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A shiver runs through me, reminding me I’m cold and need to finish.
Pulling on his sweatshirt, I’m pleased to find it doesn’t smell like weed. In fact, it actually smells really good.
The door swings open while I’m sniffing the collar of the sweatshirt, and Kai eyes me as a smile grows across his face.
“If you want to smell me, just ask. Don’t use my shirt as a proxy when the real thing is a willing man,” he says with that wide smile.
I feel my face flame. Also, I can’t ever tell if he’s serious or not. Surely no guy is this confident.
Clearing my throat, I drop the shirt, smiling tightly.
“Any more pets I should be scared of?” I muse in deflection.
He shrugs a shoulder. “There’s Count Chocula, but—”
“Seriously? Count Chocula?” I ask, needing to know if this is a joke or not.
His right eyebrow arches. “He’s not so friendly, so don’t let the name mislead you. He doesn’t come around the homesteads, though. Just don’t go past the red tree markers, and you shouldn’t ever run into him,” he adds.
I don’t even know what to say.
It’s as though there’s an entirely different language out here than back home, and I’m afraid I’m going to sound like the douche I’m trying not to be if I have any comment at all to the maddening lunacy that spews from these people.
“Okay then. Lead the way to food. I’m officially starving, and your cat tried to kill me. I feel like you at least owe me food,” I tell him, ensuring he knows this is not another date.
“I’ll put your clothes in the dryer. I have a bunch of coats by the door. Go pick one out,” he says, eyes raking all over me like I’m something worth looking at in a pair of black sweat pants and a blue hoodie.
He continues smiling as I walk by him, and I glance back as he comes out of the room with my wet clothes, moving toward another room. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone like him, to be honest.
I hear something shutting and the sound of a dryer starting, and I smile a little more.
“They should be dry when we get back,” he says as he walks toward me, pulling on a coat as he moves.
I’m still staring at him as he deliberately walks right up to me, crowds my space with his distinct lack of personal boundaries, and leans forward.
A slight squeal escapes me, because I swear he’s going to kiss me. He reaches behind me instead, and he smirks down at me as he pulls back, holding out a coat for me.
“You’ll need shoes too. Or do you want to keep staring at me? We can stay here if you’d like to see more of me,” he suggests.
Talk about forward and unapologetic about it. If he hadn’t saved my life, I’d be hella turned off by him. Since he did save it, I’m still too caught up in the hero effect.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself when I let him help me into the coat. His fingertips deliberately brush my neck as he pulls the hood out over the coat, and I bite back a grin.
Subtle flirting is a lost art.
First the cheesy arm-stretch that turned into him putting his arm behind me. Now this.
Pulling the scrunchy off my wrist, I twist my slightly damp hair up.
“Your nose is still a little red,” he tells me, lightly tapping my nose with his knuckle.
“It’s not every day a frozen lake tries to kill me.”
“You think the entire world is out to kill you, don’t you?” he muses, pressing closer.
I stumble back a step and find myself pushed against a bunch of hanging coats.
“Just this place, actually. I do just fine at home and pretty much anywhere else in the world,” I assure him.
His grin crawls across his face anew.
“You’re even pretty in my clothes,” he tells me very abruptly.
I’m so caught off guard by the sudden compliment that I just blink at him. Especially since he says it so sincerely.
He should really give me some space so that my head isn’t all sorts of confused by his proximity. Because damn…he’s pretty too.
White teeth flash through perfect lips that are outlined by a damn sexy beard. Really, though, beards have never been my thing. Now, however…
“Didn’t you say we were going for food?” I ask, needing some space.
Without another word, he steps to the side, and I pull on my boots, eyeing the cougar as he opens the door.
She’s licking a paw, eyes already trained on me like she’s been burning holes through my head through the door. I bet she’s been tracking my movements too.
“Is she the jealous type?” I ask, wondering if I’m about to become cat chow now that she’s confirmed me as her enemy.
