Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
He looks away and clears his throat. “I’m gonna head out.”
I don’t let my disappointment show. He’s going in a different direction today in search of help. I’m feeling better and the swelling in my ankle has gone down, so the least I can do is stay here and pass the time while he hikes through two feet of snow trying to get us rescued.
“Do you want to take some food?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’ll eat when I get back. Or when I run across a steak house.”
I laugh at the thought. “Bring me back a loaded sweet potato if you find one.”
When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way I find incredibly sexy. I’ve never reacted to a man just looking at me like I do when Lincoln does it. Somehow, he makes me want him with just a look that communicates in a way words can’t.
“Are you okay with me going?” he asks.
I won’t admit that I want him to stay. His going out in this weather to look for help is our only chance of rescue at this point. No search party will look for us inside this cabin. It’s my anxiety that wants him here, safe inside the cabin with me.
“Of course. But be careful and turn around if the wind picks up.”
“I will.” He takes a step closer to me, the intensity of his gaze making my heart race with excitement. “I’ve got an idea for when I get back.”
Sex. For the love of God, please let him say sweaty marathon sex. My face heats just from thinking about it.
“Oh?” My attempt at casual falls short, the word squeaking out of me.
I’m imagining how his beard will feel on my bare thighs when he says, “Boggle.”
“Boggle?” My brows shoot up in surprise.
He nods toward a shelf near the kitchen table, which has the game of Boggle and a deck of cards on it. I don’t let on how disappointed I am. Not that I really expected him to propose sex, but a girl can dream.
“Loser has to answer any question the winner asks,” he says with a smug grin.
I take a step back to give my overworked heart a break from being so close to him. “Well, prepare for me to know all your dark secrets, then. I was an English major in college.”
“I can take you.”
“We’ll see.” I hang the towel on the bar mounted on a kitchen cabinet. “But best-case scenario, you come back with the entire Alaska National Guard to get us out of here.”
The corners of his lips quirk up in a smile. “I’ll do my best.”
He holds my gaze for a couple of heart-pounding seconds before turning and walking over to the hooks by the front door, where his coat is hanging.
After bundling up, he puts a hand on the doorknob and looks back at me. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”
I nod, giving him a confident and completely fake smile. Telling me not to worry while off of my anxiety meds is like telling the sun to stop shining.
Eighteen hours later, I’m swaying to the sounds of Sinatra, my eyes squeezed shut as I fight my urge to throw open the cabin’s front door and go searching for Linc.
He’s been gone for too long. Every howl of the wind unnerves me as I imagine him out there in the snow. I should have told him I wanted him to stay here, where it’s safe and warm. We have enough food to make it just fine until spring when the snowstorms will stop and the snow will start melting.
I wish I could talk to Genevieve. Even though we became friends because we’re coworkers, we’ve become very close. We spend time together on weekends and holidays.
What would she say about all of this? Of course she’d say the whole thing is “fucking ridiculous” because she says that all the time. Then she’d get giddy over me being trapped in a cabin with one bed and a hot, single man.
Libidinous is too long of a word for Boggle, but it’s absolutely me right now. I think about Lincoln day and night. My body has started to crave him. Normally I’m ninety-five percent logical, but he makes me feel ninety-five percent horny and maybe five percent logical.
Is it just the stress of this situation, or is there really a connection between us? As Frank serenades me from the record player with “New York, New York,” I wonder who I’d choose to walk through that cabin door if I could be stuck here with anyone else.
Other than maybe an experienced helicopter pilot and a helicopter, I can’t think of anyone.
Hell, who am I kidding? After the plane crash, I’m never getting on anything that flies again, so even a helicopter pilot is out. I’ve been dreaming about the crash, and it’s always the part where we’re plunging to the ground, knowing we’re going to hit it at any moment.