Snare (Falling Stars #3) (7 page)

Damn him. Damn his chest. Damn his tattoos and the sexy spattering of hair. Damn the feel of his large, calloused hands.

Unable to sleep, I decide to continue mentally damning Xavier to the pits of ridiculously hot drummer Hades.

This trip is supposed to be my heartbreak holiday, a time for my groove to be reconnected to my Stella—a place of solitude to channel my inner awesome.

"I hope he gets gangrene in his hand," I groan, rolling over and curling into a fluffy pillow. It's a large oversized pillow I'll be sure to take when I finally get out of here and away from the big distraction. We'll call it payment in return for my first aid services.

I rub the heel of my hand against my eyelid and instantly regret it. My contact shifts and instantly launches its attack to detach my retina.

"Ow, fuck," I moan, holding my eye all the way to the bathroom.

After correcting the irritation, I know there's no hope of putting the lens back. My eye is bloodshot and feels scratchy when I blink. I remove the other lens, tie back my hair, and follow my morning routine.

Face washed, teeth brushed, green frame glasses on, and bed head knotted in a high bun, I step off the last step and onto the hardwood flooring on the main level. There's a chill in the room and I wish I would've worn more than my pink elephant pajama shorts and
NERD? I Prefer Intellectual Badass
t-shirt.

The morning light illuminates the large open room, so I easily make my way to the kitchen. And the minute I step by the island separating the space, my stomach grumbles.

"First task, coffee," I mumble sleepily as I set my iPod and wireless ear buds on the counter.

I open the grounds, turn to the machine, and place a filter inside. Noticing it's not on, I flip the power switch.

Nothing.

I check the cord and move it to another outlet, but nothing.

Looking around the kitchen, I see no signs of power. However, I do see an old silver teakettle. Glancing from said teakettle to coffee, to filter, a plan forms.

I turn the knob on the stove and I'm thrilled to find its gas. I'm even more excited that my purchase of matches was worth the money spent. Lighting a couple of the burners, I set about making coffee and breakfast.

The fridge is still cold, so I'm quick to grab the eggs, bacon, and butter. Returning to the counter, I set everything out.

I grab my iPod, find my
It's About Me
playlist, put my wireless ear buds in, and hit play.

The sound of Hailee Steinfeld's voice fills my ears, singing about loving myself.

Taking a deep breath, I allow the words to sink in for a moment. Soon, my body is moving as I mix, whisk, pour, and fry.

With the bacon and eggs sizzling, I take out two pieces of bread and put them in another pan to toast. During the third song, I do my awesome air guitar riff, signature spin, and freeze. Xavier sits, arms folded on top of the island, wearing a grin.

Fully emerged in my playlist, I raise one brow at him.

His mouth opens, but all I hear is The Clash.

I take one ear bud out and reach for the iPod to shut it off.

"Wait, I want to hear what we're jamming out to this morning." He puts one of his large, distracting hands out, a non-verbal request for the ear bud. "I'm digging the glasses, by the way."

"The song's over," I state as The Clash fades.

He opens and closes his hand in a gimme motion. Stepping forward, I drop the ear bud in his meaty palm.

"You know how to move." His eyes rake over me while he slips the ear bud in his ear.

"What?" he asks, his brow furrowed, catching the moment I cringe.

I use my spatula to point at his head. "You're getting your ear gunk on it."

"If it makes you feel better, your gunk is now in my ear," he offers.

I shrug, and say, "Guess we're even. Plus, I have disinfectant wipes in my bag."

His chuckle fills the room just as Jet blasts into my ear, asking me if I'm going to be his girl. I sigh and mentally answer the lead singer with a yes.

Out of habit, I drum on the counter and scream out, "Go…!" right along with the lead singer.

Forgetting about Xavier, I turn back to the food and flip.

Mid verse two, I feel him before I see the strawberry Sasquatch move in next to me.

I still as he sways and sings the song, grabbing more bread from the bag and tossing them into the pan with mine. Good lord of the wilderness, he can move.

Then, Taylor Swift comes on and he freezes. I watch him from the corner of my eye and fight not to laugh at the look of disquiet on his face. In a sudden movement, he grabs my arm and swings me around to face him as he sings
Shake It Off
.

For a minute, I can't move. Then he pulls me into his chest and swings me out and I can't hold in my laugh. We spend the rest of the song working as a team to finish breakfast.

On the opposite side of the island, Xavier sits eating just a bit more than me.

"I can't believe how much you can eat," he states just before taking a sip of coffee.

My muscles tighten and my eyes examine his face, waiting for the next remark to follow my eating habits. This is usually when the bastard barista would comment about working out, trying more fruit, or asking if my clothes are getting tight.

"I'm impressed." His words catch me off guard.

"By what?" I ask hesitantly.

"You seem like a city girl." He shrugs. "I wouldn't have guessed you could handle breakfast without electricity."

He sits back into his chair and rest his arms on his stomach.

"Camping," is all the explanation he gets as I clean up my plate.

