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“If I do, I've got a backup generator.” That's a surprise. I don't know anybody with a generator.
“I thought only stores had those.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “Up here in the mountains, it's smart to have a generator. Storms hit, and they can hit hard. When it’s cold, it can get really cold. The stove will go a long way to protecting the pipes from freezing, but the generator is an added comfort,” he explains, assuring, “We’ll be fine.”
I nod but I hug myself tighter as I mutter, “I'll take your word for it.”
“That sounds an awful lot like trust,” he muses.
“Should I not trust you?”
“I am a stranger,” he teases, and I half expect another lecture about trusting people I meet online.
“A stranger who has made me dinner and opened his home to me,” I add, giving him a cheeky wink. “You don't seem so bad to me, strange man.”
His eyes drop, moving slowly over my jammies as a grin hitches his lips. “You’re one to talk, calling me strange. What are you wearing?”
“Jammies. Think I'm cute?”
“I think you're—" he waves his finger at my outfit, “Is cute. You, though…”
I gasp. “I'minmy outfit.” I wave my own finger at myself. “Therefore,Iam cute.”
“Sure,” he relents, laughing. It's softer this time. Not quite as hard. Not ragged, or deep, or dark. It's almost thoughtful. It doesn't mean that it doesn't start a whole mess of tingles where tingles shouldn't be.
He turns away from me to walk into the kitchen, leaving my insides in havoc.
“Do you want wine?”
“Sure. Why not?”
He raises a brow. “Not much of a drinker?”
“Nope.” I settle on his couch, pulling a blanket into my lap. It wasn't here before, so I think he must have brought it from wherever it was—for me.
He sees me snuggle in, and I watch his broad chest expand with a deep breath before he dips his head to hide a smile. Yes, I think, he brought the blanket out for me.
He's sweet. He pretends not to be, but he is.
“You don't have to join me. If you don't want to drink, just say.”
“I want a glass,” I start, and add, “Just don't blame me for my loose tongue.”
“You think you'll talkmore?” he asks, faux horror in his voice. “More than you already do, I mean?”
“Oh, whatever!” I huff in mock outrage, my nose scrunching. “I don't talk that much.”
“You do.” I watch as he moves from the kitchen into the living room, stopping close to hand me my wine. I catch his scent then, woodsy, spicy, and entirely man. It surrounds me, going straight to my head, and I think it’s more intoxicating than the wine in my glass.
Because I need a distraction, I sip my wine. It’s delicious, full and rich. It settles warm in my belly, and I sigh as Nick moves away to lower his big body into the chair across from the couch I’ve snuggled into. I’m a little disappointed he didn’t sit next to me. But that would have been weird, right?
ChapterNine
Nick
Fear flashes in her eyes as the wind howls and the house groans. She's scared, I think, of the storm. It’s picked up in the last fifteen or so minutes, the wind stronger, the snow heavier.
I want to comfort her. I don't understand my constant need to comfort her, to touch her. My desire to taste her, to know her—I haven't felt this way about a woman in a long time.
