His voice is sandpaper and sin. “I’m not gonna kiss you. Not yet.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Why?”
He studies me like he’s memorizing every inch. “Because when I do, you’re gonna forget every other damn kiss before it.”
I swallow.
Hard.
Then take a step back.
“I should…” I gesture toward the stack of decorations. “I promised the network this place would look like Christmas threw up.”
He nods once.
But his eyes never leave mine.
“Later then, Miss Hart.”
“Later,” I whisper.
And when I finally turn back toward the mantel, the storm howls louder—but inside, everything feelsdangerously still.
Like the momentbeforethe kiss.
The moment that changeseverything.
Chapter 8
Nash
The snow’s up to my damn knees.
I stomp the slush off my boots and haul in the wood, dumping it next to the stove just as Noel prances into the room like the storm is her stage.
She’s in ridiculous Christmas leggings. Poinsetta red with little white snowflakes. Her sweater saysJINGLE THISacross her chest, and I’m not a religious man, but I might’ve just been baptized in temptation.
She’s on the phone, pacing, pouting, biting her bottom lip like the Grinch just stole her Christmas tree.
“Wait—what do youmeansnowed in until Friday?” she huffs. “No, youcannotdo a remote interview from the Brew! This entire challenge isdependenton the transformation of the Hollis cabin—yeah,Hollis, the shirtless grump with the beard.”
She glances at me and rolls her eyes. I raise a brow. Shirtless grump?
Fair.
The second she hangs up, she groans and flops onto the sofa like someone just told her Mariah Carey lost her voice.
“They’re stuck in town,” she groans. “Roads are snowed in until the county plows through Devil’s Pass.”
“So you're stuck. With me.”
“Unfortunately.”
I set a fresh log on the fire. “Could be worse.”
She squints. “How?”
“You could be stuck with someone wholikesyour sequin pillows.”
