His Cabin Obsession Wants Book 195) Read online

  Aaron shrugs easily, setting his glass down on the coffee table. I take a sip of my own. It’s tart and fresh, full of flavor. “Not for any special reason. Just taking a break.”

  “What do you do?” I ask. He has an aura of power about him, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he ran his own company. Or maybe was even some kind of celebrity. I don’t know how I would have missed hearing about him before now if he is, but his looks would fit.

  “Oh, this and that.” Aaron smiles and shakes his head. “Work’s boring. That’s why I wanted to come out here. To get away from the stress and the daily grind.”

  Why doesn’t he want to talk about his job? It’s a bit odd, but I can’t help smiling and nodding as if I understand. I have to admit it to myself – Aaron is hot. Put together with the fact that he’s much older than I am, and I find myself wanting to impress him. I want to come across as an adult with a fully formed mind, not a silly young girl.

  “Do you like being by yourself?” I ask instead. “This will be my first time experiencing it. I mean, living away from my family, at least, since you’re here now. Do you have family at home you needed a break from?”

  I almost bite my tongue after saying it. I shouldn’t pry into his personal life. And I definitely, absolutely, shouldn’t be subtly trying to find out if he’s married. Of course, he’s married. Look at him. No man that hot would still be on the market.

  “No family,” Aaron says lightly. “I live alone. This is more about not being constantly reachable. The phone calls, the emails, the messages – I just needed some time off from it all.”

  I nod, my mouth going dry. So, he’s single? That’s interesting. So interesting that I’m having a hard time tearing my mind away from that fact.

  But the rest of what he said is interesting, too. Calls and emails and messages – he must be busy. This cabin wasn’t cheap, either – I had to save for a long time to make it out here. Truth be told, the money I’m getting refunded is going to be immensely welcome for college. But what kind of person must he be – someone who’s busy and has a lot of money? A businessman? An agent, or someone who organizes things for other people? No, he has a natural aura of command. Look at how he just took charge earlier. He’s used to giving orders, not taking them.

  “So,” Aaron says, taking another sip of his juice. “What kind of writing are you going to try for this week?”

  “I’ve been thinking of doing some short stories,” I say. “I read that it’s a good way to practice the art.”

  “What are your subjects?” Aaron presses. “Maybe you haven’t thought about it yet, but it’s a good time to start. Who or what do you want to write about?”

  Actually, I do know the answer already. I didn’t really want to say it, because it’s a little embarrassing – especially to say it to someone as good looking and self-possessed as Aaron. But now that he’s asked me outright, I find the words spilling out of my mouth before I can hold them back. “Romances,” I blurt out. “I’d like to write about love, and romance.”

  “And sex?” Aaron asks, lifting one of his eyebrows.

  “What?” I splutter, nearly choking on my juice.

  Aaron chuckles lightly. “It’s all the rage at the moment, isn’t it? Erotic writing.”

  I feel my cheeks coloring heavily at his words. I guess he had no way of knowing I wouldn’t be comfortable with the subject, but I’m not. The thing is, I don’t really have a lot of knowledge when it comes to love and sex. I’ve never had either of them – at least, not romantic love. And I’m still a virgin – something that may or may not change during the next four years of college. Not that I’ve ever met a boy I wanted to do it with – they’re usually so juvenile.

  Aaron, though, is not juvenile at all, he’s a man. And my face is not the only place heating up – I can feel it between my thighs, too.

  I need to change the subject.

  “I should bring in my bags,” I say, leaping up as if I’ve just remembered. “We shouldn’t leave the doors open like that. I’ve heard there are bears around here sometimes.”

  With a chuckle, Aaron sets his glass down on the table and gets up to join me. “Let me help,” he says, leaving me relieved that the topic of conversation has moved somewhere safer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Aaron

  It’s set. I have a week to make her mine, and I’m going to make it happen.

  There’s no other option for me. I can’t stop staring at Olivia, her body, her face. The way she looks makes the blood surge down to the pit of my stomach, and the more she tells me about who she is and who she wants to be, the more I want to be part of that future. I want to be the future for her.

  I just have to make her mine – and that starts now.

  I step ahead of her and grab her bags, lifting them easily and carrying them through to the one bedroom the cabin has.

  “You can set up in here,” I tell her. “I’ll leave my things in the wardrobe, but I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Oh…” Olivia’s hand flies to her mouth. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her, turning on my most charming grin. “I’ll be fine with the couch. I can’t ask a lady to sleep on anything but a bed.”

  Olivia looks guilty, but I make quick work of gathering a few things from the bedside table – a book, my watch, and a couple of other nighttime essentials – and move them into the main room. The coffee table happens to have a drawer built in that serves the purpose just fine of stowing those things until tonight.

  “I brought a lot of food,” Olivia says hesitantly, holding up one of the bags to show me. “I guess we can share. I don’t know what you eat, but…”

  So, she’s warming up to me enough to want to share. That’s a good sign, I hope. “I brought some things, too. Sharing is a great idea.” I take the bag from her outstretched hand and carry it over to start emptying it and tidying the food away. “I’ll cook something for us tonight. You need all the time you can get to work on your writing. I can manage some of the chores.”

