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I nod as he grabs a clean serving bowl from a cupboard to the right of the stove even though it’s entirely too big. He scrapes the eggs into it and then places the eggs and toast on a tray to walk out into the dining room.
A sense of relief washes over me as soon as he’s gone. The milk is already making my palm feel better but also, the guests have at least something to eat. Sure, the kitchen looks like a tornado went through it, but that can be cleaned up.
What really has my attention, though, is Cameron Michaels. How can one person have so many personalities?
The door swings back open, and the man in question makes another appearance. “They look much more agreeable now than when I first went out there,” he announces.
“People tend to get happier when they know there’s food involved.”
He sets the tray down, sitting on the stool opposite me. “Sorry about your hand.” A few more seconds go by, when he continues, “I’m trying to find someone to come in and work, but it’s that time of year when everyone wants to be at home with their families, so I don’t have any takers.”
“It is pretty close to Christmas,” I agree.
He scowls as if he didn’t need the reminder.
“Listen, I’ll help,” I offer. “I don’t have anything to do until my parents get here anyway, and it seems like you could use it.”
He lifts a brow. “I could, huh?” he asks, his voice taking on that asshole edge I’ve become accustomed to.
“You live in the Christmas Capital of the North, and you don’t even have any decorations up,” I use as evidence to support my statement. “No tree in the living room. No lights outside. I can’t imagine why the only two guests you have are Prissy Pants One and Two, and I bet they’re contemplating leaving.”
He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his throat. “Been here less than twenty-four hours, and you already think you know what’s going on.”
“I don’t think. I know,” I counter. “When was the last time the inn was painted? Or hell, a smidge of preventative maintenance completed. There’s a draft coming in through my window, and—”
“Oh, a draft,” he says, standing from his stool so hard that it nearly topples over. “Do you want to put in a complaint form, Princess.”
“Is there one?” I ask. “Because if there is, I’d like to talk to someone who gives a fuck.”
He steps in next to me, towering over my seated form until I can see that the stubble on his chin leads almost all the way down to his Adam’s apple. “I liked it better when your mouth was preoccupied.”
The infuriating look he gives me makes my whole body heat. “For someone who wanted to act like nothing happened, you seem preoccupied with it.”
“Maybe because I liked you better when you were riding my face…nottalking or jumping to conclusions.”
My nipples peak. Forget about my hurt palm, I’m thrust right back into the way he’d ensnared me with his web two days ago. But this time, he isn’t seducing me with his good looks and bold behavior, it’s with a match of words. “Thinking about your niece that way… How naughty,” I muse. I can barely breathe. I know I’m playing with fire here, but I can’t stop.
His eyes spark. “You’re not my niece.”
“Would Grandma Junie say that?”
He smirks, leaning over me again until he turns his hat around and glares down. “You think you’re a big girl, but you aren’t. You’re trying to play a game with me that you’ll lose.” He leans over, rasping into my ear, “You came so fast and hard on my tongue that I’m not so sure you’ve even been fucked before. You might as well put your hair up in pigtails again.”
His hot breath has me squirming, but it’s that stupid backwards hat that has me not wanting to put an end to this. It’s too sexy. I press my thighs together to relieve the ache. I’m definitely not a virgin, but he’s not exactly wrong. It had been too long since I’d been touched like that. “Why do I get the feeling that you would enjoy that too much?” I spread my knees wide, moving my knee around his so that he can step into me as I move my ass to the edge of the stool.
His thigh brushes my apex, and I start to move against his corded muscles. My sweater dress has ridden up high across my stomach, so there’s only the barest of barriers between the two of us—my thin leggings and even thinner panties—and I just happen to be soaked through both.
“Are you wet for me, Baby Girl?” he growls.
Oh, dear God, there’s that praising mouth of his.
“Uh huh,” I murmur, grabbing the back of his thigh and bringing myself closer.
“Check.”
Um, excuse me. “What?”
“I want to see your hands dip into that perfect pussy.”
