Snare (Falling Stars #3) (9 page)

She mimics, shoving her leg into one black pant leg, and then the other. Hopping a couple times, she pulls them up by the suspenders.

"Eyes up here, creeper," she says, having caught me watching her chest bounce.

"If you're going to juggle them in public, expect an audience," I quip, zipping the suit up to my chest.

"Juggling would be doing this," she says, cupping her tits and bobbing them around. "This would be intentional."

There are no words to describe the sight. I bite my lip.

She stops, looks up at me, and jumps in place.

"This is not."

Staring at her, mouth open, I'm more surprised that her intentions were informative. Most women do this shit to get noticed, to seduce—not Sid.

She stills, grabs my arm with one hand, and covers her chest with the other.

"That's why big girls don't jump. They get a mind of their own."

Her hand drops, taking the heat of her with it.

I make a conscious effort to stop myself from pulling her against me and close my eyes, saving those images for another time.

Opening my lids, I take the large coat out of Sid's hands.

"I'm putting it on," she snaps.

"I didn't say anything."

I wrap the coat around her body and tug, pulling her closer, her breasts barely an inch from my chest.

"One person per coat, Sasquatch," she says, trying to step back.

Her eyes dart to mine, wide and unsure when she realizes the coat is trapping her.

"Put your arms in," I instruct.

She slips her right arm into one sleeve and when she puts in her left, we make full frontal contact. Quickening her pace, she grabs the lapels and jerks away from me.

Thank God for these baggy pants, because my dick is furious. I swallow hard, clear my throat, and put on my coat.

We finish with boots, gloves, and goggles from the closet.

"Am I going to freeze my ass off?" Sid asks, stepping onto the cleared path on the deck.

"You'll be fine," I assure her.

"Too bad," she mumbles, throwing out an arm when she loses balance. "That would be the only good thing about this."

"Why do you do that?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Do what?" She looks back, slipping on packed snow.

Reaching out, I grab her waist, catching and holding her up.

"Put yourself down all the time," I answer. "It really doesn't suit you."

"You hardly know me," is the only response she gives before pulling out of my grip and trudging down the path.

Chapter Seven
Sidra

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" I ask, settling onto the black leather seat of the snowmobile.

Xavier sits in front, between my legs. Reaching back, he grabs me under my thighs.

"Hey," I shout, swatting his back, though it's not as effective with all the down in the suit and gloves.

He pulls me forward, bringing my chest to his back.

My God, he's so firm
. Even through the thick layers of snowsuit, I can feel the hard and powerful muscles beneath. A throb, low and hot, starts between my legs.

"You'll need to hold on," he says, turning the machine on.

The seat vibrates with the power of the engine and it's not helping my lady parts situation. In fact, it escalates it to another level. A level that's dangerous, because I am no stranger to a good, hard one-night penis party in Sid. Giving myself a mental shake, I silently chant,
Say no to beastiality. Do not fuck a Sasquatch
.

Needing distance from his heat, his hardness, I inch back.

Suddenly, he pulls forward and hits the brakes. The motion jerks me back and then throws me forward against him. Grabbing his waist for dear life, I close my eyes and bury my face in his back when he guns the snowmobile.

"Sid, you can open your eyes," he yells over the sound of the engine, his body shaking. The smug bastard is chuckling.

Holding onto him, I turn my face to the side and open one eye. White scenery flies by. Relaxing against his back, I loosen my hold on his waist.

"There you go," he hollers approval.

The urge to throat punch him is strong, but not wanting to die in a snowmobile accident, I resist—barely.

He speeds over snow-covered mounds, hills, and when he hits a snowdrift, the powder flies up around us. I try not to miss a thing as we soar by. It's invigorating, exciting, and fucking amazing.

Xavier slows when we approach a ridge, lifts his arm, and points a gloved finger toward the mountain.

"That one still has thermal activity," he says, loudly, coming to a stop.

"It's a volcano!" I turn wide eyes from the view to his profile.

He nods, and says, "Yep. Second most active in the mountain range."

"And you purposely have a home near a volcano?" I only hope he can hear just how stupid I think he is.

He shrugs and pulls away from the ridge.

"The cabin's not in an eruption zone," he states before shooting off into the woods, making me tighten my hold on him once more.

Zipping around trees, boulders, and fallen stumps, I rest the side of my head against his back while taking in the beauty of it all.

When we make a sudden stop, I jerk my head up.

"What—?"

"Shhh," he hushes me, pointing to a thick group of trees.

"What am I looking at?" I ask in a whisper.

Xavier's body twists at the waist. Leaning back, he brings his profile so close to my face, I can feel his whiskers against my cheek.

"There," he whispers.

Trying to follow his line of sight and avoid pressing our faces together, I squint in the direction of the trees.

"I don't see anything," I groan, without whispering.

"Shhh, come here," he orders.

He grips my arm and pulls me around, sliding me over his leg and onto the seat in front of him.

The shock of being moved so effortlessly takes a moment to process.

"Now, look between those two trees." His lips are right against my ear, hot, damp, and—goddamn it, I don't like him.

But I finally see what he's trying to show me. A moose stands between the trees, neck bent to the ground. I can't contain the gasp from my lips when the animal lifts its proud head high.

"He's gorgeous," I whisper, leaning forward to follow when the animal steps out of view.

"Yeah," Xavier agrees into my hair.

I turn my head and raise a brow at him.

"Are you smelling me again?" I accuse.

He grins.

"I warned you I would keep doing it until you told me the scent."

His arms come around me, causing me to tense. Dipping his hand between my thighs, he arranges my left leg over the seat.

"What are you doing?"

