Maddie
Permanent blushing? Check.
Damp panties? Check.
Wicked, uncontrollable thoughts involving tattooed forearms and a filthy mouth? Checkety check check check.
They were just symptoms, I told myself. Temporary symptoms of some strange new condition I’d caught in his presence—a condition that would pass the moment the storm broke and I could return to my normal life.
But for now, I’d just have to learn to manage it. Because unlike all the other conditions in my life, I was pretty sure no one made a pill for Hawke Stevens.
We managed to get through the salad course without further incident. After clearing away the small plates, Hawke served up heaping portions of the main course, smothering everything with that mouthwatering Alfredo sauce.
Out beyond the cozy cabin, the wind screamed through the high peaks, coating the windows with ice and snow as Hawke and I enjoyed the meal in companionable silence. Bella’s nails clicked softly as she paced around the table in search of scraps, the fire in the living room crackling, everything about the moment filling me with a sense of peace and contentment I hadn’t thought possible just a handful of hours earlier.
Despite his best efforts to be a total Grinch—a strong, hot, filthy one, but a Grinch nevertheless—Hawke had given me a decent Christmas dinner after all.
I reached across the small table and squeezed his fingers. He flinched at the touch, but didn’t pull away, and I left my hand there, not quite ready to let him go.
“What’s up?” He slid his thumb across my knuckles, a tiny gesture that made me shiver. “You’ve gone quiet on me again.”
“That’s because I’m eating. Stick something in my mouth, and it’ll shut me right up.”
Hawke arched a playful brow. “Good to know.”
“I didn’t mean…Anyway.” I pulled my hand away and lowered my eyes to my coffee mug, cheeks on fire once again. “Everything was delicious. Thank you, Hawke. Your dirty mind aside, you actually made my Christmas Eve not so sucky.”
He laughed, loud and gravelly, a sound I wanted to capture and bottle for the next stormy night—for a time when I’d be long gone from this place. From him.
“I aim to please, Cupcake.”
I met his gaze as he raised his glass in salute, then sipped his whiskey. When he lowered the glass again, he was watching me with a look I couldn’t decipher, another smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Hawke reached forward and tugged on one of my corkscrew curls, pulling it straight, then releasing it like a spring. It was mostly dry now, but wild and untamed since I hadn’t bothered to style it.
“Your hair ismadcurly.”
“I know. I usually straighten it, but—”
“What? Fuck that.” He looped another lock around his finger, his knuckles brushing my cheek. “I like it just like this.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Warmth spread across my chest. “What else do you like?”
Hawke laughed again, releasing my hair and settling back into his chair. “Um…”
“I mean,” I rushed to clarify, “like, what else do you enjoy doing? For fun. Or work. Or… whatever. Okay, youknowwhat I mean, Hawke. Does everything have to be about sex with you?”
Oh my god, stop talking. Shove something else in your mouth and stop talking right now.
“Please, do go on.” A wicked grin lit up Hawke’s face, candlelight reflecting in his eyes as he basked in the glow of my endless mortification. “What were you saying about sex with me?”
“I’m just… I’m just trying to make conversation. Like regular people. You know? You tell me something interesting about you, I reciprocate, we progress from total strangers to… slightly less strange?”
