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This is the start of every horror film and crime podcast. Someone takes a shortcut home, ends up getting lost, and when she leaves the false safety of her car to go find help, she ends up in a secluded house in the middle of nowhere, where she inevitably runs into a serial killer who’s been isolated from society for being a creep.
This feels different though. This lone man who lives in the middle of nowhere is nothing like the one I watched in the film. His gray-eyed gaze is kind, his face ruggedly handsome and devoid of any sinister vibes.
Well, it’s surprising I even remember what his face looks like, because my eyes haven’t left his enormously wide chest. The unbuttoned shirt leaves an unobstructed view of his muscled pectorals and the chest hair that trails down over his flat abdomen.
“Melissa?”
I finally lift my eyes to his and heat rushes up my neck and to my cheeks. Judging by the smirk on his face, this is not the first time he’s called my name. His gray eyes glitter with humor as he stares down at me, and I swallow back nerves. Yeah, I don’t think this guy is gonna kill me … but does he have to be so attractive?
When my car began sputtering on the dirt road earlier today, I’d stared at the fuel gauge in horror. Ofcoursemy luck would run out. Why else would I suddenly run out of gas in the middle of nowhere? My point had been proven further when I tripped on my dress’s skirt and fell on my face while climbing out of the car, right into the only puddle for miles.
I’d been tempted to climb back into the car and just … die … but I didn’t make a run for it for nothing, so I started walking. Then I heard the distant sound of dogs barking and saw a house in the distance.
Despite the size of Roland’s two Dobermans, there’s no ignoring how adorable they look. They were a welcome sight after such a long walk. They’re just big, like their dad. Roland had made them look almost small as he walked between them to the house.
“Melissa,” Roland calls again, this time placing a warm hand on my chin to point my gaze to him.
“What, did you say something?”
“Yes, I said I’ll prepare a bath for you and fix you something to eat. Are you by any chance allergic to anything?”
“I… I don’t think so.”
“Good, let’s go inside so I can show you where you’ll clean up.”
“Okay,” I whisper, smiling as I take a step away from him. A cry slips out of my lips as a sharp stabbing pain radiates up my leg. “Oh, fuck—”
Roland’s face turns panicked as he quickly closes the space between us and grabs my arms, steadying me. “What’s the matter?”
“Fuck, that hurts. I must have hurt my foot when I tripped earlier. How pathetic is it that I made it herebarefootwithout getting hurt only to injure myself here?” I grumble, trying to mask my pain with a chuckle. Roland is barely paying attention as he drops to his knees. I grab his shoulders to balance myself as he sifts his hands through my skirts to get to my feet and look for the injury.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” his voice is gruff, raced with something equally terrifying and thrilling.
“Honestly? I didn’t notice it. Adrenaline, you know? Wait … are you angry?”
Roland runs his hands up my calves to the back of my knees. Suddenly, he lifts me into his arms. I gasp, wrapping my arms around his shoulder as he supports my weight. It’s all I can do to keep myself from wrapping my legs around his massive torso, but I don’t want him to feel weird, so I hold back.
“Yeah, but not with you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “I can’t believe I asked you meaningless questions when I haven’t asked you if you were hurt in the first place. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I shake my head, struck mute by his words. He has no reason to be mad at himself after everything and yet, that’s all I can see in his face as he carries me through the entryway of his house, the dogs hot on his heels.
I don’t say a word as he carries me upstairs before kicking his way into the first door, revealing a clean and well-organized bathroom with neatly folded white towels sitting on an ornately carved shelf. I don’t know what I expected from a man who lives alone on a ranch, but it’s not this.
“Did you make this yourself?” I ask pointing at the shelf when he sits me gently on the sink.
“I did, my grandfather used to dabble in carpentry and I picked up some things from him.”
Roland walks to the tub and turns the water on before walking back to study my foot. He takes a clean towel from the stack and runs it under the warm water before trying to clean my foot.
I quickly draw away before he can touch it. “You don’t have to do that; I can do it myself.”
He looks at me sternly. The single raised brow has me swallowing back nerves. “Do you not want my help?”
“I-I just mean … You’ve already done so much by carrying me in here. Not to mention you offered to feed me and let me stay for the night.”
“Let me keep helping you, then,” he says. His gaze is soft but challenging. I find myself slowly nodding, stretching my foot back out for him to examine. “Good girl,” he smiles. Heat blossoms in my chest at the praise. “Stay still for me while I clean up this cut.”
I do as he asks, watching his hands move as he treats me, gently handling me like no one else ever has. When he’s done, he gets up, his huge frame towering over me. A shiver trickles down my spine, but it’s not because I’m cold or scared.
