As the engine sputters before dying I can only think that there is no way this billionaire will ever invest in my company. Not when he sees the state of his porch. The steps are ruined, and I think my fossil of a car has done more damage than a demolition crew to the structure.
The basket is fine, it was already on the passenger floorboard, so it had nowhere to go. I snatch it out of the car. It’s no longer a ‘please invest in my business basket’ it’s an apology basket now. I make it to the wreckage of the porch when I hear the pop.
“That fucking piece of shit,” I mutter dropping the basket on the ground. Walking back to my car I can’t believe my own eyes. The car looks fine. Maybe a dent here or there and the hood is crumpled, but what I can’t believe is that the airbag deployed. It’s totaled.
“Fuck!” I scream.
I just put all my money into this car. I have no savings and no car. My silver rust bucket goes blurry as I start crying in a stranger’s driveway.
“Do I smell cinnamon?” a deep voice rumbles behind me.
Spinning on my heel I find the hottest man alive frowning at the wreckage of his porch. He’s tall with broad shoulders his fleece lined denim jacket can’t hide and thick thighs that his pants grip lovingly. His hair is dark, curly, and wild, dancing in the wind and dusted with snow. Brown eyes cut me as his thick eyebrows lower and his frown turns into a glare.
“What the fuck?”
Dominic
The high squeal of a car unsuited to driving on snow reaches my ears long before the crunch of tires hits my driveway. She sent me a fucking tourist. I take my time putting my boots back on. That car is going to get stuck and I’m going to have to pull her out, no doubt about it. The snow is coming down fast and there is no way that I’ll be able to get her down the mountain before the 25th.
“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” I mutter.
My plans for a quiet winter day have just gone flying out the window. I’m going to be trapped in a small cabin with a strange woman who has delusions of love.
I’m grabbing my coat when I hear the crash.
“Fuck!”
I go out the back door just to give myself an extra second to calm down. She probably slid right into my truck. The old truck has its share of dents. One more won’t hurt.
I’m turning the corner of the cabin when the unmistakable scent of cinnamon hits my nose. My stomach growls, and alittle of my irritation melts away. At least my grandmother sent someone with taste.
Then I see the porch. It’s toast. The steps are dust and most of the boards are broken. Worse, she’s totaled her car. It’ll need to be towed down the mountain.
“What the fuck?” The words leave my mouth before I see her.
But when I see her? All the words leave my head. I can’t think. Can’t fucking breathe. Not when her startled brown eyes land on mine. Her face is round with a button nose pink from the cold, and long eyelashes that cast shadows across her plump cheeks.
She’s gorgeous. She’s stunning. She’s…everything I could ever want.
“I’m so sorry,” she says voice trembling. She’s on the verge of crying and that won’t do.
“Get inside.” The words come out loud and sharp like I’m back to barking orders to a soldier under my command rather than a woman who just had a traumatic incident.
She jolts into motion, following me around the cabin to the back porch. Her steps are slow, almost reluctant, and I don’t blame her. Not after the way I’ve spoken to her. Can’t take back the words though.
Once we’re inside she stands by the door shaking like a newborn deer on unsteady legs. I’m not sure if it’s shock from the crash, the beginnings of hypothermia, or from being alone with me.
“Sit.”
She moves towards the kitchen table, her knuckles turning white as she grips the handle of her wicker basket. Her jeans are soaked from walking in the snow. Shorter than me, it came up to her thighs, the material darker where her body heat melted the snow allowing it to penetrate the denim.
Thighs thick enough to squeeze a man, they draw my eye to the soft curve of her ass. The supple flesh jiggles as she walks, even in the stiff denim. I could watch her walk all day. Every day.
She shivers, and I could punch myself for thinking of my own selfish desires when she’s wet and cold.
“By the fire.”
Halfway across the living space she stops. Turning, her sad brown eyes land on their only available target. Me. I cannothandle her crying right now. Not when she’s cold. Not when she’s—
