Chapter 4 the Storm
Izzy tugged her scarf higher over her nose, glaring at the cluster of men adjusting rifles and laughing about who would “bag the biggest kill.” Their voices were already hoarse with whiskey, breath puffing white in the freezing air.
She held up a canvas bag stuffed with foil-wrapped parcels. “Explain to me again why I’m here? I’m not shooting Bambi.”
Beck strode past with a rifle slung over his shoulder, dark hair dusted with snow, voice low and sharp. “Because when they get hungry, they’ll want food. Your job isn’t just cooking in a cozy kitchen. It’s feeding them wherever we are.”
Izzy huffed, clutching the bag tighter. “They’re grown men. They can survive a few hours without artisanal sandwiches.”
Beck’s eyes cut to hers, grey and unyielding. “You really don’t get it, do you? Out here, food isn’t just comfort. It’s fuel. They’ll expect it, and if you don’t have it, they’ll eat you alive.”
Her jaw dropped. “Lovely imagery. Thanks.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “You think this is beneath you. That you’re here to play chef while everyone else does the hard work. But in this place? You’re as responsible for keeping them alive as I am.”
Izzy bristled, chin tipping up. “Keeping them alive with pastrami on rye?”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face—gone as fast as it came. “If that’s what it takes.”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You’re insufferable.”
He smirked, leaning in just enough for her pulse to skip. “And you’re still here. Pack up, princess.”
Heat crawled up her neck under her scarf. She hated that he got to her, hated that he made this frozen hellhole pulse with something other than cold. She should’ve fired back, should’ve told him to shove it—
But one of the men hollered for food, and Izzy was forced to march after Beck, muttering under her breath, “I hope you choke on a sandwich.”
Beck’s laugh was low, dangerous, carried off by the wind.
The wind shifted first. A low moan through the trees that deepened into a howl. Snow came hard and fast, pelting Izzy’s cheeks like needles. By the time she handed off the last sandwich, visibility had dropped to almost nothing.
“Back to camp!” Beck barked, his voice a whip crack. The men grumbled, half-drunk and disappointed, but the blizzard left no room for argument. Rifles slung, they stumbled after him, shadows in the whiteout.
By the time the cabins appeared through the storm, Izzy’s lashes were crusted with ice and her thighs burned from trudging. Beck shoved the men toward the larger structures, splitting them up. “Five in each. Firewood’s stacked inside. Don’t touch the stove till I’ve checked the flues.”
Izzy hugged herself against the cold, waiting for instruction. Beck pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked one of the smaller staff cabins. The door swung open, revealing a narrow space with a stove in the corner and two cots shoved against opposite walls.
Izzy groaned. “Not again.”
Before Beck could answer, Dick Dane appeared out of the storm, scarf pulled low, smile gleaming. He looked her up and down like she was a bottle of wine he’d just ordered. “Well, well. Looks like the princess chef and her bodyguard get the honeymoon suite.”
Izzy stiffened. “It’s not—”
Dick cut her off, voice dripping with smugness. “If you’d prefer warmer company, sweetheart, I’d be happy to make room. My bed’s plenty big.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for Beck to hear. “Tell you what—I’ll make it worth your while. Ten grand, cash, if you let me take this cabin with her for the night. Just you, me, and the lady.”
Izzy’s stomach turned. “Excuse me?”
Beck didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His hands stayed loose at his sides, but his eyes darkened into something lethal.
“No,” Beck said flatly.
Dick chuckled, flashing teeth. “Come on, Shaw. That kind of money buys you a new snowmobile. Maybe two.”
Beck’s jaw ticked once. “My job’s not for sale.”
“Oh, please. Everything’s for sale.” Dick’s gaze slid back to Izzy. “What do you say, darling? One night with me, and you’ll never have to peel another potato.”
Izzy’s pulse thundered in her ears, rage and humiliation colliding. Before she could speak, Beck stepped forward, his body shifting just enough to put himself between her and Dick.
“My job,” Beck said, voice a low growl, “is to make sure the cook can do hers. You get in the way of that, you deal with me.”
The storm wailed outside. For a moment, even Dick seemed to feel the weight of Beck’s stare. His smirk wavered, then returned, brittle.
“Fine,” he said, backing off with mock civility. “Suit yourself. But you don’t know what you’re missing, sweetheart.”
He turned and stomped toward the larger cabin, scarf whipping behind him.
Izzy let out a shaky breath. Beck still hadn’t moved.
“You didn’t have to—” she started.
“Yeah,” Beck cut her off, finally looking at her. His eyes were sharp, unreadable. “I did.”
The wind screamed against the cabin walls, rattling the windows in their frames. Beck shut the door behind them, shoved the bolt into place, and dropped his pack onto the floor. The stove squatted in the corner, its metal belly empty and cold.
He moved without hesitation—wood stacked, fire struck, flames licking alive in minutes. Heat crept into the room slowly, shadows jumping over the log walls.
Izzy peeled off her damp gloves, rubbing her fingers together. “The others—are they okay?”
“They’re fine,” Beck said flatly, tossing another log into the fire. “Those cabins are stocked with blankets and expensive whiskey. They’ll sleep like kings.”