  “I kind of wanted to cook, at least a little,” Olivia says shyly. “I need to learn. I mean, if I’m going to be heading out into the world on my own and all that.”

  “Let me take care of it tonight,” I insist. I need her to feel the charm. “Maybe tomorrow I can teach you a dish or two.”

  “That would be nice.” Olivia brightens at the idea and helps me to finish putting away the food, filling our cupboards and the fridge almost to overflowing.

  That done, I take a look around the space, our space, now and for the rest of the week. It looks pretty good to me. Close quarters, no distractions, and no interruptions. I have her all to myself.

  “Is there only one table?” Olivia asks. She’s been looking around the same as I was, but when I look at her, her expression is concerned. She’s chewing on her lip and frowning.

  “Yeah, just the dining table,” I say, giving it a nudge. If you can even call it that. The small wooden table is just big enough for two chairs. It fits into the space – on one side is the stove, close enough that you would trip over the chair if it was any closer, and on the other is the couch, snug against the table leg. “There’s the coffee table too, though I guess it’s too low down for leaning on.”

  “I’ll need to use the dining table,” Olivia says decisively. “I can’t write all hunched over. I’ll need to use it every day, between meal times. All morning, and all afternoon.”

  “Got it,” I say, a little taken aback. But pleased. She has a little fire to her, too, when she wants something. She’s a strong woman, even if she hasn’t fully realized it herself yet.

  “And I can’t be interrupted,” Olivia continues, swinging her big blue eyes around to focus on me. “No talking, no distractions. I need absolute peace and quiet, or I won’t be able to work. We can talk in the evenings, and relax a bit more, but I’m here to get this story done.”

  I nod. “Your wish is my command,�
�� I say easily, but inside it’s a different story. I’m wondering exactly how I’m going to pull this off. I can’t manage to both seduce her and stay as far away from her as she needs to get her work done. How am I going to show her that she needs to be mine?

  Whatever I do, it’s clear that I need a new plan. The good news is that Olivia immediately starts setting up the dining table as a writing desk – and since it’s just after lunchtime, that means I have the rest of the afternoon to come up with something to really sweep her off her feet.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Olivia

  It’s been a long and strange day already, but at least now I’m finally set up in my vacation cabin.

  It might not be quite the cabin I was expecting, given that it comes with an extra guest, but I have to work with what I’ve got – and give that it’s all free now, I might as well make the most of it.

  Aaron has cleared out onto the patio outside. I can see him through the windows, sipping a beer and relaxing in the sun with a paperback in his hands. I wonder what he’s reading. Maybe I can ask him later.

  No, I have to focus. I look down at the notebook in front of me, the five pens sitting ready just in case I manage to run out the ink on the other four. There are more notebooks in my bag. I’m nothing if not prepared. I didn’t want to bring a laptop with me on this trip – it would be too tempting to go online and get distracted, and besides, the electricity out here is limited only to what a small generator can provide.

  So, I’m doing it old school. Just pens and paper. I pick up the pen and smooth out the first empty page, and then take a deep breath.

  What now?

  I search for the first word, but nothing seems to be coming. I strain to remember some of the tips that I looked up before I came out here, advice on what to do to get your creative juices flowing. One was to write about what you see around you, to use your setting or the people nearby as inspiration – even if you're just sitting in a coffee shop and writing about strangers, imagining what they might be like.

  Okay, I think. I can do that.

  I’m here with a stranger, after all, and a remote cabin seems to be the kind of setting that would be brimming with possibilities. I’ll start with a couple of light exercises just taking these characters and setting and putting them somewhere new, somewhere closer to what I want to write.

  What I want to write is romance, so I should start there. I turn the pen over and over in my hand, tapping it against my lip, until finally I lower it to the page and start to write.

  The man was tall, dark, and handsome.

  No, that’s too much of a cliché – I cross it out and start again.

  She’d never seen anyone who looked like him. Not in the flesh. He was like a movie star – someone who couldn’t possibly be real.

  Alright, that’s a little better. I start to relax into the words, to let them flow through me. This is just practice, and it doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. I let the words come, letting them take over without even thinking about it anymore, going wherever it seems right for the story to go.

  They had only known each other a short while, but the chemistry was undeniable. The second time they met, at a bar with two groups of friends who happened to intersect, they naturally gravitated towards each other. Before their friends had even noticed, before last orders, before anyone realized it was their turn to buy a round, they had evaporated into the dark outside: her hand looped through his elbow, coat collars turned up high as they sought a cab to take them through the rain-lashed streets of the city.

  “This is me,” she said, turning to him as the cab stopped outside a high-rise apartment building. He glanced up into the night sky, rain falling on his eyelids as they departed the car. It sped away and left them, not wondering about whether this was the right thing or they ought to turn back, only swept up in the headiness of their escape.

