It’s my ideal package.”

“Okay, whatever.”

“You don’t believe me. Why?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I don’t think I’m ugly, but I’m hardly anyone’s idea of an ideal beauty, that’s why. I’m way too large for my height—”

“Ugh! This obsession with skinny is beyond my comprehension. There is nothing Latinos love more than a woman who looks like a woman. Hell, my mother is far larger than you are, and my father was madly in love with her. I don’t think I have a single aunt or female cousin who is as tiny as the media wants women to be. And their men love them.” He paused. “I should say their significant others love them. One of my cousins, Eva, she’s a lesbian. Regardless, I love the way you look. When I’m with a woman, I want something soft to hold onto, and when I look at your hips, I know I can grab them, and when I squeeze them as I push inside of you, the flesh is going to give beneath my touch—”

He stopped when she clamped her hand over his mouth. Her face was hot, and honestly, she wasn’t sure if it was with pleasure or arousal. “Okay. I get it.”

He mumbled beneath her hand, and she lifted it. “What?”

“Do you believe me now?”

“Yes.” She shouldn’t have asked him, though, not at all. She had trouble resisting him when she’d assumed his flirtation was all for show. Knowing that he really, honestly wanted her, that he loved the way her body looked? It was going to be very tough.

“As for temperament, I want someone gentle and sweet. Someone kindhearted and protective.”

One who would probably never point a gun at him, she thought cattily.

“Someone who will take in an injured man and help him even though she might be frightened of him, simply because it’s the right thing to do. Someone who might act sassy and brash but has the most gentle of touches.” He looked at her with probing eyes.

She glanced away, suddenly shy. Genevieve cleared her throat and looked down at the cards she was idly shuffling. “Great. Good answers. Okay, next round?” She won the next hand in even shorter time and was a bit dismayed. God knew what information he would share this round. She decided to stick to something safe, her original question. “Tell me about your family.”

Alex relaxed. “I was born and raised in Brooklyn ’til I was about twelve and my dad died. After that, we moved to Westchester so my mom could be near her family. My brother and her still live up in New York.”

“I’ve never had a sibling. What was that like?”

“You’ll never meet a more sober, stick-up-your-ass person than Lincoln. I swear he programs bathroom breaks into his PDA. He’s the black sheep of our family. Defense attorney.”

Genevieve hid a grin. “Disgusting.”

“Tell me about it.” His tone was rife with affection.

“Wait…Alejandro and Lincoln?”

He snorted. “My father named me after his brother, who my mom despised. He told her she could name the second child. My mom was super proud of becoming an American citizen, and she’s always loved history. I think Linc got down on his knees daily and thanked God he hadn’t been named Abraham.”

She gave a fleeting smile, but then sobered. “How did your dad die?”

A shadow crossed his face. “He was a cop too. Shot during an armed robbery at a gas station. The kicker was that he was off duty. He had just stopped by to pick up some milk when a crack addict walked in and pulled a gun on the cashier. He tried to overpower the guy, took a slug in the chest and died en route to the hospital.” Alex swallowed. “I can still remember opening the door to the uniforms who showed up to tell us. My mom took one look at them and just grabbed me and my brother and started to sob. The fear of every cop’s spouse, I guess.”

She was silent for a second. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“He sounds like he was a good cop, though. Not all of them are.”

He looked up sharply. “Sounds like you have a personal reason to say that.”

She began to deal. “Nuh-uh. Not your turn to ask questions.”

He must have been motivated, because he declared rummy. She waited, stomach knotted, for him to ask her why she disliked police. She’d have to forfeit, because she couldn’t talk about that, wouldn’t talk about it with anyone. Would his lips taste sweet or spicy? Would he use his tongue? Did he expect her to?

“Genevieve?”

“Huh?”

“Do you not want to answer?”

His tone was even, so she wasn’t sure if he was happy about that prospect or not. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“Tell me about your family and your childhood.”

“That’s two questions.”

“You asked me how my dad died and about my family. We’ll be even then.”

