Maybe she intrigued me, that’s all. Maybe it’s been too damn long since I’ve had a woman on my porch, not that I want one. Regardless, I don’t like the way my body’s reacting to her at all.
I don’t have time for this—not for Christmas carols or whatever gifts she’s bringing.
The wind howls, rattling the cabin walls hard enough to make me glance at the window. Snow is coming down in sheets now, the kind that blinds a man in seconds. My gut clenches.
I can’t leave her out there.
Goddamn it.
I drag a hand down my face. She’s still out there. A city girl with shiny shoes, bare legs, and clearly no sense whatsoever, standing on my porch in the middle of a mountain storm.
I force myself to remain in the chair by the fire, Bear thumping his tail against the rug as if he doesn’t give a damn about intruders. The dog’s loyal, sure, but he doesn’t understand people. He doesn’t understand how they worm their way into your life and rip it apart.
How they leave unexpectedly and without warning.
I shut my eyes, willing her to leave. To get back in her car, crank the heater, and drive her ass back down the mountain before the road ices over.
But then I hear it.
A muffled thud, then a curse carried by the wind. The sound of her shoes—or whatever the hell she’s wearing—scraping against the porch.
I mutter another curse and push to my feet, cursing whoever sent these stupid gifts and the singing Santa girl. Part of me still wants her gone—wants the quiet and isolation I've made for myself. But beneath that, something stirs at the thought of her alone in the storm. A pull I haven't felt in years, an instinct to protect that I've tried to bury along with everything else. I don't want to care, but I can't seem to stop myself.
When I rip the door open again, and she's hunched against the storm, clutching the gifts to her like they're her lifeline, snowflakes caught in her long, thick lashes. Her lips are trembling, skin flushed red raw from the cold.
“Sir—” Her teeth chatter, but her voice still has that ridiculous cheer in it. “It’s—it’s really bad out here.”
No shit.
“So go fucking home.”
She gapes at me, then squares her shoulders. “No, not until I’ve given you these gifts.”
Well, fuck me. Some people have zero sense.
Behind her, the world has turned white. My truck’s already half-buried up to its wheels. No way she’s getting that rust bucket off the mountain tonight.
I snatch the gifts from her trembling hands and scowl at her.
“Go.” I slam the door, not wanting to hear another word from that pretty little mouth.
Unable to stop myself, I peer out the window, watching as she attempts to stomp back to her car, slipping and sliding as she goes. Finally, she reaches her car, and fuck me, she climbs in from the passenger side. I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with the driver’s door, but I’m too pissed to care. I step back and leave her to it, tossing the stupid gifts on the table.
Then I hear the faint whir of an engine that will never turn over. It sounds like it’s screaming for me to get out there and help her, and I wait, praying it starts.
It doesn’t.
I bite back a growl. This is thelastthing I need.
It takes her longer to make it back to my door, but I rip it open before she can knock, fury keeping me warm against the icy chill.
“Get inside.” I hate every word as it leaves my mouth.
Her wide eyes blink at me. “What?”
“Inside.” I shove the door open wider and jerk my chin toward the fire. “Before you freeze your foolish ass solid.”
She hesitates, hugging herself, then steps past me into the warmth, bringing with her a scent of vanilla, sugar, and something distinctly feminine.