He nods, and says, "Makes sense. You still go camping?"

"No," I snort, setting the plate in the sink.

"Does your water heat with gas, or do I have to heat some on the stove?" I look over my shoulder.

"There's a generator." He thumbs over his shoulder.

I turn away from the sink and face him, my mouth gaped open.

"What?" he asks.

"You didn't think you could mention that earlier?"

"What for? You had shit handled." He pushes out of his chair and grins wide.

"You're such a—"

"Great guy for telling you we'll have electricity when you thought we wouldn't." He nods. "I know, you're welcome."

In a normal for me knee-jerk reaction, I grip the handle of the spatula, swing, and slap him in the arm with it.

"Damn it, woman," he growls, ripping the utensil from my hand. "What did I say about learning my safe word first?"

The dishes rattle as he throws it into the sink.

"You're doing the dishes," I toss at him, lift my chin, and stomp by him into the living area.

"What's your plan for the day?" he asks my back.

"If you must know," I say with exaggerated inflection, turning to face him again. "I have some business things to work on. Then I plan on reading with a supersized glass of wine."

"I don't have wine glasses," he states.

"I'll drink it straight from the bottle." I shrug.

"You came all the way up here to work?"

Xavier steps with purpose out of the kitchen area toward me. I start taking steps back.

"I have things…" I hesitate, thinking of all the things I really need to figure out—like how to get that bastard barista away from my company. I clear my throat, and finish, "Things that need tending and arrangements needing to be planned."

"What kind of things?"

He continues his approach, reminding me of a large feline the way his body moves. With all that muscle, you'd think it would weigh him down.

I take two more steps back and smack into the staircase wall.

"Hostile takeover," I finally answer, narrowing my eyes at him.

I attempt to sidestep, but his arms trap me.

Pursing my lips, I crane my neck to glare up at his smirk.

"I'm going to go get the generator going and then I'm going to take you on a mountain tour."

It's not a question. He's telling me what's going to happen. I open my mouth to argue, but he puts his large hand over it.

"Don't speak. Things are better when you don't speak," he sighs the words, like it's a pleasure to say them out loud.

I bite his hand and shove at his chest, but he doesn't move.

"Get off me." I shove at him again. "Don't you have a Viking ship to build or something?"

This time, I shove and duck, getting out from his trap.

His laughter follows me all the way up the stairs, only silencing when I close the bedroom door.

Chapter Six
Xavier

Slipping into my boots from last night and one of the heavy coats from the storage closet, I grab my gloves and shovel before opening the door.

I dig into the almost four feet of snow, making a path through the snow drift out to the generator. After twenty minutes of shoveling, I can finally reach it.

It takes twenty more minutes to get the damn thing fired up and then another fifteen for me to get to the storage shed. Inside are three snowmobiles—my large black machine and two smaller black and pink ones belonging to the girls.

Removing the cover from mine, I go through all the checks and even fire it up. The machine purrs like the well-oiled vehicle she is. I settle onto the seat, pull the snowmobile out, and park it where I've created a path.

I turn it off and trudge back to the cabin, grabbing more firewood on the way in.

There's no fucking way she's getting more goddamn bruises.

With a fire raging to keep the cabin warm and dry out the wood I brought inside, I make my way up to the hellcat.

I knock on the bedroom door and get no response, so I knock louder.

"Jesus, Sasquatch, you're going to break the door," she complains.

Taking this as permission to enter, I open the door and find her surrounded by a laptop and a ton of papers. There's a thick stack next to her held together with a binder clip, multiple folders, loose papers spread across the bed, and her laptop directly in front of her.

"Ready for the mountaintop tour?" I ask, sitting on the bed.

The papers shift and she glares at me.

I'm not sure why, but her glares amuse me.

"I told you already. I have stuff to work on."

She resituates the papers I disturbed.

When she moves one folder, a picture comes into view. I grab it before she can stop me.

"What is this?" I ask, studying a mock up for packaging.

"There're more photos in the folder," she says, keeping her eyes on the laptop.

At first, I'm surprised she doesn't yell at me for snooping while hiding the rest of the pictures. Then, I hurry to get them in my hands before her other personality can kick in and take them away.

I flip through the pictures of something called Toy BoXXX™ and freeze on the last one. It's a shot of the box open, revealing its content.

"These are dildos," I blurt, unable to take my eyes off the light green rubber dick.

The picture disappears from my hand. I follow it and see Sid examining the photo.

"Yeah," she sighs, "that was the Tickle Pickle. It didn't really live up to the hype."

Her eyes come to mine and her brow furrows.

"What?" she asks in a defensive tone.

Her question makes me realize my mouth is gaping and I'm not blinking.

I close my mouth, swallow, then blink a couple times, shaking my head. Unable to get the last part of what she said out of my head, the question just falls from my lips.

"Didn't live up to the hype?"

She studies me for what feels like the longest moment of my life before shrugging and answering, "Nope."

I don't even have to press for her to provide more information.