White Heat Read Online Free Page B

the floor. But having her there, half naked at times, and sleeping on the other side of a curtain, must be quite provocative for a single man. She was sensitive and bright—notwithstanding her bad judgment in her choice of husband.
    She guessed that he had things to hide, a history he didn’t want exposed that might be discovered if she was inquisitive and nosed around. Maybe he’d even mutter loudly in his sleep, and reveal his secrets. A part of her was curious; another told her to let it lie. There was no obvious way that she could figure it out from anything in the cabin, but experience had taught her that secrets were dangerous.
    “By the way,” she said, parting the curtain so she could speak to him. “I’m Carol. Who are you?”
    “Jeremy. But my friends call me Josh.”
    “Thanks, Josh. I appreciate it.”
    After she closed the curtain, she heard the quiet shuffle of him taking off his shirt and stripping to his shorts; then the banging as he began his daily exercise routine. After ten minutes, she smelled the thick and dizzying pungency of sweat that must be dripping off his muscled chest.
    Carol started at his heavy breathing, the bellowing grunts and moans that echoed like passion. As if in response, her breathing grew deeper, and her nipples tightened. She heard him puffing from exertion, and couldn’t resist peeking through a small hole in the curtain.
    She gasped. He was lifting a heavy metal pipe, wielding it like a barbell. She watched as his torso strained, turning tawnier as blood pumped to his chest and fed his straining biceps. His pecs were sweaty slabs, twitching and expanding with his effort. She heard him snort like a bull; then as he made a massive effort, his biceps grew even larger and bulged like living marble.
    She watched as he raised and lowered the bar up and down, pumping it; saw his chest expand like molten steel and saw the damp pale hair plastered to his abdomen. His tongue flicked out, licked at his compressed lips as he slowly lowered the weight to the ground. His body shivered, hard and well-defined as muscles shifted underneath pale skin that looked like silken armor. Her vision focused on the thick, corded muscle in his legs that were veined with squiggly veins; then, it wavered with the ripple of his bulky, sweaty shoulders.
    Carol was startled by his stark masculinity, and there was a prickling in her breasts and a sudden tautness in her nipples. He was definitely attractive. Abruptly, she was curious about this virile man who seemed, in some ways, to be a jaded knight in this land of frost. She drew a breath, then exhaled loudly.
    “What was that? Are you OK?” His concerned shout was loud. She bit her lip.
    “Carol?”
    “I’m OK.” Her voice was faint, cracking.
    Images of his nude body rose in her brain. She heard him picking up the beam, his grunting puffs; and then she smelled his musky scent and almost swooned. The air was still and stale in the cabin; the odor of his perspiration pervaded the room, and her nostrils, spreading wide, inhaled it. She heard the flooring creaking with the force of his exertion.
    Behind the curtain, Carol could not contain her curiosity, her need to learn more about him. Watching him like a peeping tom, she felt a guilty vibration, the beginnings of arousal. She could not take her eyes off him. But, she couldn’t allow her urges to overwhelm her intellect. Her impulsivity had led her to couple with Dugan; that was a mistake. She would not quickly rush into another.
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    When Carol finally fell into a restless sleep, her dreams had a nightmarish quality. She was running hard in the snow, chased by Dugan, whose strides were gargantuan. Suddenly he grabbed her, then manacled her wrists painfully with iron handcuffs. He had a metal device in his hands, and his toothy expression was vile and malevolent. The metal glinted, and the object’s shape was vaguely familiar. It was a silver chastity belt.
    In the dream,