And as I saunter back up the stairs to finish my work, his answering groan makes me think that maybe he isn’t the only one who knows how to get the upper hand.

“I could get used to this,” Tess sighs.

She looks like a quilted armadillo with the blankets wrapped around most of her body, save for the lone ankle that pokes out for my inspection. My fingers press gently into her skin to work out the soreness that’s crept in after a day of whipping this old lodge into better shape. We’re bundled up in our cocoon of the tent, and after spending so many hours trapped here with her, I don’t know how I’ll go back to the real world when all this is over.

In the nine or so hours since we pulled ourselves from the sex-bed-and-breakfast we made for ourselves in the main living room, we’ve managed to shine up the walls of most of the major rooms, clean away the dust and such that she wasn’t able to get to the day before, and even fix the broken railings on the front deck.

Okay, so that one was mostly Tess, but I don’t even feel emasculated by it. Watching Tess with a hammer is kind of an aphrodisiac for me, as it turns out.

We’ve gotten a lot done in a minimal amount of time, and that’s extra impressive considering we’d both (I think both, at least, if her scent is any indication) rather be doing…other things.

“Yeah?” I answer finally. “Should I put this on the website too?”

She cracks open one eye. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Sort of moaned it, really.”

“There is a definite market here for some sort of VIP service. Especially if we put you on the page like I suggested.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” I say with an amused huff of air.

“We could do a Hunter-of-the-month calendar,” she counters. “How do you feel about Santa hats?”

“I think they’re better left for the elk head.”

She clicks her tongue. “I’m going to need to see a little more dedication from you, Mr. Barrett.”

My hands still on her ankle for only a moment, resuming their slow ministrations when I catch back up. “I don’t think I should feel the way I do when you say that.”

“ ‘Mr. Barrett’?”

I go still again. “Careful.”

“Interesting.” She grins wide. “I’ll have to tuck that away.”

I shake my head again as I bite back a smile. “You might be a little diabolical.”

“It’s probably the grandpa in you,” she says seriously. “All that whittling has given you these old-man kinks.”

I roll my eyes, releasing her ankle before crawling over her legs and pulling open her quilt to snuggle into it with her. “Scoot over.”

“So bossy,” she laughs.

I adjust her until she’s sitting between my legs with her back to my front, then settle against the back of the couch as I rewrap the quilt around us both before nuzzling my face in her hair. “You smell good.”

“What?” She snorts. “I probably smell like wood finish and leftover sex sweat.”

I grin against her throat. “I like it.”

“Weirdo.”

“Are you hungry? I could cook something.”

“Just sit like this for a bit,” she hums, snuggling deeper into me. “You can impress me with your fireplace-food skills in a minute.”

“Okay.” I shift a little, the movement slotting her more easily between my legs. “I turned my phone on today. My friend at the co-op said they’ve started working on the downed power lines. We’ll probably be the last ones to get power back, but hopefully by tomorrow we’ll have heat again.”

“You mean to tell me I have to stop being personally warmed and go back to central heat and air like some sort of regular person?”

“You’ll survive.”

She lets out an emphatic hmph. “Will I?”

My arms come around her to hold her against me in answer, and when I glance down I notice her eyes closing as she lets her head fall back on my chest.

“I really could get used to this,” she mumbles lazily.

“Could you?”

I kiss her hair. Her scent is stronger now, and in it, I can smell everything that’s been building for the last twenty-four hours. It’s slower than the other times, but no less potent. I worry about how she’ll feel when it comes, if she’ll be afraid, if I’ll be able to do everything right to help her…It’s been so long, after all.

“I don’t think you have much time until your heat,” I tell her. I pull her in even tighter against me. “It’s fucking sinful the way you smell, Tess.”

She wiggles slightly. “But you…you like it?”

“Like it?” I snort. “It’s taking everything I have not to tear this blanket off you and fuck you until sundown.”

Her breath catches. “And this is a bad idea because…?”

“You’re too close. You should rest. Before…”

“Before you fuck me until sundown,” she laughs.

My cock twitches, and I have to give it a strong mental talking-to. “Yes,” I answer hoarsely. “That.” She’s quiet for so long that I can’t help but add, “Are you scared?”

“I…” Her lips close as she considers this. “Weirdly no? I mean, it’s been okay so far, right? And plus…you’re here.”

My chest swells with her faith in me, and I hold her even tighter, so tight that she would be well within her rights to complain. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “It’s funny…Normally I would revolt at that.”

“At what?”

“Letting you take care of me.”

“You can’t be strong all the time, Tess,” I tell her, feeling something soft in my chest for this headstrong woman.

“Maybe,” she answers softly.

I kiss her temple. “You’re worth being fussed over.”

“You probably say that to all the girls,” she teases.

“No,” I say seriously. “Just you.”

I’m rewarded with a sharp intake of air, her fingers sliding over my forearms and gripping there as if holding me back. My lips curl even though I say nothing, letting my chest rise and fall in the same pattern as hers as we both settle into a contented silence. When I let my eyes drift open, I can see that the sun has finally started to shine after the hazy gray of the storm yesterday, and I take that as a good sign. It’s just begun to sink toward the glittering white horizon farther up the mountain, and from where we’re sitting, the light of it seems to make the freshly fallen snow sparkle.

“I wish I had my phone,” she complains after a while. “That would be a pretty picture.”

“It’s still pretty,” I tell her. “Even without the picture.”

She rolls her eyes. “I forgot your ongoing vendetta with modern technology.”

“It’s not a vendetta,” I argue. “Just never really got the obsession with being so…connected all the time.” I laugh a little under my breath. “That’s probably my dad’s fault too.”

“Was he boycotting fax machines in the nineties?”

My chest shakes against her back as I try not to laugh out loud. “I don’t know…He just…” I go quiet for a moment, thinking. “He always used to say that people need to live in moments more. I remember being a teenager and asking for a cell phone for the first time—”

“Is it the one you’re still carrying? Because I could make a strong argument that you bought a cell phone as a teenager and never—”

I pinch her hip, making her squeak, but it effectively quiets her.

“Anyway. Facebook was just becoming a thing, and phones with the internet were everywhere, and all my friends at school were getting them, and I begged him to get me one, but he said no. He sat me down and told me that the obsession with being dialed in all the time was going to be the thing that ruined real-life relationships. He told me I should try to focus more on living in moments instead of obsessing over sharing them with everybody.”

“Ah. So you adapted this whole cyberphobia aesthetic at a young age.”

“Not at all,” I assure her. “I was mad as hell. I went behind his back and did a ton of odd jobs until I could buy my own.”