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Turning, I walk back to her and pick her up and sit her on the vanity, then bend down on my knees to untie her wet muddy boots and take off her now soaking wet socks.
“Fuck,” I mutter quietly to myself, because even her feet are fucking perfect, her toenails painted in soft pink. My hands rest on her ankles, which feel like ice blocks, and I look up at her. She is staring at me, but her teeth are still chattering, her body shaking due to the cold. I run my hands up and down her legs, telling myself it is to get some warmth into her, but to be honest, I just like touching her body. I stand and grab her around the waist and pull her off the vanity and place her on her feet right in front of me.
I am extremely tempted to continue. To peel her wet clothes off her and get in the shower with her. I want my hands on her. I want to touch her, feel her body. I want her underneath me. But thoughts of her father and the letter waiting for me downstairs infiltrate my wet dream thinking, and I take a small step back.
I tuck her wet hair behind her ear and softly touch her cheek. Her head is still bleeding slightly, but I will tend to that after she warms up.
“Get out of these wet clothes and get in, I will put some clothes on the bed outside. I’m going to go downstairs and make you a coffee”.
She nods, her teeth still chattering, and I turn and leave before I do something that I will never be able to forget.
19
Isabelle
He walks out of the bathroom and closes the door, leaving me wanting.
God, this man does everything to me, and although my body is shaking and cold, I clench my thighs together to help me reduce the swelling he causes. I do as he says and peel the wet clothes from my body, and once naked, step into his shower.
I breathe out a sigh at the feeling of warmth I have now. I am surrounded by warm water and steam. As the water runs down my hair, I rub my hands against the glass to clear the fog, so I can survey the room. It is extremely masculine, very Jake. Dark colors, with a large mirror taking up most of one wall. There is a huge bathtub, beautiful cabinetry, holding towels and bath amenities, and gorgeous, dark floor tiles which are heated underneath. The room is large, the tub is huge, and to be honest, I don’t think I have ever seen a shower this big before. Everything is supersized, just like the man himself.
In my line of work, I have been to some extravagant homes and venues, but from the quick glimpse I have had of Jake's cabin this morning, I already know it is unique and extremely luxurious. It puts my cabin to shame.
My body temperature is starting to balance out, and I have washed all the blood away from my knees and face. Turning off the taps, I step out and quickly dry myself. I get a whiff of his scent; it is intoxicating, but before I can get too carried away, I wrap the towel around my body and open the door.
As promised, there are clean, fresh clothes on his bed. A navy t-shirt and grey sweatpants sit in perfect folded piles. I look at them and laugh. There is no way I can wear his clothes. He is huge, and they will fall right off me.
The cabin now feels extremely warm. I suspect Jake has the fire roaring and perhaps additional heating now on, wanting to keep me comfortable. So, I put on his large t-shirt that is on the bed for me, which I swim in, and it stops right at my knees. I pick up the sweatpants that are on the bed and don't even bother; no amount of rolling the waist will make them stay up.
I survey the room. Once again, it is large, the bed is huge, with blankets and pillows in soft coffee colors. The bed itself is made of a dark gloss timber; it is masculine, very fitting for a man who lives in the woods. There are no photos, though, no little touches of personality anywhere; it is beautiful, but simple at the same time.
With nothing else to wear, I quickly towel dry my hair and walk out of the room to find Jake. I hear him down the stairs in the kitchen, so I take my time looking around the hallway upstairs. I see what looks like a pretty hardcore office. I know he works in security, and I don’t want to spy, so I quickly avert my eyes and make my way to the stairs.
I walk slowly down the stairs, mindful not to stumble, as my limbs are starting to feel sore, and my head is starting to throb. I see him in the kitchen, getting some coffee ready.
“Hey, thanks for the clothes, but I don't think we are the same size,” I say, laughing, trying to inject some humor.
He turns and looks, and instead of replying, he stares like a deer caught in the headlights. He is standing still in the middle of his kitchen, unmoving and unblinking.
I pause on the stairs; did I do something wrong? “Jake?”
“Sorry,” he says quickly, shaking his head and scrubbing the back of his head with his hand.
He walks over to me, meeting me at the bottom of the staircase, and is staring hard at my face.
“Come here,” he says and grabs me by the waist like he did in the bathroom, acting like I weigh nothing, then promptly walks me to the kitchen, sitting me on the kitchen counter.
“You’re bleeding”.
“Oh,” I stammer, and raise my hand to my head. My fingers touch my temple, and I pull them back to see them now covered in blood. I frown, because I thought my cuts were minor, but this does explain the thumping I have in my head.
He pulls out a large first aid kit and opens it up, getting out small bandages, plasters, and other bits and pieces. He stands in front of me, positioning himself right in between my legs and his t-shirt that I am wearing rides up my thighs a little. As he prepares the things he needs with precision, I watch as his arm muscles flex and move, and I take in his body language.
With one hand, he holds my head, while with the other, he dabs the cut above my eye. He is close now, leaning right in, so there is barely an inch between us. He has a look of extreme concentration on his face as he dabs the cut with some antiseptic, and I hiss and shut my eyes at the sting.
“Sorry, baby girl,” he says softly before blowing on my cut to ease the sting. It is a simple gesture but one my father used to do when I was a little. For such a big man, he is delicate, soft even in his manner, and I am a little taken aback at this side of him.
I slowly open my eyes and stare at this man who is just too good to be true. It's not the first time he has called me that pet name, and surprisingly, I actually don’t mind his term of endearment. He is looking right at me, one of his hands is now on the bench, the other cupping my jaw. We stand in silence, looking at each other, totally captivated. Both of us are a little lost in each other's eyes. His thumb lightly rubs against my cheek, and before anything can be said, we both jump apart when a large clap of thunder barrels down over the cabin.
