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And when a woman looks at a man like that…
Well, that changes everything.
“Okay. Wrap your hands around the rope.” P.J. called out to Juliet with renewed intensity and determination. “When I yellNOWyou tighten your grip. I’m gonna put all my weight behind the rope and pull you out.” P.J. braced his left foot against a large tree trunk and his right on the root of another. Then he prepared himself to unleash the strength he had been storing.
“NOW!!”P.J. bellowed out and leaned back hard. Juliet held on tight as she felt the rope begin to tug at her. It took no more than a few seconds before the sound of suction being released split through the storm. In a sudden forceful geyser of mud, Juliet flew at P.J with a strength that knocked him off his feet. She landed flat on top of him. With a face covered in filth, sleet and vomit, Juliet Jones leaned in and smacked P.J.’s lips in a freezing, heartfelt kiss. She rested her head on his shoulder and whispered close into his ear. “I knew you would come back. I knew you would save me.”
Then Juliet Jones gave up the fight and passed right out.
When Juliet revived, it was to the sound of her clothes being ripped and torn.
“What the hell?!” She yelped and jerked away.
“Jesus, Juliet! I almost cut you. Hold still, will you?” P.J. pulled back the sharp scissor blades that he was holding. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one damn night.” P.J. was worried, exhausted, and freezing his ass off. “I got a hot shower running. We’ve got to get you out of these clothes.”
Juliet pushed his hand away and sat up on the bench. “And your plan is to cut them off?”
“Yup, that’s exactly my plan. You want to try to take them off yourself? Do it.” He snarled at her; his patience obviously worn thin. “But I’m warning you, Juliet, I’m in no mood. So, I’m telling you right now if you are not buck naked in two minutes, I’m gonna tie you down, stuff a rag in your mouth and cut those fuckers off myself.”
Juliet took her freezing hands and tried to quickly work at her buttons. But the clothes were heavy, misshapen, and stuck like glue to her body. Juliet’s back ached from the frigid clothes plastered to her spine, and the icy weight had become unbearable.
“Okay, do it. But no funny stuff.” She warned him through chattering teeth.
P.J. looked at the woman shivering before him. Her lips were blue, her nose was red and every inch of her was covered in thick mud, decaying leaves, and god knows what else.
“Babe, seriously?” He looked at her with incredulity. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Me making a move on you? Not on my worse day. I just pulled you out of what amounts to a bucket of shit and vomit.” Then to Juliet’s abject horror he leaned in and sniffed the air around her. “And you smell like piss. Look, right now the furthest thing on my mind is boning the chick with mud in her ears.”
“I find that oddly comforting.” She frowned at him and chewed her bottom lip.
“Yeah, that’s me.” He growled out. “Oddly comforting.”
Then without further hesitation, P.J. picked Juliet up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her into the bathroom. There he proceeded to slice through Juliet’s clothing.
The room was so full of steam, Juliet could barely see P.J. However, she heard him loud and clear when he said, “There’s shampoo and a fresh bar of soap on the tile ledge. I’ll give you a couple of minutes, then I’m coming in.”
“What?” Juliet squeaked out in horror.
“Walk in shower, two heads, and I lost the feeling in both nuts about an hour and a half ago, so give the whole Pollyanna thing a rest.” P.J. ordered her. Then he handed Juliet a fresh washcloth and shoved her into the thick steam.
Once under that hot spray, Juliet sighed with relief and didn’t think about anything else but the way the steam enveloped her cramped, stiff freezing limbs in warmth.
P.J. stood on his side of the shower, feeling the most uncomfortable he had ever been in his life. His mind was telling him that standing in the shower inches away from a very naked Juliet was necessary.
“Really? You couldn’t have waited?” Jiminy Cricket tapped him on the shoulder.
“Great.” P.J. snarled back at his conscience. “Now you show up? Where the hell have you been for the past twenty years?”
Truly, his moral compass could rest at ease. Because the reassurance that P.J. had given to Juliet had not been bullshit. He really had had no ulterior motives when he stepped into that shower with her. Using all his strength to save Juliet and battling the raging storm had been exhausting. P.J. was chilled to the core.
However, P.J. was also a red blooded, fully grown man. It’d been a while since he’d had a woman, and this proximity to a buck naked Juliet was seriously putting P.J. over the edge. But he knew with abject certainty that now wasn’t the time, and even if it was, Juliet had never given him a sign that she was the least bit interested. Making a move on her now would be nothing short of rape, and P.J. had no intentions of ever beingthat guy. When he had been holding the Saints gavel, P.J. had once orderedthat guyto be beaten almost to death for his crime. So, after P.J. had washed away the mud from his body, he gave himself an extra few seconds to warm up under the hot water. Then he took his clean body and dirty thoughts and got his ass out of there.
When P.J. got out of the shower, he put on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a long sleeved tee shirt. He turned up the heat and built a roaring fire in the fireplace. After that, P.J grabbed two of his own shirts one thermal and one flannel and a pair of wool socks. He hoped that between the heat, the fire, the warm clothes, and a hot meal Juliet would be okay. P.J. put two bowls of hot soup and a half dozen ham and cheese sandwiches on the table. He could hear the water in the shower still running, and even though the cabin had a huge hot water tank, that steam wouldn’t last forever. When Juliet didn’t answer his knock, P.J. went into the bathroom. He found her sitting on the shower floor with her hands wrapped around her legs, and her head buried in the top of her knees. Juliet’s emotional dam had burst. She was rocking and shaking with the force of her sobs.
“Jesus, Juliet.”
P.J. grabbed the bath sheet from the edge of the sink, shut off the steady stream of water, bent down, and wrapped Juliet into the towel. Then he carried Juliet into the living room where he sat her down on the couch and piled thick blankets on top of her. P.J. decided to wait on the soup and instead poured a cup full of blackberry brandy, honey and lemon into a pan and let it simmer until it was thick and warm. He brought out a huge box of tissues, sat down next to Juliet and wrapped his arms around her heaving shoulders. Then he fed her small sifts of brandy in between her hiccupping sobs.
P.J. had never seen so many tears in his life. They just kept coming. They spilt over from Juliet’s eyes and flowed down her cheeks like the notes of a sad song. Soft moans escaped through little hiccups. He could feel her shoulders rise and fall as the strength of her anguish ravished through her body. Juliet’s chin quivered against his chest. P.J. was no stranger to crying women. His mother, Claire, was a crier. Happy times, sad times, or sometimes just because. When he had asked his dad about it, Reno had told him that sometimes a woman just needs a good cry.
