Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Chapter 14
Nash
She tastes like cinnamon and sugar and a challenge I didn’t know I needed until she slammed into my life in combat boots and a suitcase full of twinkle lights.
Noel Hart is chaos. Wrapped in red lipstick. Rolled in glitter. Glowing in firelight and humming with heat as her lips part beneath mine.
And I’m gone for her.
I’ve been resisting for days. Pretending I didn’t notice how her sweater dips off one shoulder, how good she looks in my flannel, or how she hums Christmas carols while rearranging my furniture like she owns the place. Like she belongs here.
In my space.
In my life.
But right now, under the crackle of the fireplace and the howl of the winter storm outside, there’s no pretending.
My hands slide into her hair. Silken, wild, smells like cinnamon and cedar. She gasps softly when I tug just enough to tip her head back, giving me her throat like some offering I don’t deserve.
I press my mouth there instead. Kiss the spot below her ear. Taste her skin, feel her pulse.
She shudders in my arms.
“You don’t play fair,” she whispers, her voice a little breathless.
“Didn’t say I did.”
Her hands grip my shirt. Nails dig through the fabric. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
I pull back just far enough to see her eyes. Dark and wide and wanting.
“Say it,” I murmur.
“Say what?”
“That you want this. That you want me.”
She swallows hard.
I don’t rush her. I just… wait.
Because this moment matters. After all the teasing. The games. The mistletoe and the cookies and the near-kisses and slow burn, this is the line we’re crossing.
Together.
“I want you,” she whispers. “God help me, but I do.”
My control snaps like dry pine in the fireplace.
I haul her into my lap in one smooth pull. She gasps, then straddles me like she’s done it before. Like she’s meant to be here.
I palm her hips. Thumbs press into the waistband of her leggings.
“Noel,” I growl, low in her ear. “Tell me to stop.”
“No,” she breathes. “Don’t stop. Not now. Not again.”
Her mouth crashes into mine.
Hot. Desperate. Hungry.
I kiss her like a starving man. Like she’s the first taste of something I thought I’d never get again—joy, warmth, touch. Her body molds to mine, perfect and pliant, grinding slow over the thick ridge of my cock under my jeans.
She gasps when I thrust up against her. “You’re—”
“Big?” I smirk.
“Cocky,” she snaps, blushing.
“You haven’t seen cocky yet, tinsel girl.”
I slide my hands under her flannel, slowly dragging it up, exposing inches of soft, warm skin. She shivers—but not from the cold. My palms trace her sides, up to the clasp of her bra.
Then—
A knock.
A pounding knock at the cabin door.
We freeze. Again.
I growl, forehead against hers. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Another knock.
Muffled voice outside: “Hey, Nash? It’s Mabel! That road by the north ridge is blocked again, an evergreen toppled under the weight of the ice. Thought you’d wanna know—”
Noel covers her mouth, trying not to laugh.
I sigh, then shout, “Thanks, Mabel! Appreciate it!”
“Alright, well—sorry to bother you two!”
Two. Christ. The whole damn town knows.
I look back at Noel.
She’s grinning.
“Bet you’ve never been cockblocked by a seventy-year-old before.”
I groan. “Woman’s got perfect timing.”
Noel presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. Sweet. Teasing. “It’s starting to feel like the universe has it out for us, sending your parade of girlfriends to interrupt us everytime we almost…ya know.” She smirks. “Maybe next time, mountain man.”
I pull her tighter, her curves flush to my chest. My voice drops low, full of grit and promise.
“Oh, there’s gonna be a next time, sugar. And when we do this?”
I let her feel exactly how hard I still am beneath her.
“It won’t be a game and nothing will come between me and what’s mine.”
Chapter 15
Noel
Isink deeper into the hot tub and let the heat curl around me like a lover’s arm.
Correction—a grumpy, wet, broody mountain man’s arm.
Because Nash Hollis is across from me.
In the flesh.
And there’s a lot of that flesh on display. It’s been twenty minutes since the knock on the door that interrupted us again.“Comfortable?” he asks, voice like whiskey-soaked gravel. His arms stretch along the rim of the tub, biceps flexing under the water, beard damp from steam. His eyes? That dark wildfire stare that’s made me stupid since day one.
“Mm,” I hum, teasing. “Would be more comfortable if someone wasn’t staring like he wants to drown me in this tub.”
“I don’t wanna drown you, snowflake,” he says, leaning in. “Just wanna see how loud you’d scream with my hands between your thighs.”
I choke on my own breath.
He smirks.
Cocky bastard.
“Do you always flirt like you’re giving a threat assessment?”
He shrugs. “I don’t flirt.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I promise, when I start flirting, you’ll know it.”
I swallow.
The tension between us is a tight wire, snapping with every second we sit here. Bare skin. Hot water. Night air. And him—towering, tatted, and terrifying in the best possible way.