  She led him up fading stairs with flickering strips of light, past notice boards and abandoned toys and plants slowly dying on communal windowsills. She led him up to a door marked 301 and inserted the key, and when she turned to close the door he trapped her up against it, a whirl of blonde hair as she spun to look at him.

  “How about it?” he said. He was tall, forcing her to look up at him, and the arms that encircled her were thick and strong. He was dressed all in black, like some villain in a movie. His wicked sharp smile.

  “Alright,” she said, and rose up to meet him on the balls of her feet, heels discarded on the floor. They made a trail for adventurers to follow. Coats not quite hung on the peg but dropping down below it, a shirt in the hall, an elegant dress pooled on the threshold of the bedroom, suit trousers by the dresser.

  He touched her in all the right places until she moaned and begged to be free of the bonds of the last barrier between them. Her nipples rose like volcanoes under the rough pad of his thumbs. She tugged the last strip of fabric from his naked body and worshipped it, casting her hands down sculpted lines and memorizing him.

  He entered her there on the bed, her head thrown back in animalistic joy. “Oh, Aaron,” she moaned, and outside a street cat yowled in anger, and the lights of a passing car momentarily cast a shadow on the wall.

  “What are you writing?”

  I jump, my pen leaving a streak of ink across the page. I was so deep into the story that I didn’t even hear Aaron come in, totally oblivious to anything except the words and the damp heat between my legs.

  I look up to see Aaron reaching for a pot of coffee on the counter and pouring himself a cup. He glances back at me and catches my expression with a frown. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says.

  “It’s fine,” I say, my mouth dry and my words barely loud enough to be heard, trying to hide the red flush over my cheeks by turning away from him as quickly as I can.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aaron

  It was just a casual question, but now I’m really intrigued. The flush that came over Olivia’s face, coupled with the soft concentration she wore before – I could almost swear she looked aroused, not that I know how that looks on her face, yet. I will, when she’s mine. I don’t have long to wait.

  Still, this story of hers has me interested. What could it be that had her so intensely focused, and now leaves her embarrassed after my interruption?

  “Were you working on a short story?” I ask. I pick up my mug of coffee and start to move towards her, thinking that I might read it over her shoulder.

  “No!” Olivia blurts out, quickly closing the cover of the notebook she’s been working in. “I mean, yes. But it’s very much a work in progress.”

  I laugh. Is she embarrassed that it might not be good enough? “It’s all in progress, right? That’s the point of your stay – to practice?”

  “Yes,” she admits. “I just… I’m just doing some quick exercises. To get into practice.”

  “Well, let’s read it, then,” I suggest. I stand next to her, setting my coffee down on the table beside her.

  “No!” Olivia exclaims, her eyes widening with alarm. “No, I can’t possibly…”

  Alright, now I need to read it. I reach out and take the notebook from the table, so fast that Olivia doesn’t have time to react to stop me. She makes a desperate grabbing motion, chasing after my hands, but I’m already out of reach.

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I tell her. “Let me read it. I can give you some feedback to help.”

  Olivia makes a noise of disagreement, but seeing that I’m already on the other side of the table, she gives up and sinks back down into her chair. Then her eyes drop to the tabletop in front of her, her cheeks burning red. For some reason, she reminds me of a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Now, why would that association come to my mind?

  I open the front cover to the first page, where Olivia was writing a moment ago. I quickly skim the text, it sounds like a noir-style romance, something a bit old-fashioned but not too badly done, and–

  Oh.

 
When she said she liked writing romance, I didn’t realize she meant erotica.

  I turn away from her slightly, feeling the hit of arousal deep in the pit of my stomach. I angle my body so that she won’t be able to see my hardening length making a bulge in my pants – somehow, the idea of Olivia writing something like this goes right to the primal side of me.

  I want to take her like this. I want my thumbs on her nipples. I want –

  And then I read my own name.

  I grip onto the back of the chair opposite Olivia, holding it for support. The man she’s writing about in this story – it’s me, or based on me. That means all the words she wrote – like a movie star, thick and strong, wicked sharp – are what she thinks of me.

  And the woman in the story – blonde hair – could it be her?

  I have to fight an almost overwhelming urge to take her right there, throw everything to the floor and mate with her on top of the table, make her story a reality. I want to rip her underwear away and throw it down, and make her throw her head back with animalistic joy. I’m so hard I can barely contain it.

  But there’s something about the way she wrote that grabs my attention – that forces my blood to cool, at least for a moment. Everything is descriptive yet vague, nothing about the look of his body, the feel of their encounter after the line about her nipples.

  It makes me wonder if Olivia has no experience to write from – and I need to know if that’s true, now, before I make the mistake of trying to seduce her right here without thought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Olivia

  I feel like I just want to bury my head in my hands and hide forever. He wasn’t supposed to read that – never in a million years would I have written it if I thought he would read it!

  It’s so embarrassing. Now he knows that I was fantasizing about him. Why did I have to be stupid enough to put his name in there? It would have been bad enough for him to read something I’d written about sex, but knowing it was about him – that has to be so much worse!