It’s loaded.
And dangerous.
And saysnext time, no one’s interrupting.
But for now… I just grab another handful of frosting, swipe it across my lips, and lick it off slowly.
He growls again.
And I grin.
This war’s only getting started.
Chapter 6
Nash
The storm howls like it’s got a personal grudge against my roof.
Wind slaps the windows. Ice pelts the glass. The wood stove crackles like it’s trying to be louder than Noel’s damn Christmas playlist that keeps bouncing between sultry jazz and some pop singer moaning about mistletoe.
I could shut it off. Should.
But she’s sitting on the floor in front of the fire, legs tucked under her in candy cane-striped socks, grinning like she doesn’t even notice the blizzard outside—or that she’s turned my cabin into Santa’s bachelor pad.
And I… can’t stop looking at her.
Worse, I don’twantto.
She tilts her head, mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “You look like you’re planning an escape.”
“I was.”
Her smile widens. “Let me guess—through the chimney?”
“No, I was gonna toss you in it.”
“Please. You’d miss me within the hour.”
“You think highly of yourself.”
She shrugs. “I do.”
I grunt and take another sip of whiskey, letting it burn the tension sitting low in my gut.
It doesn’t help.
She picks up a wine bottle and pours herself another glass. I watch the red swirl. Watch her lips wrap around the rim. Watch her tongue flick out to catch a drop.
Fuck.
“You gonna keep staring,” she says lightly, “or do you wanna play?”
“Play what? You got a game in that bag of yours?”
“You know I do.” She reaches into her stupid sequined purse and pulls out… a sprig of mistletoe tied to a spinner made from a wine bottle.
I blink.
