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“I’m not upset,” she retorted. But the rigid set to her shoulders and ramrod-straight back told another story.
He couldn’t help himself—his gaze ran down all that lovely, toned, wet flesh as she bent over and grabbed one of the towels he kept by the hot tub. Her ass cheeks were on full display, and his dick hardened even more. His body wanted her. No doubt about that. But he wasn’t sure they were a good fit outside the bedroom. He thought back to that night. Or barroom.
“Honey. Hey. Stop.”
“We’re not going to do this, Nash.” Her tone was sharp, and his hackles rose.
“Do what exactly?”
She yanked her head around and nailed him with a hard look. “This. This friend thing. I’m not going to spill my guts to you. I’m not going to share some deep dark secret. I’m not someone you can fix, so don’t try.”
He stayed silent. Honey was traveling down a road he hadn’t thought of. He realized then that there was a lot more going on with this woman than he’d realized.
“I don’t think you need fixing,” he said after a while. “And you’re wrong about the other thing too.”
“What’s that?” Chin thrust forward, she looked like she wanted to fight.
“Everybody needs someone.” He held her gaze until she looked away. “And from what I can tell, you need a friend.”
Honey headed for the door that led inside his home. “Thanks for the hot tub.”
Nash settled back in the water and watched through the windows as she dried off. She twisted her hair and then turned her back to him before slipping out of her bra and underwear. Holy. Hell. His groin tightened painfully, and he swore. Even though she wasn’t putting on a show for him, it sure as hell felt like it. She pulled on her dry clothes, tied up her hair in a loose ponytail, and, without a glance his way, let herself out of his house.
A few seconds later, he heard an engine start. Nash listened as the motor revved and eventually faded to nothing, leaving him alone under the stars with a hard-on that wasn’t going away. Honey Harrison confused the hell out of him. Sometimes, he didn’t think he liked her all that much. She was too abrasive. Too dark with a hint of twisty. Too much trouble. And yet there was something about her that grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let go. She’d been a pain in his ass since she’d arrived in Crystal Lake.
But it was a good kind of pain. The right kind of pain.
Which was a bit of a problem since they were like oil and water. Whenever they mixed, things got heated. Hell, they couldn’t even share a hot tub without him pushing some invisible button he didn’t know about.
He shouldn’t care if she was alone for the holidays. She was his employee and nothing else. They’d done the something else dance, and though the sex had been amazing, great sex got you only so far. He needed to put Honey back in the little box she’d arrived in. The non-friend, non-anything box.
Mind made up, he sat back and grimaced, grabbing his beer and raising it up to toast an evening sky meant for two.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
13
Christmas Eve brought a storm that threatened to dump nearly ten inches of snow across the entire state of Michigan. Already firmly entrenched in Canada, it moved toward the United States fueled by an unrelenting northerly wind. By the time Honey rolled out of bed at eight in the morning, the entire area was a winter wonderland. She padded to the bedroom window, swiped at the condensation on the glass, and gazed down at the parking lot and the fluffy white mountain that buried her car.
As someone from the South—a girl who’d never seen snow before—she’d been excited to experience her first snowfall. And the second. Maybe even the third. But the bloom was definitely off the rose, and the sight of snow didn’t put an instant smile on her face. It made her wince because it meant shoveling and ice and cold. Winter hadn’t even taken hold yet, so she knew this was just the beginning.
Honey sighed and moved away from the window. She shouldn’t complain. Things could be worse. Some folks would be out in that weather today finishing up their last-minute Christmas shopping. Honey had nowhere to be other than downstairs around noon—and they were closing at four. Nope. The storm didn’t affect her, and she could appreciate the beauty without the work it caused.
Her plan was to eat leftover Chinese takeout, throw a bag of popcorn in the microwave, and settle in for a night of Netflix. And no, she wouldn’t be watching some sappy Christmas movie—she was more of an action and violence kind of girl. Honey was looking forward to an Avengers marathon and would happily watch every single one of them.
She had a shower and a lazy morning, content to go about a daily schedule that was no different from any other. After three cups of black coffee while watching CNN on her laptop, she perused a few travel blogs she followed and hit up Facebook to see what was going on in the world of the Blackwells. Travis’s wife, Ruby, had a public page, and Honey creeped it from time to time. She would die if anyone found out, and even though she was in the safety of her apartment, she glanced over her shoulder.
She scrolled past a few new pictures—all three Blackwell brothers were together for the holidays—and stopped at the last one posted. John Blackwell, the patriarch, sat in an overstuffed brown leather chair, a small baby in his arms and a Santa hat on his head. The old man gazed down at the boy—Hudson’s little guy—with a look of wonder. His expression was unguarded and real. Honey studied the picture for a long time, her throat constricting so bad, it hurt. With a curse, she slammed her laptop shut and got dressed for work.
She headed downstairs to open the place and was surprised to find Tiny stocking the coolers behind the bar. The stereo blared as he rocked out to “Run, Run, Rudolph,” definitely prancing around like no one was watching.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, joining the bear of a man behind the bar. “You’re supposed to be off. Aren’t you headed to your parents in Detroit?”
“Sure am. I was just keeping busy until you came down.” He nodded toward the full cooler
s. “One less thing for you do to today.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” She shook her wryly. “I have a feeling I’ll have lots of time on my hands. Especially if this snow keeps up.” She frowned. “What do you mean you’re waiting for me? What’s up?” She grabbed a couple of lemons and limes from the fridge and prepared to cut up some garnishments just in case she got a few customers. Which, as a hard gust of wind shook the place, she kind of doubted would happen.