Izzy sank onto one of the cots, tugging her scarf loose. “Glad to know I’m stuck in the budget suite.”
Beck glanced over his shoulder, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You’d rather be in there? Listen to Dane brag about his money all night?”
“I’d rather be anywhere else,” she shot back.
“Funny,” Beck said, crouching to adjust the fire. “You don’t look like you hate being here as much as you claim.”
Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”
He stood, towering over her, eyes glinting in the firelight. “You keep saying you can’t stand me, but every time I look at you, you’re staring right back.”
Izzy’s pulse thudded. “I stare because I can’t believe how arrogant you are.”
“Arrogant,” Beck repeated, voice low, dangerous. “That what you call it?”
“Yes.” She stood too, heat crawling up her throat. “You act like I’m helpless, like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m just—just—”
“Frilly food for men who don’t know better?” he finished for her, eyes burning into hers.
Her breath hitched. “You bastard.”
He stepped closer, their bodies inches apart. “You think I don’t notice? The way you bite back every time I push? You don’t hate it. You like it.”
Her heart hammered. “I don’t—”
He cut her off with a growl, hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to his.
The kiss was a collision—angry, rough, teeth clashing. She shoved at his chest, then fisted his shirt and dragged him closer. Heat flared through her veins, the storm outside vanishing into static.
Beck groaned against her mouth, pushing her back until her legs hit the cot. She fell onto it, breathless, and he followed, bracing over her.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, mouth at her jaw, her throat.
“Stop?” Izzy gasped, arching under him. “Not a chance.”
His restraint snapped. Hands yanking at the zipper of her snow suit, mouth hungry, desperate.
Izzy’s back hit the thin mattress, firelight flickering across the log walls. Beck’s weight pressed down over her, solid and overwhelming, his mouth still devouring hers like he’d starved for it.
Her hands clawed at his shirt until the seams strained. He tore it over his head in one rough motion, tossing it aside. Her breath caught—scarred muscle, broad chest, skin mapped by survival. She reached up, fingertips tracing one long pale scar across his ribs.
“What happened here?” she whispered, lips following the line.
His breath shuddered. “Later.” His hand slid up her thigh, pushing the bulky snow suit down. “Right now…” He kissed her hard, teeth catching her lip. “…you talk too much.”
She laughed, breathless, hips arching into his touch. “Bossy.”
“Keep running your mouth, princess,” he growled, dragging her suit lower, exposing smooth skin, lace underneath. His voice went darker, rougher. “See where it gets you.”
Her thighs clenched around him. “Maybe I want to find out.”
The last of her layers hit the floor. Beck froze for half a second, eyes raking over her—soft curves, flushed skin, lace bra that looked too fragile for the wilderness. His jaw clenched, a groan escaping low in his chest.
“You don’t belong out here,” he muttered, bending to kiss the swell of her breast through lace.
“Then why do I feel…” She gasped when his teeth tugged the strap. “…like I belong right here?”
He ripped the lace aside, mouth closing over her nipple, sucking hard until her back arched. She moaned, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging him closer.
“Beck—”
Her name came out a whimper when his hand slid lower, finding heat between her thighs. He growled against her skin. “Already wet for me. Knew you liked this.”
She bit her lip, hips rocking helplessly into his fingers. “Shut up and—God—don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Two fingers slid deep inside her, pumping slow at first, then harder, his thumb circling until she writhed beneath him. Her moans filled the cabin, drowned out the storm outside.
“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough. “Say you want me.”
She gasped, shaking her head. “Cocky bastard—”
His pace quickened, pressing deeper, harder. She cried out, nails raking his back.
“Say it,” he growled, his mouth crashing against hers.
Her resolve broke. “I want you. Beck—I want you.”
That was all it took. He yanked his pants down, freed himself, and slammed into her in one deep thrust.
Izzy’s cry filled the cabin, muffled by his mouth as he kissed her through it.
He moved hard and fast, each thrust slamming her against the cot, his body a wall of heat and muscle pinning her down. She clung to him, moaning into his neck, biting his skin when the pleasure spiked too sharp.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hips driving harder, faster. “You feel—Jesus—so fucking good.”
Her legs locked around his waist, dragging him deeper. The cot squeaked, the fire roared, the storm howled—and still it wasn’t enough.
“Harder,” she begged, nails scraping down his chest. “Beck—harder.”
He obeyed with a snarl, pounding into her until her breath broke into sobs of pleasure. Her climax tore through her, arching her off the mattress, clenching around him. He groaned, thrust once, twice more before spilling into her, his body shuddering with release.
For a long moment, neither moved. Just panting, tangled in sweat and heat, firelight painting their bodies in gold and shadow.
Beck finally pulled back, bracing his arms on either side of her. His chest heaved, jaw tight, eyes still dark.
“This was a mistake,” he rasped, voice low, guttural.
Izzy’s laugh was breathless, bitter, her lips swollen and red. “Biggest mistake I’ve ever loved making.”
He closed his eyes like her words cut him—and rolled off her, leaving her staring up at the ceiling, fire crackling, storm raging outside.