Snowbound Read Free

supplies.”
    “Oh.” She didn’t look up at him again as she
took another tentative bite of the meat. “What about if you have a
hunter who just injures the animal?”
    He sighed. “That’s happened a few times.
Usually, it’s some pansy-assed stockbroker, or somethin’, who
couldn’t keep up with me for miles, so I end up tracking the animal
and finishing it off. If it’s not too bad, I try to save it and let
it go back to its life. And I never accept those incompetent
assholes as clients again.”
    “Oh,” she said again, nodding. “That’s very
decent of you.”
    He rolled his eyes, as though she had
insulted him instead of complimented him. “Thanks, girl.”
    “I’m not a girl,” she said again, more
firmly.
    With an ambiguous look, he turned his
attention back to his bowl. “I know that,” he mumbled, saying
nothing else throughout the meal.

    Of course she wasn’t a girl. Stripped of that
parka and wearing those tight jeans—were they called skinny
jeans?—and a snug sweater in that same sort of some material as her
hat, there was no mistaking her for a girl. She had nicely rounded
breasts, long legs for her frame that seemed built to wrap around a
man’s waist, and curvy hips that could take the pressure of a man’s
hands holding them while he pounded into her.
    Fuck, she was definitely not a girl. He
stirred the fire with the poker as he listened to her sing softly
while she put away the dishes she had insisted on washing. He’d
half-expected to have to redo them himself, but after watching her
for a couple of minutes, he’d realized she could handle the task.
It might be the first time she’d ever done them, but washing dishes
wasn’t exactly brain surgery.
    Not that he’d count her out of that
profession, or any other. She was obviously well educated and came
from money. Smart and sassy, only a fool would underestimate her
prospects.
    Only a goddamn fool would be imagining what
it might be like to taste the honeyed skin of her neck, or cup her
ass in his hands, knowing the kind of man he was. He’d left most of
his past behind when he’d come to Alaska eight years ago, but he
was smart enough to know a woman like that was out of his league.
Never mind the fifteen years separating them. His past and her
future would never mesh, so fantasizing about touching that
luscious woman was plain foolishness.
    When her daddy and crew arrived tomorrow,
he’d have to be damned sure he hid any hint of attraction he felt.
The Wyndam group was paying enough for him to be able to take a
season off and have some personal space again. After a few months
of people, he always got fed up and had to have a breather. He
couldn’t risk alienating such clients, and hitting on the teenage
daughter, even if she was technically legal, was a surefire way to
do so.
    What was wrong with him anyway, that he was
feeling lustful for a teenager? Dammit, he should have stopped by
the whorehouse the last time he was in Endline. In a region where
men were far more common than women, it was about the only sure
thing a man could find in these parts. Most women were already
partnered up with someone, and since he wasn’t the partnering-up
type, whores were a viable option. The last couple of trips though,
he’d passed on by the nondescript house on the edge of the city,
finding the idea of meaningless sex that he paid for was no more
satisfying or appealing than his own hand.
    Now, he wished he’d dipped his dick in all
six of the whores working there, with the appropriate raingear, of
course. Apparently, his body was feeling the itch for feminine
companionship, and if he’d scratched it three months ago, he
wouldn’t be stifling back a groan at the sight of that sweetly
rounded ass in those tight jeans as she bent over to put the
stewpot into the drawer under the oven.
    She joined him all too quickly, and he was
equal parts disappointed and relieved when she sat down on the same
couch as him, instead of heading on to