Chapter 3
1447 Words
India speaking
I quickly tried to cover myself, releasing hold of the lamp in my hand just as it was about to hit the floor. The young man came lunging toward me. All I could do was shut my eyes tight and scream at the top of my lungs!
"Help! Help! Someone help me! I'm being attacked."
Swiftly catching the lamp with one hand, his other reached over and covered my mouth. I jumped against the headboard, clutching the covers like a pair of million-dollar pearls.
"Hey, lady! Calm down! I'm not about to go to jail for nothing. Unless...Is this a setup?" He asked, looking around as he leaned over me.
All I could smell was the man's very expensive cologne. I grabbed at his hand, trying to remove it from my mouth.
"Promise you are not going to scream?"
I nodded my head that I wasn't going to scream. He took his hand from over my mouth. I gasped for air the minute I was free. I pull the covers to my chest, slowing my heart rate. The man set the lamp on the nightstand as he walked to the other side of the room, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. Instead, he pulled off his jacket and tossed it territorially to the dresser at the foot of the bed. His clothes seemed normal enough, even though those jeans gripped every muscle in his thighs and legs.
Beneath the jacket, he wore a white t-shirt with long sleeves, half untucked, over black jeans with rips in them at the thigh and knees. The ensemble revealed that he had style, and his quick reaction to the falling lamp proved he was in prime condition. The guy didn't seem to be paying me any attention in a good or bad way. But that didn't change how I felt about him being in here with me. He was not supposed to be in my cottage. I read somewhere a while ago that a criminal like to know as little as possible about their victims to avoid any feelings of guilt. So I thought it would be clever to introduce myself.
"My....my name is India Jones," I voluntarily offered him, hoping he would not consider hurting me if I humanized myself by giving him my name.
"Sir, if you leave my room, I can get dressed and get all this straight. I'm certain, sir, you are in the wrong cottage." I said, pausing, but he didn't attempt to fill the awkward silence.
The man looked so exhausted as he stood there staring. "Look, I need to take a seat, lady."
The young man dropped his long frame into the chair by the bed as if he was so weary he could no longer stand. I winced at his actions, clutching the covers tighter to my chest.
"So, you're not going to leave the room so I can get dressed and go to the front desk?"
"No. I'm tired, I told you. That was a lot of unnecessary energy you made me dispense." He said as if he was almost out of breath.
"Look, I don't know you, even though you don't seem to be a murderer or a violent person. You can't stay in here with me."
"This cabin.... does not belong to a murderer." The man said as he tugged a rusty-sounding laugh from him.
He removed his snapback, shoving his fingers through his dark wavy hair, and with sleepy-lidded eyes, his silky hair fell toward his face. He looked pretty disturbingly sexy.
"I need sleep, miss. I have been up a solid 24 hours."
He removed his shoes and then his socks, putting his feet on the edge of the mattress, grimacing as if he were hurting, though I didn't see any reason for that, the way his body looked as if he was in tip-top shape. Then, finally, he settled back, lightly linking his hands together low on his flat abs.
Then he let out a long, shuddering sigh. In disbelief, I stared at more than six feet of raw power and testosterone. "Mr. You still haven't said who you are?"
"Too exhausted to go away. That's who I am right now."
I did some more staring and glaring at him. I rolled my eyes, but he didn't appear to care. "Hello?" I repeated a couple of times after a complete moment of stunned silence. "You can't just-"
"Can. And am." And with that, he closed his eyes.
"Night, India Jones." He remarked, getting cozy in the chair.
I couldn't believe this stranger was trying to go to sleep in my cottage bedroom with me sitting right there.
With his eyes closed, he rubbed his knee. Mumbling, 'Boy, my knee is killing me.' It appeared I was his new roomy, sputtering, working my way into a frenzy! With a man who didn't want to have a conversation or be reasonable! Which only made me more upset!
"Look, you can't just...I mean, surely you don't mean to....." I stumbled over my words.
With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and glanced at me sitting on the bed. The man looked at me as if he was doing me some favor by letting me sleep in what he arrogantly thought was his bed. He glared at me as if I was being ungrateful! But then that look turned into 'she's not that bad looking.' I could have sworn I saw a hint of attraction in his eyes. He held an expression as if he almost couldn't believe I was there.
His eyes looked at my dark brown hair, almost black, which was currently in bed-head mode, as it hung flat but flew wildly around my jaw and shoulders. Next, his eyes canvases from my face to intently studying my body. Then his eyes returned to my face as if examining every inch of my face putting it to memory. Finally, his eyes narrowed and drew tightly together, which either signified arousal or distress, which I'd bet on the first option since he didn't look like an innocent prince charming.
I turned, looking away, then I flicked my eyes up at his, and he gave me those slay-me eyes expression. The color of those eyes with his hair slightly over one eye has a twist that I didn't precisely understand. The man's eyes had the color of seductive whiskey and a gaze as if he could drink me in with one swallow. I turned my head away from him, but then I glanced his way again, letting him know from my expression that I wasn't interested but needed him to reassure me I was safe. But he appeared not to have any reassurance to give.
I asked again. "Tell me, who are you? At least give me your name!" I said firmly.
I was ignored as his eyes closed, and he left me wondering who he was. I sat there staring at him, wanting, needing him to answer me because I hate to be ignored.
"I can't stay in the same room with someone as obnoxious as you." I waved a hand at him because I couldn't just hop up in my panties in front of a stranger.
"You do know; this doesn't make sense. Maybe you are some kind of freak or murderer. I don't know your issue, but you can't stay or sleep here!"
"I told you I wasn't either of those things; what's your problem, lady? Do you want me to attack you or something?!' He asked cooly but agitated with his eyes closed.
"No! Don't touch me! I told you to get out! You won't even tell me who you are! I just want to let you know I have a black belt in karate! If you try something, I will not be responsible for seriously injuring you!"
"Uh-huh," He almost laughed. 'If that were true, you wouldn't have grabbed that lamp.'
He sat there with his eyes closed and arms folded. The man didn't challenge me, though. I could tell he couldn't summon the energy for a fight. I'm not implying he would hit a female, but he looks like he's never walked away from one. So I stared at him with cautious curiosity.
Then he finally utters as we sit in silence. "You can relax. My name is Stone. Everyone calls me Stony." Then his eyes opened, gazing at me as if he were waiting for my reaction at hearing my name.
I rolled my eyes, still upset that this insensitive, cavalier jerk of a man was still sitting here in my cottage!
Then he finally uttered his name. "Stone Garrison."
- Writer
