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Excerpt

It wasn’t much warmer inside the cabin, but at least it was dry. Leaving her to stand there, snow caked to her boots, Sinjin skirted over to her left. Breanna couldn’t see what he was doing, but she recognized the sound, and the smell of sulfur as a match was struck.

Down on his haunches in front of the hearth, flames illuminated his face. As if he felt her gaze on him, he rose, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Come over here and get warm.”

Shakily removing her outer layers, she hung the wet items on pegs in the wall, leaving her boots at the door. Now that she could see, Breanna scanned the single room. Simple, but thankfully, it appeared to be clean. There was a rudimentary kitchen area to the right with a wood stove and a small table, an iron bed on the far wall in front of her, a couple of chairs, and a door—she prayed it went to a bathroom. She had to go, and just the thought of having to do her business in an outhouse caused a violent shudder to shoot through her.

Breanna pointed at it. “Please tell me that’s a bathroom in there.”

“Yeah.” Sinjin sniggered from the stove, his back to her. “Can’t handle roughing it, princess?”

“Sorry, I’m just not a squat-in-the-woods kind of girl.”

“Guess I won’t be taking you camping then.”

As if.

He turned around to face her. “This place is pretty much only used for hunting and fishing. We’re off-grid here.” Taking a step closer, Sinjin angled his head and reached for a strand of her wet hair. He rubbed it between his fingers. “But you’re safe now.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Am I?

“I’m going to bring some more wood in.” He let her hair go. “Can’t let that fire die out.”

The bathroom was small. A frosted window its only source of light. With most of the space taken up by an old cast-iron tub, there was barely enough room to turn around. Breanna peeled her wet jeans down her thighs, the flesh beneath the denim cold and clammy. She loathed pulling them back up again. At the sink, water ran from the faucet. She washed her hands in liquid ice, wishing for a toothbrush. A tube of Crest sat beside a bottle of soap. She used her finger.

Sinjin was stacking wood beside the hearth when Breanna came out of the bathroom, the wood floor rough beneath her bare feet. She sat on a rocking chair in front of the fire, fingers combing through her tangled hair to dry it.

“I checked the cabinets,” he said, without looking at her. “We’ve got canned soup, oatmeal, coffee, powdered creamer, and sugar.”

“No fava beans and a nice chianti to go with it?”

He turned around, his brow raised.

“Silence of the Lambs,” she explained. “Never mind.”

“Sorry, no.”

“Well, that’s good.” Breanna snorted out a laugh. “I don’t have to worry about being eaten for dinner.”

Flames reflected in his whiskey eyes, his lips rising to a smirk. He winked. “There’s always dessert.”

Turning back to the fire, Sinjin unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on a chair. The Henley he wore beneath it followed. His skin was golden in the flickering light, each chiseled muscle defined.

The distinct sound of a buckle unlatching interrupted her ogling. The button popped on his jeans. “What are you doing?”

Lowering his zipper, Sinjin turned around. “Getting out of these wet clothes,” he replied. Then, stripping off his pants, he kicked them over to the chair. “And I suggest you do the same before you catch pneumonia.”

Working a tangle from her hair, Breanna looked away, but not before she stole a glimpse of that part of him. Good God, she’d never been so wrong. “That’s not how you get pneumonia.”

Comfortable in his nudity, he continued to stand there. And with a body like that, why wouldn’t he be? Staring into the fire, she could feel his eyes on her.

“You’re shivering.” His voice came closer. “Jesus, if you don’t take those fucking clothes off, I’ll have no choice but to do it for you.”

And he was bold enough to mean it. Breanna knew Sinjin was right, though. She’d never feel warm in these clothes, soaked to her skin. Keeping her back to him, she slowly got up from the rocking chair, and trembling, she removed the sodden garments.

He came up to her from behind. Wrapping her naked body in a blanket, his fingers lingered at her breasts, sweeping over her nipples. Breanna sucked in a breath. Electricity sparking at the back of her neck, goosebumps sheeted her skin, and not because she was cold.

Holy fucking hell.

“Get in bed,” he ordered, leaving her standing there to go to the kitchen. “I’m going to make us some of that soup.”

Compelled to comply, Breanna turned back the thick goose-down comforter and burrowed into the soft mattress. She watched him at the stove. Ass high and taut, he stood with his legs slightly apart, enough to see his balls and that more than impressive appendage hanging in the space between them.

I sure wouldn’t have to ask him to go deeper with that thing.

“Chicken noodle or beef barley?”

“Beef.” Most definitely. Biting her lip, she giggled to herself. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck in here?”

“Hard to say.” He glanced back at her. “A few days, maybe.”

How in the world would she survive being trapped in here with this man for that long?

With the soup heating on the wood stove, Sinjin gathered their discarded clothing, setting them on a rack to dry near the fire. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be up at Dalton House in time for the big Thanksgiving spread.”

Breanna shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on staying that long.”

“No? What’d you come for then?”

