Some fire crackling and wind sounds to make this more realistic😂

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Daringly, he ran his hands higher up her body. His thumbs grazed the swell of her breasts and...

And what?

I chew my bottom lip as I consider what to write next. I reach for my coffee, slipping my fingers through the handle.

Taking a swig, I grimace as the cold liquid fills my mouth.

How long have I been sitting here, looking at that one sentence, for my drink to go cold?

Scowling, I slam the mug down, cursing when some of coffee sloshes over the side. I wipe my hand on my sweatpants and then dap up the drops on the desk with the sleeve of my hoodie.

The cursor flashes on the page, mocking me with every flicker. It indicates another second that I've wasted, not being able to write anything.

Okay, that isn't entirely true. I can write some things. I can get the story started, I can develop my characters, I can even make the two leads meet. But when they get to the bedroom and things heat up?

Well, I think my coffee proves what happens. Things turn cold. I don't know what to write.

It's been a long time since I've suffered from writer's block this badly. Maybe it's worse than I've had it ever before, I don't know.

I push back from the desk and stand up. Blue, my Alsatian, jumps to her feet, excited that I'm on the move. She follows me through to the kitchen, where her claws click on the tiles.

I flick the switch on the kettle and pour away the remnants of my cold coffee. I lean against the counter, drumming my fingers on the side as I wait for the water to heat up.

Sex scenes are killing me. I guess you need to have a sex life to be able to write them. It was fine when I was in a relationship, or at least socialising with men. But right now, my sex life is about as dried up as the Sahara desert.

A notion that is rather tragic for a twenty-five year old woman.

I make another cup of coffee, but this time I put it into my travel mug. I need some fresh air to blow the cobwebs out of my brain and off my libido. If I have any chance of finishing this chapter, I need a new mindset.

I'm a writer, which I both love and hate. I've published three books, which give me a tidy paycheque each month and made me something of a local celebrity in my town.

I'm currently trying to write my fourth, but it isn't going so well, obviously.

It takes me five minutes to get layered up in all of my jackets, coats, hat, scarf, gloves, everything. I pull on my thick, fur-lined boots to complete the Inuit look.

A cold breeze hits me square in the face as I open the back door. Blue sniffs the air and makes to turn back into the house.

I don't blame her, it's bloody freezing and I don't want to walk either, but I can tell that it's going to snow soon. It's about time, we're due a huge storm.

The air turns still as I step down the icy stairs. There is still a couple of inches of snow left over from the last few days, but I know that a lot more is on its way. These measly inches barely cover my boots.

Blue wades through it, her tail swinging back and forth. I don't bother with a lead, we're the only ones out here.

I own ten acres of this mountain, it's just me and Blue.

The cabin was built by my parents when I was a baby. We used to come and stay up in it every winter. I grew up knowing how to light a fire before I could ride a bike.

When my father passed away, I was ten. My mother and I spent more and more time up here, trying to escape the pity in the eyes of our neighbours.

As my love for writing increased, I drew away from people more and more in favour of spending time in front of my laptop, typing out my creations.

My mother passed a year ago, and I still feel a hole in my life where she is missing. I think I always will.

It was only a couple of months after her death, that I decided to move up here permanently. I sold the house and used the money to modernise the cabin.

I have my own generator in the garage, run entirely on my fuel stash. I don't have any phone signal or satellite. To make phone calls, I have to drive halfway down the mountain and pull in on the lay-by.

I watch DVDs on my TV, seeing as there's no channels. There's about two hundred in my cupboard, along with a ton of series, giving me a wide enough selection.

My step-dad calls every month to check on me. Once a month, I travel down the mountain for supplies. I fill my truck with everything I'll need for the month. I have a walk-in, industrial-size freezer that keeps all of my frozen food.

I built a chicken coop, fully insulated to protect them from the winter weather, and I use the chickens for eggs each morning.

I thought at first that I would never be able to function without wifi, but it's amazing what you get used to. Everything seems to trivial when you're on top of a mountain, overlooking the tiny houses below.

I take a sip of my warm coffee, which quickly snaps me out of my reverie. Blue runs ahead, playing in the snow.

The sky is crystal clear, except for a bundle of clouds in the distance. Yes, there's definitely a storm coming. My gut tells me it will be a bad one, it was last year.

Blue runs ahead suddenly, bolting through the snow and sending a spray of ice in her wake. I increase my pace a little, reaching up on my tiptoes with curiosity, trying to see what has made her take off like that.

A flash of red catches my eye. I traipse through the snow as it becomes deeper at the bottom of a gradient.

