Savannah's POV
The sound of Dennis calling my name echoed through the cabin like nails scraping against glass. If I strangled him with his own belt right now, would anyone really blame me? Ten quick twists around his neck seemed reasonable. Maybe fifteen, just to be thorough.
I stepped from the bathroom wrapped in steam and borrowed clothes. His oversized garments hung on my frame like fabric tents, but anything beat parading around in silk nightwear. Even a caged predator remained dangerous, and I refused to give this man any additional ammunition.
The clothing carried no trace of his intoxicating scent, only the clean smell of mountain air detergent mixed with something floral. Thank God for small mercies.
