“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” I whispered.
Frankly, neither did I. I was so far out of my comfort zone, so far beyond any rational thing I’d ever done in my life, I hardly recognized myself. With every flirty innuendo, every joke, every touch, I was charting brand-new territory.
But something about Hawke had worked its way deep under my skin, and in the hours since my ill-fated arrival, that something had smoldered into an aching need that pulsed red-hot between my thighs, begging for a release that only Hawke could give me.
I’d never felt this way around a man before—so reckless, so out of control.
It scared the hell out of me.
And Ilikedit.Reallyliked it.
I finally found the courage to tilt my head and meet his gaze. The flickering candlelight threw shadows across his face, sharpening the angles, darkening the stubble across his well-defined jaw. There was something savage and beautiful in his eyes—a dare, a warning, maybe a little of both.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was dark and menacing. “Don’t youdarestart something with me you can’t finish.”
I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t. To confess that I’d been fantasizing about him all night. To promise that I would absolutely, positively see it all the way through if only he’d give me a chance. If only he’d cross the line he kept dancing around and finally freakingkissme.
But instead, as I gazed into those wild eyes, my heart pounding, my chest rising and falling with every terrified breath, his evergreens-and-cinnamon scent stirring me into a frenzy, I shrunk inside, confidence vanishing once again.
Who was I kidding? There was nothing wrong with Hawke’s A-game. He was a total pro, so confident and commanding and sure. Next to him, I was every bit the little girl my gingerbread shirt suggested.
And I was totally out of my league.
“I… I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I guess I just got a little carried away and… Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Shame burned once more through my chest, and I released his hands and turned back toward the table, looking for more dishes to gather, a dog to pet, another candle to light,anythingto distract me from my self-induced humiliation—an ache that was only magnified by the pulsing-hot need still coursing through my body.
In that moment, all I wanted to do was march out the door, raise my arms to the heavens, and let the bitter winter wind sweep me away.
I was giving up—a thing Ineverdid—and that pissed me right off.
I pressed a hand to my chest, the locket warming against my skin, finally snapping me out of my pity party.
I’d spent so many years of my life being afraid, so many years playing it safe, so many years apologizing for things that I had no control over. And I was tired of it. Tired of shrinking away. Tired of living my life as if one stiff breeze—or the rejection of a hot, grumpy Grinch, for that matter—could take me down for good.
So no, Ididn’twant to be swept away by the winter wind.
I wanted to be swept away byhim.
“Hawke, wait.” I turned back to him and met his eyes again, giving him a fiery glare of my own. Maybe I didn’t have the confidence to put my feelings into words, to make all those confessions or promises out loud, but I wanted him to knowexactlywhere I stood. What I wanted. What I hoped he wanted too.
I’d just have to show him.
He was still at the sink, and before I could overthink it again, I closed the distance between us and slid my arms around him from behind, resting my cheek against his back. He stiffened in my hold, but didn’t pull away, so I slid my hands down across his abs, then lower, brushing across the front of his jeans.
He was rock hard.
For me.
I cupped him through the jeans, feeling the full, delicious weight of him in my hand, my core flooding with unchecked desire as I imagined his massive cock thrusting into my flesh, again and again and again…
“What are youdoing, Maddie? Jesusfuck.” Hawke tried to shake me off, tried to resist, but he was already groaning at my touch, his hips rocking as I slowly rubbed him. When he finally turned to look at me over his shoulder, he was smiling again, but it wasn’t his usual smart-ass, nothing-can-touch-me smirk.
It was the grin of a wolf, hungry and desirous, ready to devour its prey.
In another low growl that sent goosebumps skittering across my skin, he said, “Youreallyshouldn’t have done that.”
And if there was one thing I’d learned in our short time together, it was this:
Hawke Stevens never said a thing unless he absolutely, positively meant it.