He pulls me back against his chest.

"Teaching you how to drive," he states, taking my hands and putting them on the handles.

"Uh, no." I shake my head. "I prefer riding bitch."

I try to stand, but he pulls me down by my hips.

"Sometimes I like to ride a bitch, too," he says low in my ear.

"You're a bitch," I snap, my first reaction to his innuendo.

"Is that your way of asking to ride me later?" he tosses back before turning on the snowmobile.

I'm stunned silent and I hate that
he
did it. Looking down, I see a decal between the windshield and gas cap.
Gas or Ass. No One Rides for Free.

I roll my eyes, turn my head, and say sarcastically, "Nice decal."

"I'm glad you saw that. Now we don't have to discuss payment for the mountain tour. Will it be gas or ass?"

"I'll pay the same way your daughters do," I retort.

"They have their own snowmobiles," he answers, an edge to his response.

"Do they charge in ass, too?" I ask, a little too snotty.

I can't stand how he gets to me.
I don't get snotty. Bitchy, yes, but snotty and stunned silent, never.

"That's not funny," he growls.

"Hey, I figure you're leading by example," I quip, giving a small shrug.

Grabbing my hands again, he places them on the handlebars.

With his hands over mine, he shows me how to use the throttle, brakes, and how to maneuver. Thankfully, he never leaves me to drive on my own. We'd both be dead.

After taking us to another ridge, this time seeing mountain goats, and driving through an open area for me to practice, we arrive back to the cabin.

I climb off so he can put the snowmobile away in the large shed and his hands slide over my ass, squeezing.

"Hey!" I jump away from him.

"Ass," he calls out, wearing a large grin.

When he exits the shed, I'm ready for him. I launch a ball of snow and it smacks his chest, sprays up into his face, and catches in his beard.

"Oh my God," I cry out through tears of laughter, "that's so funny. Your face."

I point just before a large snowball slams into my shoulder.

Gasping, I try to brush away the snow lodged around my neck while he laughs.

"This means war," I warn, squatting to the ground.

"Game on." Xavier bends, scooping snow into his hand.

For I don't know how long, the battle wages on. We both secure coverage behind a nearby tree. Xavier can launch the balls harder, but I can make them faster.

The sound of the generator hums in the air as I rebuild my snowball supply behind my base tree.  Unexpectedly, Xavier's huge form comes barreling around, tackling me.

"Get off," I scream, laughing. "This is cheating!"

He straddles my waist, sits up, and throws his arms in the air, shouting, "I win!"

Grabbing a handful of snow, I shove it into his neck.

He takes my wrists and presses them into the ground above my head.

"I can't believe I've fallen prisoner to the abominable ginger," I tease with a groan.

He grins victoriously.

"No prisoners, baby," he says, keeping me pinned.

They always say 'baby'.
Anger twists inside me, among a spiral of other emotions.

"Don't call me baby," I growl, fighting his hold.

"Hey," he says, releasing me and moving off, "what just happened?"

"Nothing," I snap, pushing to my feet.

"Something just happened, Sid. I saw the change come over your face." He calls me out.

"Stop acting like you know so much about me," I blurt, childishly. "I'm cold."

I hadn't been until that moment.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "and I'm pretty fucking hungry."

Giving a curt nod, I take the shoveled path back to the cabin. I don't look back, but can feel his presence behind me.

Inside, we remove the snowsuits and hang them on hooks near the door.

"I'll get the fire going again," he says without looking at me.

"I'm going to find something to cook," I mumble. Guilt sets in knowing I'm the reason for the awkward tension.

"I saw hot dogs, just grab those and bring them to the fireplace," he tosses over his shoulder.

I don't bother responding. Instead, I go into the kitchen. I get an oversized mixing bowl from the cabinet and load it with the hotdogs, buns, and condiments. Grabbing a bag of chips and two bottles of water, I hesitantly make my way to the fireplace.

Xavier's pulled the seat cushions from the chairs onto the floor. He sits on one and holds two hotdog sticks in one hand, his eyes following me.

Setting the bowl down, I squat to the cushion next to him. I refuse to meet his eyes, my guilt for snapping at him eating away at me. And it bothers me more that this bothers me at all.

"Here," he says, holding out a metal stick. "This should make you feel better."

I take it from him and finally meet his eyes.

"You can pretend it's my weenie you're shoving a poker through," he clarifies with a smile.

Laughter bursts from my mouth.

"Figured you'd be happy about it, but could you show a little restraint with your joy of impaling me?" he teases further, holding a raw hotdog out. It flops to the side, making me laugh harder.

I take it, shove it onto the metal stick, and put it into the fire. He does the same.

"Ready to tell me what happened?" he presses.

"Only assholes call me baby." The words fall from my mouth so easily, I surprise myself.

"Ahhh," he says, giving an exaggerated nod.

"Sorry," I blurt.

In my peripheral, I watch his head twist in my direction.

"Did you just apologize?" he gasps, putting a hand on his chest.

"Shut up," I warn in a singsong voice.

"I didn't think you were capable," he continues.

"Shut up," I repeat on a laugh, throwing a hotdog bun at him.

"Thanks, I need this."

Picking up the bun, he uses it to remove his hotdog.

Not having realized until this moment how tense I'd been, my body relaxes into the crazy, way–too-comfortable state we have together. Though, I'm not sure I like this easy comfort. Defenses need to be high around men, especially one who looks like he does.

"How can you eat another one?"

I moan, placing a hand on my bloated stomach.

"I'm hungry," he whines, taking a bite of his fifth hot dog.

"I'm never eating again," I state, cleaning up and putting trash into the mixing bowl.