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Phew.
I’m gettingwaytoo far ahead of myself. I can’t share a cabin with a stranger, even though said stranger makes my body melt with a single look from his dark, chocolate eyes or makes me want to take up rock climbing so I could reach his lips.
What is happening to me?
I let out a deep, raspy groan as I pull myself to my feet to get dressed because I’m freezing.
“Everything okay in there?” Nick asks from somewhere behind the door.
How can a voice be that deep? And how can it simultaneously make my entire body erupt in goosebumps and warm me up?
Mountain man magic, apparently. Maybe Quinn was on to something. Maybe I do need to find myself a mountain man. Maybe I need toget my sugar cookies out of the oven!
I launch myself onto the bed and yank on the pair of leggings I set out. After rolling off the bed and flat on my face, I brush myself off and swallow my pride because I’ve got sugar cookies to rescue. I tear my favorite Christmas sweater off a hanger, throw it on along with a pair of reindeer slippers, and high-tail it to the bedroom door in the hope of salvaging what’s left of my first batch of Christmas cookies.
“Nick,” I say, reaching for the door handle. “Can you please turn off the?—”
I swallow the rest of my words as I stare at Nick, munching on one of my sugar cookies.
“These are great,” he says, swallowing before devouring the rest of the cookie in a single bite.
I’m not sure what to think as I watch Nick move toward me. “Did you just steal one of my sugar cookies?”
“Consider it a tax,” he says, closing the gap between us. “For saving them. A few seconds longer and no one would be enjoying your cookies tonight.”
That voice. I swear it’s my weakness. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds so sinful. Like I should be bathing myself in holy water after a short conversation with him. His voice presses buttons I never knew I had. I can feel it all over my body. How is that possible?
“Okay,” I breathe, my voice a little raspier than usual. “But that doesn’t?—”
“Hot chocolate?” Nick proffers a steaming mug towards me that smells heavenly. As it should because it’s my secret recipe I’ve honed over the years. “I saw it on the counter and warmed it up for you.”
I swallow as I take it from him. “Thank you.”
“Marshmallows too?” His hand hovers above my mug as I wonder what else he has hidden under his sleeves. “I found the bag in one of the cabinets.”
“Yes.”
In plops a handful of miniature marshmallows.
“And how about a sugar cookie to stir it all up?”
I should be annoyed at how easily this man disarms my defenses, but with a mugful of hot chocolate in my hand, it’s hard to be anything but content.
Am I really going to let him do this to me? Yes. The answer is yes.
I let out a breathy sigh. “’Tis the season.”
Nick grunts and then sets one of my candy-cane-shaped cookies into the mug, stirs once, and then brings his thumb to his lip and sucks.
“Don’t want to waste a drop,” he rasps as I try to catch the breath that was just squeezed out of my lungs and ignore the clench deep in my core.
But it’s useless trying to ignore the chain reaction he sets off inside of me with his deep voice, his irresistible balsam scent, and his commanding presence. I’ve hardly known him for a few minutes but I’m drawn to him like he’s a tall mug of hot chocolate.
“Now that you’re situated, why don’t we talk about how we’re going to share this cabin?”
By the time I realize what he just said, he’s already sitting down on the couch.
“Excuse me? Are you trying to bribe me with my own hot chocolate and sugar cookies to let you stay?”
