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My body is so sated and pliant, I almost sleep through the night. Almost.
When I awaken at two in the morning, there’s a heavy, muscled arm draped over my side. A large hand rests firmly against my bare stomach, and the steady graze of Gus’s abdomen tickles my back when he breathes.
I’m cuddling with Gus Winter.
He looks absurdly handsome when he sleeps, which should come as no surprise because he’s absurdly handsome when he’s awake. Yet I’m still struck by him. His black hair is unruly for once, curling gently around his ears and resting on his forehead. A strange compulsion urges me to touch him, but I resist.
Shifting, I face the wall. My attention moves to the hand resting on me. I’ve never awoken with a man holding me close before. Clutching me. After a minute, I decide I like having his hand there.
Carefully, I rotate to face Gus. He doesn’t stir, so I watch him sleep. He’s so sound, I could easily leave his bed and return to my own.
I don’t.
I need to look at him—partially to take in the flawless lines of a man so gorgeous that my pulse spikes every time he crosses my mind. For once, he’s unable to glare and glower and set forth curious machinations when he looks at me. He’s something special. I’ve never been so smug about fucking a man before.
But I also need to look at him because I’m ridiculously confused. The not-so-distant memory of Gus binding my hands with my destroyed panties—the panties he kept for weeks—sends a wave of thrill through me. He took me perfectly. Beyond perfect. In all honesty, he may have unearthed predilections I didn’t even know I had. But even though this man just gave me one of the most memorable nights I’ve ever had in a bedroom, he’s still Gus Winter. He’s still a man who manipulated and bartered his way into bed with me.
I sigh heavily, which makes him pull me closer. Suddenly, I’m buried against his chest, heart racing. His body is big and warm, and the flannel sheets I would normally hate on an inexplicable, visceral level are extraordinarily cozy—the perfect sheets for this perfect bed in (what I have to reluctantly admit is) an amazing cabin.
This is pleasant, I realize. This is strangely pleasant.
I turn again, pressing my back and my butt against Gus’s front, letting him spoon me. He exhales appreciatively, his hand absentmindedly flexing against my stomach. It doesn’t take long for me to drift off once more.
When I awaken again, it’s after three and my throat is clawing for a drink. I have to maneuver to free myself from Gus’s (alarmingly secure, if not borderline supernatural) hold, but I manage not to wake him.
Back in my room, I sit on my bed and check my phone while I drink from my water bottle. I have hundreds of messages. Sighing, I begin to work through them. A few minutes in, I linger on a message from Davis:
Gus let me know that the terms of the deal have been fulfilled. Thank you, Julia.
The message takes a moment to sink in. I read it over and over again, twenty times at least, until I understand what I’m seeing:
Sometime between coming in my mouth and falling asleep with his arm around me, Gus told my brother that he got exactly what he wanted from me. As soon as it was done, he sent a text to collect his billions.
Cheap. I feel so cheap.
I drop my phone onto the bedspread next to me, wishing my brother’s stupid, stilted business-speak for “Hey, Gus said he fucked you, so you can leave now” wasn’t burned into my brain. It is though, and Gus has once again affirmed what I suspected the night I met him at my father’s party: He’s no different than any other old, horny man who wants to own me and treat me like an object.
With a lump in my throat. I look around the bedroom, regretting how I admired this cabin. I can’t believe I planned on crawling back into bed with him and being there in the morning. Drinking coffee together. Reading the news on our phones.
And oh god, I can’t believe how I behaved while we were “fulfilling the terms of the deal.” I’m embarrassed over stopping him so many times to change positions. In the moment it made sense: He was doing the most amazing things to my body. Of course I would take advantage of an opportunity to try out positions with a man who knew exactly what he was doing—and was enjoying it as much as I was. Now, it feels humiliating.
I’ve ever been so stupid, so naïve, in my entire life. He doesn’t want me here. He got everything he wanted from me. Everything.
The room flips into a blur of carry-ons and clothing I don’t even bother folding. I shove everything I have into my suitcase and yank my phone charger out of the wall so hard I might have broken it.
Balancing speed and stealth, I creep to the front door and undo the deadbolt with the deliberation and care of someone escaping a maximum-security prison. Once it’s unlocked, I hesitate and look back at the cabin. My mind drifts to Gus, fast asleep with his arm still extended into the space where I spent the night.
Arrogant, dickheaded douchebag.
Gus Winter can get fucked for all I care.
Outside, the coldest morning I’ve ever experienced awaits me. It practically burns. The sky is inky black, rimmed with cobalt blue on the horizon. The air is thin and sharp, and the smell of ice surrounds me. I tighten my jacket with one hand and heave my bag with the other before I rush over to my rental car, trying not to face the wind, but it seems to come from every direction.
Fuck, fucking fuck it’s cold. The air pierces my skin like a blade, forcing all my senses into overdrive.
Arrogant, dickheaded, bumfuck-living douchebag.
When I’m in the driver’s seat, I’m dismayed to find that my car is also freezing, despite my stupid fantasy that it would be a refuge from the frigid morning. With fumbling hands, I turn on the engine and immediately crank up the heat and defrosters.
