“It’s had its moments, but it’s been growing on me lately.” He smiles and leans dangerously close, his voice low and serious. “Like right now, I can tell you’re dying to kiss me again after last night, and instead of satisfying that need for you…I think I’m going to let it burn for awhile.”
Playing or not, I shouldn’t be surprised that Cole would use my attraction to him against me. The jerk. But I wasn’t the only one overcome last night by that kiss. “I bet I could get you to cave,” I whisper.
“Game on, D’Amore,” he says. His smile is dangerous. Wolfish. And I swallow. I’m pretty sure I just made a deal with my executioner.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
NATALIE
Gravel and snowcrunch beneath the tires as my dad navigates the winding road, passing mansion after mansion, each austerely decorated for Christmas. Hanging lights flicker in the early setting sun, but inside the enormous beachfront fortresses darkness remains. The homeowners for this stretch of road won’t return to Wellsport for another six months, when they’ll call it their temporary home for the summer.
As we venture deeper into wood-lined streets, the grand mansions shrink to two-story colonials, and then to our two bedroom, two bath cape at the natural conclusion of a dead end.
I’m home.
With Cole Sinclair.
A swallow works in my throat as I smile bashfully at him and glance down at my hands resting comfortably in his. For the last ten minutes, he’s worked tirelessly to make sure they stayed warm.
It’s sweet. Thoughtful. Disorienting.
“Thank you for the hand job.” The words fall out of my mouth with embarrassing speed, rushing past the nope-we-don’t-say-those-words-out-loud-Natalie filter.
His gaze snaps to mine, a devilish glint sparkling beneath his thick black lashes.
I go to yank my hands from his and cover my face in mortification, but he keeps a firm grip on them.
“Anytime, sugarplum,” he says in a low rasp. He brings my hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on top before tracing over them with his thumb. Shivers shoot up my arm.
I sit, arrested in the car, focused on the way his eyes dance over my face with a sense of admiration and mischief. The magnetic pull between us strengthens.He’s winning.
Mercifully, the car door swings open behind me. “Hey, kiddos. We need help with your bags. Your father is struggling with Cole’s. What did you pack, Cole? A body? We’re heading inside to start the fire,” my mom hollers as her footsteps patter away to nothing. “Remember, we still need to go buy a wreath for the fence tonight!”
No. No. No. Not wreath shopping, please, I’m begging. I jump back, quick to unbuckle, and scramble out of the car. My hurried movements send me tumbling out of the car before looking and I fall into a bank of snow. “Do we all have to go?” I yell, sitting up in the snow-pit-of-despair. My mother gets…uhm…intense…when she’s buying a wreath, and I’d rather not have Cole witness that and be able to hang my mother’s apparent wreath fetish over my head for all time.
“And break a beloved D’Amore Family Tradition? Not a chance,” my mom calls from the doorframe of the house.
I collapse back into my Natalie-shaped-print. Fluffy flakes spill down the back of my coat, capturing my spine in a shockingly icy grip.
Cole peers down at me, a teasing smile dancing on his lips. “Already falling for me, sugarplum? A little sooner than expected, but I’ll take it.”
“In your dreams,” I roll my eyes, trying to mask the flush creeping up my cheeks. Because it’s only been two days and my heart’s already thawed and falling for him. What happens when we’ve spent two weeks together? At this rate, I’ll be wrapped around his finger.
“That’s how most of my dreams start, yes,” he says, climbing over me out of the car and grabbing our bags. I lay motionless in the snow, arms splayed, feeling utterly defeated by everything. “Are you coming?”
“No. I think I’d rather lie here and die, since I regret every decision that’s brought me to this point.”
“Bit dramatic, but okay.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Fair,” he replies with a slam of the trunk. He steps toward me, extending his hand with a sigh. I reach for it, and in one fluid motion, he pulls me up and hoists me over his shoulder. I yelp with surprise.
“What are you doing?” I protest, dangling and flailing, annoyed at the strange thrill coursing through me.
“I’m making sure I’ve got all my baggage,” he says. “Let’s see: duffel bag, check; suitcase of the woman who drives me up a wall, check; woman who drives me up a wall—” He spins playfully, pretending to search for me, and I shriek.
