Chapter 11

Vincent

I remained sitting in the armchair, staring at the fireplace with my mug of coffee in hand for several minutes. My mind was racing. Why had I brought her here? What had happened in the car earlier had felt natural. I had felt this itching urge to possess her, to make her mine. I couldn’t get enough of those unpredictable hazel eyes. When I kissed her, I did it because I couldn’t stop myself. She tasted delicious in my mouth. Her nipples were hard and yearning for my touch. I could see that she wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

But that wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to keep talking to her, and I wanted to see if I could make her laugh again. The thought of her getting out of my car and disappearing made me anxious. I had invited her back to the cabin because I wanted her to stay with me.

And now that I had a couple of minutes alone, I couldn’t quite understand why I was behaving this way. Normally, it was the women who chased me. I had my pick of who I wanted. It was easy for me to charm women and get my way with them. But I still hadn’t figured Gemma out; she still confused me.

I thought we were having a cozy chat by the fireplace. I thought she was having fun, but I had noticed the sudden change that overtook her face. What had I said to push her away? And now it had been several minutes, and she still hadn’t returned from the restroom. I drained the coffee from the mug and stood up.

“Gemma?” I called out to her as I walked down the hall toward the restroom door. She didn’t answer.

“Hey, Gemma,” I called out again and now lightly knocked on the door. A sudden gust of breeze sent a chill down my spine, and I turned to notice the back door flapping in the wind. She had gone out.

I ran back to the living room and found her sweater on the couch. Had she run away? Was she taking a walk outside? Either way, she’d be freezing out there without warm clothing. I found a blanket on the back of one of the armchairs, and I picked that up, too, and ran back to the back door.

“Gemma!” I called out to her when I burst through the door. Whatever had happened, whatever I’d said, I didn’t want her to leave like this. I wanted to see her again. I wanted to apologize if I had done something wrong.

I couldn’t hear her, not even a rustle of leaves. I ran across the bridge and into the woods. Not that I knew the trails well, I had only been here for two days. But I wasn’t just going to give up. Something told me that she had gone into the woods; she hadn’t left.

“Gemma! Where are you?” I called for her again, recognizing the strain in my voice. It was approaching nightfall now and the sun was beginning to set. Not only that, but the hard rain from the afternoon had shrouded the woods in thick mist. Soon it would become very difficult to see. She could get lost in this place. I knew I could.

“Gemma! Tell me where you are!” I yelled out, and this time I heard something. I stopped, standing stock still.

“Here,” she called softly. I whipped around and followed the voice, running through the thick forest cover. I could feel thorns scratching me through my shirt, but I wasn’t about to let them slow me down.

I was panting by the time I found her. She was sitting at the edge of the creek, on a smooth flat rock, her pale skin exposed to the cool breeze. I could see the goose bumps on her arms. She was sitting with her knees pressed tightly to her chin, with her arms holding them in place. She looked up at me, her thick dark curls forming a curtain on either side of her face.

She must have noticed the look of panic on my face because she smiled suddenly.

“I followed the sound of the creek and got distracted,” she said as I walked up to her.

“I was worried that you’d be cold,” I said, trying to sound less panicked than I actually was. How was I supposed to explain to her that my heart had given way at the thought of never seeing her again?

Gemma smiled as I placed her sweater over her shoulders; she tugged it closer around her and mouthed a silent “thank you” to me.

“You found a good spot,” I said, looking around. The sound of the trickling creek was soothing. There wasn’t a soul in sight or earshot. We were totally and truly alone.

I laid the blanket on the ground and sat down cross-legged beside her and our gaze met again.

“I’m sorry for running out like that,” she said softly.

“Don’t worry about it. I understand if it was all a little overwhelming for you. I know we’re still strangers to each other.” I placed a hand on her knee. She felt soft in my hands, and I gave her knee a squeeze. She had caught my gaze and was holding it boldly. Her lips were pink, just like her cheeks, and she looked like a porcelain figurine in the silvery moonlight that was now beginning to filter in through the leaves.

“Yes, we are strangers still,” she whispered and I leaned in to kiss her.