“I don’t like sharing.”
“Clearly.”
“That shirt’s mine. It smells like me.”
She sniffs the collar and makes a noise that’s equal parts mockery and something else. Something… huskier.
“Well,Ilike how you smell.”
I stop in front of her. Close enough to feel the heat from the stove. From her.
“You think this is a game?” I murmur.
“Everything’s a game,” she says. “You just hate that I’m winning.”
My hand fists the fabric at her waist, tugging her toward me. Her breath hitches.
“You want to win?” I growl.
She nods once, bold and breathless.
“Then tell me to stop.”
I lower my mouth to her ear, barely brushing the skin with my lips.
“Tell me to stop thinking about how soft you looked wrapped in that damn blanket last night. Tell me to stop wondering how you taste. Stop imagining how you'd sound when I push you up against that stupid glittery tree and make you moan.”
She trembles.
But she doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
I pull back, just enough to see her face.
Flushed. Eyes wide. Lips parted.
“Noel,” I rasp.
“Yes?”
I study her for a beat. She’s trying to stay calm. Collected. Like she’s not seconds from combusting.
“You keep poking the bear, tinsel girl,” I say, voice dropping to a low rumble. “Eventually, he bites.”
“Maybe I want to be bitten.”
Fuck.
Every muscle in my body tenses.
I step back.
If I don’t, I’m going to pin her to the wall and do everything I’ve been imagining since the moment she burst into my cabin like a fever dream with boots and a plan.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
