There’s plenty of work to do to get us all set up. There’s wood to chop, traps to set and my ice fishing equipment needs a thorough wipe-down and prep. Good thing I can do it all with my eyes closed because my brain is on a constant loop.

Olivia’s a virgin. A fucking virgin. It’s like a unicorn crossing my path. And she’d said it like it’s a bad thing, as if knowing it would cool my desire.

I’d been hot for her before. Now, I’m a raging inferno. I’ll be her first. No man has taken her. I’ll be her one and only, the first man to claim and teach her. And the last.

But, damn it, a virgin. She’s so inexperienced. I’ve sensed it in the way she moves. She has no idea of her own sensuality. I’ve seen it the way she looks at me with such naked curiosity. But her signals have been mixed with fear, and my typical ability to read a woman has been drowned in lust. It never occurred to me that she could be a virgin.

Her first time, I should treat her right. I shouldn’t rut into her like an animal. I should make sure she’s comfortable, soothe her and take it slow. I’d thought I’d lost my decency, my sense of right and wrong. But here it is, rearing its stubborn head.

I keep busy and away from her all day, wrestling with my thoughts and desires. I should probably check in on her. But if she tries to run on me, I’ll hear her. I’m almost certain she has no wilderness skills. She looked around at the woods like she’d been dropped onto Mars. If she tries to run, I’m pretty sure I could hear her from a mile away, and I’m never that far.

I finally head back into the cabin well after dark. The smell of a meal cooking on the stove greets me. I stop dead in my tracks. I can’t remember the last time I walked into any place I lived and smelled home cooking on the stove. It has to have been way back when I was a little kid, and even then it didn’t happen often. By the time I was eight, my mother was sick. Not much home cooking happened after that.

“I started some stew. I hope that’s OK?” Olivia looks nervous, standing at the stove, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “I found some meat in the freezer. And you had potatoes, carrots and onions, so…” She shrugs, as if I could be upset with her for cooking.

“Smells good,” I grunt. I’ve never been big on words, and being around her steals what few I have from my chest. Seeing her there in my kitchen feels so right. My heart pounds faster, realizing she’s not going to run. She’s going to stay.

“I hope it tastes good.” She peers down into the pot, giving it a stir with a wooden spoon. “I couldn’t find some of the spices I usually use.”

I walk over to an upper cabinet, right next to her. The kitchen area is small enough that my arm brushes against hers. I feel the contact everywhere.

“Can you reach up here?” I look down, realizing that she can’t. I’ll have to re-arrange things for her. And make her a stool.

“Do you have any oregano or basil?” she asks. “Or how about paprika or rosemary?”

I pull out the first two. I’m not a chef. But if she gives me a list, I can get us more supplies when I head to the store.

I take a few steps back and watch her work. She must like to cook. She seems almost relaxed.

And those curves. She bends over the sink and I have to stifle a groan. She reaches up for the salt and pepper and I’m praying one of the buttons on her blouse finally pops. She has no idea the effect she has on me. She’s so unstudied, none of the awareness I’m used to with women who know they’re hot and work it. Olivia’s both pure innocence and sexy as hell.

“You didn’t have to cook,” I manage.

“I like to cook.”

I nod. Seems like she does. I grab a change of clothes and head into the bathroom, stripping down for a shower. I’ve been working like a dog all day.

With hot water pounding on my back, steam rising around me, and a hot woman on my mind, yeah, I’m rock hard. But I’ve been that way all day. Nothing’s going to change that until I finally get what I really want.

I can still feel Olivia grinding up against me in bed. At first, I hadn’t bought her line that she’d been asleep. I’d figured she’d gotten carried away, then embarrassed. But then I’d seen the panic in her eyes and learned the truth about her inexperience. Problem is, it turns me on even more to know that she has all that raw desire bottled up inside her.

Standing in front of the medicine cabinet, I clear a circle in the fog and shave. I don’t know what I’m doing, sprucing myself up for her. It’s not like I’m picking her up for prom, pinning a corsage to her gown. I do it anyway, making sure I don’t miss a spot.

By the time I’m done, she’s got dinner ladled into two bowls on the table. I sit down, as does she, and we get to it. It’s fucking fantastic. I know I’m groaning as I taste it, licking my lips, eating too fast, but, damn, it’s too good.

“You like it?”

“What do you think?” I ask with my mouth half full, rising to get seconds.

She laughs, light and sweet. Laughter. That’s another thing I haven’t had much of in my life for a long while.