“Grandmama summoned me.” Holding the blanket closed, she sat up in the bed. “Well, it was her lawyer, actually.”

Was she worried about her? Valerie Dalton had to know she was due to arrive today. Would she call the police? Send Derek St. John out looking for her? Probably not.

“Sounds like you don’t like her very much.”

“Couldn’t say.” Breanna snickered. “I don’t even know her.”

“I bet you like her money, though, don’t you?” Twirling her panties around his finger, he winked. “And she’s got lots of it.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Right. And how’d you get that pretty princess car of yours, hmm?”

Presumptuous asshole.

“I bought it with my own money, thank you very much,” she informed him, nostrils flaring. Pausing briefly, her lips pursed to the side with a shrug. “Well, mostly mine. My parents helped some.”

“Okay, okay.” Chuckling, Sinjin put her underwear on the rack with her clothes. “Where do you live, Breanna?”

She liked the way it sounded when he said her name. “I’m going to school in Portland, but home is LA.”

“You drove here from Portland?”

“Yeah.”

His brows cinched together briefly before cocking his head. “For an old woman, you don’t know?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Hadn’t she been asking herself the very same thing?

“I’m not sure. Maybe because she wants to see me.” Licking her lip, Breanna picked at a pulled thread on the blanket. “Could be she’s just curious, and that’s okay. I am too.”

With a brief nod, a look of sympathy seemed to wash over Sinjin’s face. Pressing his lips together, he took the soup off the stove.

“Eat.” Placing a warm mug in her hands, he sat beside her on the bed. “You like Portland?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said, blowing on a spoonful of the hot soup. “It’s a pretty cool place. Eclectic, you know?”

“Hmm. Yeah, but there’s plenty of really good colleges closer to LA, so what made you go there?”

Not bothering to use his spoon, Sinjin intently gazed at her, seeming to drink her in, along with the contents of his mug. Breanna couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by the muscle sliding up and down his throat as he swallowed.

“Uh…well, because I got a partial scholarship, so I could afford the tuition.” She clinked her mug with his. “And it wasn’t close to home.”

He leaned back against the iron headboard, stretching his arm out behind her. “You don’t like LA?”

“I like it well enough. It’s home.” Breanna leaned forward to accommodate the arm that rested on her shoulders. “Just wanted to experience something different for a while.”

“What are you studying?”

“English.”

“So you can teach?” he asked, setting his mug down on the nightstand.

“God, no, I would suck at that.” Laughing, Breanna turned her neck to look at him. “I want to be an editor. I’m hoping to get an internship at a publishing house.”

His finger slowly moved up and down her arm. “You got family? A boyfriend?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m interested.”

In what? Her? Did he actually expect her to believe that? She was naked, in bed with a man who was essentially a stranger, and who also happened to be naked. That Sinjin affected her was disconcerting enough. He likely knew it, too. For once, Breanna didn’t need Kayleigh to tell her what he was really after. She began tingling all over at the thought.

Tilting her head, she answered, “Of course, I have a family.”

“Brothers? Sisters?”

“A little brother. He’s ten.”

“And a boyfriend?” Tipping his chin down, his brows climbed.

“Nope, don’t have one of those.” Shaking her head, she coyly smiled. “How about you?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend either.” Sinjin chuckled, then exhaling the amusement left his face.

Looking deep into her eyes, Sinjin fingered her damp hair, tucking it behind her ear. The wind still howled outside the windows, snow pelting against the glass. Yet it wasn’t the storm that alarmed her.

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“When you get to Dalton House.” He got up, taking the empty mug from her hand. “Just be careful.”

Of what? An old lady?

He sounded so serious, though. Ominous, even. Unsure what to make of it, Breanna smoothed the comforter over her lap, watching Sinjin bring their dirty dishes to the sink. He strolled over to the hearth, his features strained, and put another log on the fire. Then he turned around wearing a smirk, the tension gone from his face as if she had only imagined it.

Sliding under the covers, he yanked away the blanket he’d wrapped her in.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Body heat.” He laid the blanket on top of the comforter and spooned her from behind. “We’ll be warmer skin to skin.”

“But…we’re naked.”

“Isn’t that convenient?”

Coiling his arm around her middle, Sinjin dragged her back to his chest and tucked her head beneath his chin. With his fingertips lightly stroking her stomach, Breanna felt his cock grow hard nestled against her bottom.

“We can fuck if you want.”

“I do not want.”

Pressing himself against her, he chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

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About the Author

Dyan Layne is a nurse boss by day and the writer of edgy sensual tales by night--and on weekends. Serenity, the first book in the Red Door series, is her debut novel. She's never without her Kindle, and can usually be found tapping away at her keyboard with a hot latte and a cold Dasani Lime--and sometimes champagne. She can't sing a note, but often answers in song because isn't there a song for just about everything? Born and raised a Chicago girl, she currently lives in Tampa, Florida, and is the mother of four handsome sons and a beautiful daughter, who are all grown up now, but can still make her crazy--and she loves it that way! Because normal is just so boring.

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