Actually, that wasn’t bad. She didn’t know if she would be able to perform the forfeit without passing out from excitement, so she’d rather answer the easy ones. “I never knew my father. I grew up in this cabin with my mom.”

“Was she like you? Gifted?”

“You mean weird? Yup. She hated to go into town. We went maybe once a month to Harrison when I was younger, not too often. She home-schooled me till I was about thirteen, then I put my foot down and insisted on going to a normal school.” She smiled. “Mom was actually pretty decent about the whole thing. She’d drive me in her old Ford pickup every Monday and pick me up every Friday. I stayed with the daughter of one of her only friends.” She peered at him. “Ron White?”

Alex frowned, and then put a face to the name. “The old grocer?”

“Yeah. He was so sweet, and a great male influence for me. I loved staying with them.” As disloyal as she hated to feel to her mother, that had been another of those
normal
times in her life that Genevieve hugged to her chest.

“After I graduated, I went to the University of West Virginia.”

“Did you finish?”

She smiled, remembering her mother’s pride when she had earned her degree. “Yes. English degree. I loved to read.”

When she fell silent, he prompted her. “And then what? You came back to live here?”

“I spent a few years working at this newspaper. Then, yes, I came to live here. Mom—Mom was sick. She died two years ago.”

“What did she die of?”

Me.
“Cancer.”

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice was heavy with regret. They didn’t speak for a little while. Alex took the cards from her and shuffled them in his hands. “Why did you stay after she died?”

Penance. Not that she could say it. “You’ve asked way more than two questions. Either deal, or let me go do some work.”

He shut up and dealt another hand. This game went on for much longer, and while they played, Alex teased and bantered. By the time he won with a satisfied smirk, Genevieve was in a much better mood.

She tensed, though, certain he would continue the earlier line of questioning. Instead, he gave her a naughty grin. “So. Who’s your ideal man?”

She blushed and contemplated forfeiting. Not because she didn’t want to answer the question, but because the answer was self-evident, and she really wanted to kiss him.

“Let me help you.” He picked up her hand and played with her fingertips. Sensations tingled through them everywhere he touched. “We’ll skip past personality because it goes without saying that he’d be someone smart, strong and attentive to your every need.” He waggled his dark brows at her, and her lips quirked.

“Let’s move on to looks.” He brought her hand to his head, and she threaded her fingers through the coarse silk without any coaxing from him. “He’d be dark?”

Genevieve licked her lips. “I’ve always been partial to blonds.”

“Hmm. There’s hair dye.” Still holding on to her hand, he brought it down his neck until it lay over his hard pec. “You’d want a bit of chest hair on him, I’m guessing.”

God, he had the perfect amount of hair on his body, a smattering on his chest that arrowed down into his boxers. “I prefer men who wax.”

He shuddered. “If that’s what it takes.” He drew her hand down farther to his belly. His hard, rippled, six-pack belly.

You’ve touched him here before. Stay cool.

Alex smirked. “You’ll want someone strong?”

“Unnnh-huh.” She swallowed. “I mean, I really love potbellies. Paunches.”

“I’ll start eating as soon as someone starts feeding me.”

“I love your body,” she said in a rush, her honesty taking over.

His hand stilled over hers. He grinned, a full-fledged, ear-to-ear kind of thing. “I’m glad,” he said simply.

“Is it hypocritical that I don’t have a hard body, but I like that you do?”

His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. “I work out because I like to, and I need to stay fit for my job. I’m thrilled you like the results of that work, but like I told you, I love the way you look right now. So, no.”

That little stroking thumb was driving her crazy, to say nothing of the muscles moving beneath her palm. She could slide her hand right below the cover and the sheets, encircle his penis…

She glanced down, and her eyes widened at the tent in the blanket. He followed her gaze and grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you couldn’t…”

“I can. I probably can’t do a lot with it right now, but I can at least…get it up.” His tone was wry.

Genevieve was suddenly short of breath. She’d never been quite so attracted to someone. Though she knew what she was doing wasn’t very smart, she looked up and met his gaze. “I think I should have to pay a forfeit.”