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‘What’s so funny?’
‘I’m sorry. The fact you’re called Nick isn’t helping to get the less cuddly Santa image from my head.’
He gives her a stunning lopsided grin. ‘I guess it wouldn’t, would it? So thank you for helping me, Scarlett. I really do appreciate all of this.’
‘You’re welcome, Nick. Besides, I could hardly leave you there all night now could I?’
Nick smiles, but doesn't say anything else, and she’s all out of useful things to say. Talking helped distract her from being this close to him. She’s never been so instantly attracted to someone before. Nick is getting to her on so many levels. How he looks, his deep voice, the intoxicating scent surrounding him.
It’s not helping that his naked chest is inches from her face. ‘So you’re a fan of Christmas then.’ It’s a ridiculous statement, but she needs to talk to keep her mind off stripping him, and running her tongue over every inch of his body.
He moves his hips again and she holds her breath. She really wishes he’d stop doing that.
‘You picked up on that, huh?’ he replies, his voice laced with exhaustion.
‘Picked up on what?’ she asks, her mind still undressing him.
‘That I’m a fan of Christmas.’
She doesn't miss the smirk before he responds. Why was he smirking like that? It was almost like he knew what she was thinking, which is ridiculous. ‘It’s a little obvious,’ she says, nodding towards the sleeve tattooed on his arm. ‘I mean that’s a serious dedication to Christmas, getting something like that tattooed on your arm.’
He smirks at her. ‘I guess you could say it’s my time of year.’
Scarlett fixes the bandage over the cut and sits back on her heels, putting some distance between them. Nick is smiling at her again, that same seductive smile he’s been giving her, since he took his top off. Maybe that’s just his regular polite smile and she’s turning it into something it’s not. ‘You’re all done. I think you’ll live.’
‘Thank you, Scarlett.’
She packs away the first aid kit, then lifts herself onto the couch and passes him a cup of cocoa.
‘I would offer you my phone so you can make a call, but the service is down. Your family must be worried about you.’ She’s positive there will be someone missing him. Possibly a girlfriend. Even if he is single, which she very much doubts, whoever he was dressed up for last night, would be missing him.
‘No family.’ He takes his locket in his hand, rubbing his thumb over it as he looks out the window. ‘But my friends will be wondering where I am. I just have to wait. Hope they find me in time.’
His entire demeanour shifted when she mentioned family. Clearly it’s a sensitive topic for him. ‘Time for what?’ she asks, trying to keep the conversation going.
‘I just need to get home for Christmas.’
Nick clearly isn’t one for explaining himself. His answers just lead to more questions, ones she knows he’ll answer with more of the same. He’s had a traumatic night and he’s clearly tired. The last thing he needs is her firing questions at him like he’s being interrogated. That’s one sure way to make his headache worse.
This is her problem. Always has been.
She’s not a fan of silences. Ever since she was a kid, she felt the need to fill any silence. Alone, it’s not a problem. She doesn't spend hours talking to herself. For the most part, she’s content with her own company. But as soon as you throw her in a room with even one other person, that’s it. Verbal diarrhoea.
The poor guy crashed, has a head injury, and is stuck in the arse end of nowhere, with someone who is rabbiting on at him.
Her stomach growls and Nick turns towards her, one eyebrow raised, his hand still wrapped around his locket.
So, when she makes the decision to stop talking, her stomach takes over and does the talking for her. It’s beyond mortifying. ‘Sorry. I’m famished. I was about to make myself breakfast when you woke up. How’s the toast settling in your stomach?’
‘My stomach isn’t making sounds like that, so I think it’s fine.’
She smirks, still embarrassed by her unruly stomach. ‘Glad to hear it. Do you fancy trying something more adventurous?’
‘What exactly do you have in mind?’
His eyes do that swirling thing she swore she was imagining the first time. It’s without a doubt the sexiest thing she’s ever seen. She wishes he’d stop.
Or maybe not.
