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I pulled the blanket off my body and went to my front door. When I opened it, I found the 6’3” beast of a man on the other side holding a brown bag and two coffee cups from Sally’s.
“Nathaniel.” there goes my heart again. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s storming outside,” he answered.
“Okay?”
“Can I come in?”
The logic was screaming that I shouldn’t do it. Being trapped here would only put us back in situations like Thanksgiving and the hospital. That possibility alone was reason enough for why I moved aside for him.
Whenever he entered my apartment, he practically filled the whole place up. It wasn’t a tiny space, but his presence was so large that it demanded your attention, and you couldn't help but move with him.
“I brought the chocolate fudge cake you like from Sally’s.” He placed the brown bag on the counter. “And some chamomile tea with oat milk.”
“You brought two?” I walked over to the two to-go cups.
“No.” he grabbed one of the drinks. “This is a hot chocolate for me.”
“Oh.”
His eyes remained glued to me. Those forest green eyes that reminded me so much of the countryside in Braven Bay stared at me with the kind of danger that should have sent me running for the hills. But all it did was cause more blood to rush down my groin.
All the man had done was look at me, and I was already wet. But to be fair, he had been on my mind these past few days. And I had been holding back the floodgates when chasing down my orgasm.
Hold it in. Hold it in, Amelia. I had to repeat to myself repeatedly to keep myself from jumping the poor man.
“Uhh…” my voice filled the silence. “Thank you for…this.”
I picked up the cup and sipped on the chamomile. It was still piping hot, meaning he had gotten it not too long ago.
“When did you get this?”
He sipped on his drink, his eyes staring at me over the rim. “Ten minutes ago.”
My eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Are you crazy? There is a storm, and you went out there? Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“I’m aware.”
“You could have gotten hurt, Nathaniel.”
“Unlikely, but okay.” The man leaned against the granite tabletop, his eyes still holding me.
“This isn’t a joking matter, Nate.”
“Am I laughing?” He wasn’t, but I could see in his eyes that he was amused, which only upset me.
“Don’t do that again.” I sipped on my chamomile.
“What? Go and get you comfort food to ease your anxiety, or come keep you company during a storm?” He set his cup down and inched closer to where I stood in the kitchen. “Because if you want me to go, I can, sweetheart.”
The name caught me off guard. So much so that the grip on my tea tightened, squeezing the top contents of it out and spilling onto my hand.
“Shit,” I hissed.
Nate sprung and took the cup from me before taking my hand and running it under cold water. He stood behind me, pressing his front into my back while washing my hand. The pain that had burned my skin was now forgotten, and suddenly I was utterly hyper-aware of everything that involved Nate.
His fresh musky scent of spice and leather filled my nostrils. The heat from his body rolled onto me, blanketing me in warmth.
