The Real(49)

“We’re rescued. This guy is with the management company who rents the cabin. When we didn’t check in, they came looking for us. He said it happens all the time. Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I . . . I . . .”

You’re irrational, you’re crazy, and you’re in love with him. Crazy in love with him.

“Hey,” he said, leaning over. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

I nodded, my mind fuzzy from the booze, my heart pounding with residual worry. Relief finally made its presence known as I realized we wouldn’t be making any headlines.

It was a good thing too. I would’ve been one pissed off woman at the pearly gates. Things were just getting good.

“Sorry, I guess I’m still a little on edge,” I whispered sheepishly.

“Come on,” he said, motioning with his chin toward the truck. “They’re going to send a tow when the storm breaks. Let’s go get you that steak.”




A little after midnight, we finally made it to the cabin and it was nothing short of postcard-perfect. The roof and porch were covered with a blanket of fresh snow, the surrounding grounds immaculate and dusted with winter.

We collectively thanked the driver as we climbed out of the truck and made our way down the short walk that led to the porch.

“It’s beautiful,” I said in appreciation as he took my hand and led me up the steps. “How did you set this up?”

“A buddy of mine owns it. But it’s normally rented this time of year. We got lucky.”

“I wish you would have given me more notice or let me pack a bag. I don’t even have a toothbrush.”

“I packed an extra for you.”

“I’m not playing Scrabble naked,” I scorned as he opened the door.

“It’s slob weekend,” he declared. “I’m going to make sure of it,” he said as he ushered me through the door.

The cabin had an open floor plan, and at the heart of it was a stone fireplace. The furniture looked new but homey.

The walls were free of expected taxidermy, and the place had the hint of a woman’s touch. Comfortable, soft blankets and multi-colored pillows were scattered throughout.

Cameron unloaded his bags on the kitchen counter next to a cozy dining nook and opened the fridge, pulling out a beer.

“What’s your flavor?” he asked as I spotted a washer dryer combo in the pantry of the kitchen, relieved at the very least I could wash what I had on.

It was obvious Cameron wasn’t well versed in what a woman considered necessary for survival.

“A shower.”

He quirked a brow. “Want some company?”

“No,” I said, dousing his hopes. I had some intimate cleaning to do, and regardless of how sexy he thought it would be, I knew differently. Shower sex wasn’t my favorite. Someone always ended up freezing their ass off.

“I had a shower sex incident,” I explained. “It started with soap and quickly escalated to burning in places I don’t ever want to burn. It’s not in the cards,” I said as his lips twitched. “Besides, I’m just not that into you yet to risk it.”

“You’ll pay for that,” he said without taking an ounce of offense before pulling on his beer.

“As long as it’s not in the shower.”

He shrugged his coat off with a smirk. “Sure, it won’t happen in the shower.”




“Cameronnn,” I whimpered, my eyes rolling back as his chest flexed and he thrust back in, hitting me so deeply my whole body quaked. “I’m coming,” I rasped out as he closed his mouth around my nipple while the water cascaded down his back.

“Abbie, I can’t get enough,” he grunted out as he held me in place in the stall before he drove his point home. He pressed his forehead against mine, lips parted before he jerked inside of me with a growl.

Shower sex is the shit!

Spent, I stood lax against the wall as Cameron turned off the water, before toweling off my body and then his. I watched his muscles flex as he rubbed the droplets away from his ripped stomach and had to physically stop myself from taking a bite of his bubble ass.

If there was an award for asses, Cameron would rightfully claim it.

His knowing smirk at my inability to keep from having shower sex showed on his face as he glanced at me. I gladly gave him the win as my imagination went wild with the possibilities for the rest of the weekend.

“For the record,” I said with a voice full of lust, “I don’t have table sex, couch sex, patio sex, hot tub sex, or counter sex, either.”

“Noted,” he said as his dimples appeared.




Later that morning, and without shame, I watched Cameron sleep. A lock of his dark hair lay in a slight wave across his forehead and his full lips taunted me. The fact that he looked so perfect without effort, well . . . it pissed me off. Tousled hair, flawless skin, he looked freshly fucked, but in a way that made him movie scene worthy, and I just looked . . . fucked. It was totally unfair.

I’d never been the girl to apply makeup in the morning to deceive some poor unsuspecting guy with a false future reality. But when I woke, I made damned sure to sneak in a run with the toothbrush and rinse with some Listerine I found in his leather travel bag.

After I dampened my three-million-watt hair to tame it, I used a squirt of his manly gel and ran my fingers through.