My lips part in surprise as I spot the body. My mug nearly slides from my hands and I catch it in time for only a couple of drops to fall to the ground. They melt the snow and leave brown spots in the pristine surface.

I rush over to Blue, where she is nudging her nose against the man's face. He's lying on his back in the snow.

He isn't dead, I realise with relief. His chest is moving up and down. I kneel down and shake his shoulder, calling out a few times, but he is will and truly unconscious.

There is a small gash on his temple and a trail of dried blood moving down his head, into his hair. A large branch is sticking out of his left arm. It has pierced his coat.

His jacket is a red gingham lumberjack one. He's wearing black gloves and jeans, with sensible high-top timberland boots.

I look around and see that he must have fallen down the slope. The snow is disturbed from his fall. I wince as I imagine it, it must have been nasty, especially with the branch piercing his arm.

A high-vis jacket is a couple of metres up the slope, telling me that this man works for Johnson's Lumber, a company that does logging on the mountain. My ten acres are mapped out by yellow paint on the trees, telling them which ones to leave alone.

I don't mind the owner, we have a civil relationship. His lumberjacks rarely cross onto my land, which makes me wonder how this one ended up falling down that slope.

I can't leave him out here, and I trust him to be a good man, because Will Johnson doesn't hire anyone with a criminal record. He likes to interview his workers before he hires them.

I get to my feet, brushing the snow from my knees. I pour out my coffee and put the travel mug in one of my pockets.

One look at this guy tells me that there is no way I'm going to be able to lift him. Even in his thick jacket, I can see that he's built. Not a chance.

I grab his ankles and proceed to drag him through the snow. We're only about 50 metres from the cabin, this shouldn't be too bad.

Blue watches me with slight interest, pausing every few steps to watch me catch up. Snow builds up under his armpits as his arms are splayed out either side. I stop and place them over his chest, but they just slide out again.

It's kind of funny actually. He looks like he's trying to make a snow angel whilst unconscious.

I'm sweating and panting by the time I reach the porch steps. Blue rushes ahead of me. I bend down and hook my hands under his arm pits. With great difficulty, I get his heavy body onto the porch, where I drop him not-so-gently.

I get the door open and drag him into the kitchen. I pause to take off my boots and about six layers. Then, I undo the laces on his shoes and remove his boots, too.

It's a struggle to get him into the living room and onto the sofa. His body curls up the rug and drags it with him, which, in turn, drags the coffee table. When I eventually get him onto the sofa, I have straighten out the room.

I collect my first aid box and sit down on the floor next to him.

I have to pull out the stick to be able to get his jacket off. When I pull it out, blood gushes out of the hole and my stomach turns. I quickly press some kitchen towel against it.

'You're no help,' I scold Blue as she watches me fight to take off the jacket.

I try and keep pressure on the wound on his arm the whole time, but some blood seeps out and onto my fingers. The warm liquid is nauseating.

Once he's in nothing but his jumper and a thermal, I roll the sleeves up. But they don't get past his elbow. His goddamn biceps are too big.

Seriously?

With an angry huff, I remove his jumper and thermal. The man is now shirtless. His chest makes me freeze for a second, before sense returns to me.

I've just had inspiration for about ten different characters, all of them painfully attractive.

His chest is sculpted like some kind of statue. Every groove is carved to perfection. There's an Aztec design tattoo covering most of his right arm and spanning across his shoulder and neck.

When was the last time I touched a man?

Other than some handshakes, it must have been about eighteen months ago.

Shit.

I take off the soaked kitchen towel and wrap bandages tightly around the wound, stemming the flow of blood. It stops and I sigh with relief when it does come through the bandage. I wash my hands carefully and bin the soiled tissues.

When I come back, I get some antiseptic wipes and clean the small cut on his head. I collect a glass of water and some aspirin.

I jump back when his eyes suddenly open. He groans and clutches his head.

'Here,' I say quickly, reaching for the glass of water I poured. 'Drink this.'

The man pins me with huge grey eyes. They're beautiful.

He cautiously takes the glass and takes two large gulps. I hold out my palm, face-up, showing the two aspirin.

'You feel down the mountainside and hurt yourself. This is aspirin.'

He eyes me warily and I can practically see the brain fog in his eyes. He shakes his head at the tablets, lies back and closes his eyes.

A few minutes later, his soft snores fill the room.

I blink with surprise, wondering what just happened. He must have been dazed, not to say anything.

Outside, the snow starts to fall.

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What do we think of the first chapter??

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