She’s stealing little glances at me, looking at my damp hair, my chest. Fuck, this woman takes my breath away. I want to pull her in my lap where she belongs.

But she’s a virgin. She must have no idea what’s going on between us. Hell, I don’t either. I’ve never felt like this before, and I’ve got a decade and a half of experience under my belt. Of all the women I’ve been with, none have affected me like Olivia. She’s like a new breed, my perfect mate, and all I can think about is burying myself in her.

With the dishes clean and put away, there’s nothing more to do other than what I’ve been thinking about all day. She moves a couple of steps away from me, maybe sensing my train of thought.

“So, no TV?” she asks. I shake my head, taking a step toward her. “No Internet?” I shake my head again. “Are you, like, against technology?”

“I don’t need it.”

She nods, looking anywhere but me. It feels like the room is heating up, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling with tension. “So, do you, like, live here all the time? When you’re not, you know, working in Chicago?”

No, I was not playing 20 questions. She didn’t need to know all the shit I’d been through, all the darkness that had driven me to want to remove myself from society. But she keeps talking, nervous.

“Do some of the guys you work with know you’re here? With me?” She shivers. I want to wrap her in my arms, run my hands down her back. But it’s probably me making her shiver with fear.

Especially when I answer, “No one knows we’re here.”

She bites her lip. It makes me lick mine. “Hey, do you have something I could sleep in?” she asks, hesitant and shy.

Of course she wants a change of clothes. Why didn’t I think of that? Because I’m too preoccupied with thinking about getting her out of her clothes. Just the thought of her changing, taking off her blouse and unbuttoning it makes me turn away and adjust the damn baseball bat in my jeans.

“I’ll get you a T-shirt. It’ll be long on you.” I pull out an old, soft one. The thought of it draped along her curves makes me close my eyes for a second. I want her in it and nothing else, no bra, no panties, just my shirt.

I shove it at her, gruff. With those big eyes, full lips, and her smooth, soft skin, I need to keep the fuck away. Only there’s nowhere to go in this cabin built for one. If I had another room, I’d head there, but I don’t.

She disappears into the bathroom. I pace like a panther in a cage waiting for its meal. My hands ball into fists. I wish I could work out. It doesn’t matter that I spent hours chopping wood. I want to go for a run, lift some weights, anything to release the restless, pent-up energy coursing through me. I feel trapped in this cabin.

She finally steps out, shy and barefoot. Her soft, full breasts push against the thin cotton. She’s not wearing a bra.

She stands there as I take her in, ravenous. Twirling a section of hair in her fingers, she looks down, but I see her body respond to me. She twists her thighs together. Her nipples begin to harden under my gaze.

I destroy the distance between us in less than a heartbeat. Panting like an animal, I catch her wrists, first one, then the other in my palm. I press them into the wall above her head.

She looks up at me, cheeks flushed as she breathes hard. Her pupils are dilated, lips moist, her nipples so stiff they’re pressing through the cotton, begging for my touch.

Hand at her throat, I lean down and breathe deep. Her feminine scent fills my lungs, my body with longing. A soft sound escapes her throat, a quiet mewl of need as she trembles under my grasp. Slowly, I trail a finger down her cheek and brush her lower lip with my thumb. She gasps, lips parted, eyes wide as she gazes up at me. Desire rolls off her in waves.

But then she speaks. “Don’t hurt me, Knox,” she pleads, trembling with tears in her eyes. “Please, don’t.”

I straighten up. Raking a hand through my hair, I pull my body away, holding it tense, still, and apart from her. Fuck. I pound my fist against the wall over her head.

“Go to sleep,” I bark, pointing at the bed. She hurries away, tucking herself under the sheet and blanket. She turns on her side, her back to me.

I curse, my forehead in my hand. In the bathroom, I splash some water on my face. My hard-on is raging. I could take a cold shower. I could jerk off, but I know nothing will cool me down. There’s no relief but her.

But I’m not going to rape this girl. I’m going crazy, but I will not hurt her. I’m just going to have to hold back. And wait.

Because she wants me. She wants this. She’s just afraid.

I turn out the light and slip into bed, careful to stay on my side of the mattress. Our bodies don’t touch. She’s stiff and tense, hyper-aware. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. For hours, long after she’s finally fallen asleep, I listen to her breathing. I watch the rise and fall of her chest, those breasts made for me, that throat milky white, her lips berry red. I will have her. It’s only a matter of time.