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)
Nash watches from the doorway with his arms crossed like he’s about to call the cops.
I hang a “Merry & Bright” banner over the window.
“Take that down,” he growls.
I flip a switch and the sign lights up in pink and gold.
He hisses like I’ve sprayed holy water on a vampire.
“This is a cabin,” he says. “Not a strip mall.”
“This is art,” I shoot back. “Also, this is money. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars, remember?”
He stalks past me, grabs a strand of garland, and shoves it back in the bin.
I shove it back out.
“You don’t win by subtraction,” I say sweetly. “I need impact. Flair. Festivity.”
“I need a drink.”
He grabs a bottle of whiskey from the counter, swigs straight from the neck.
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you also growl at Girl Scouts?”
“No, but if they came in here taping mistletoe to my rafters, we’d have a problem.”
I hold up a sprig and aim it at the beam above his head. “Oh, so this isn’t a problem yet?”
He doesn’t blink.
I climb the step stool and staple the mistletoe in place, high above his head, then look down at him with what I hope is an innocent smile.
“You know the rules,” I say.
He tilts his head. “What rules?”
“Mistletoe rules.”
He steps closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You wanna kiss me, Miss Combat Boots, you better stop hiding behind holiday loopholes and ask.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I climb down slowly, trying not to wobble.
“I don’t want to kiss you,” I lie.
He leans in, voice like gravel and heat. “Liar.”
Then he steps back.
Just like that.
Just far enough to leave me breathless, heart pounding, hands clenched around a tangle of ribbon.
***
Hours later, we eat dinner in near silence, the fire crackling, snow tapping at the windows. My lasagna might’ve burned a little, but he cleaned the plate.
I can feel him watching me across the table, the slow drag of his gaze down my face to my hands. I sip my wine and pretend not to notice.
He leans back in the creaky chair.
“You got a boyfriend back home?”
I blink. “That’s a bold question.”
“I’m a bold man.”
“No,” I say. “No boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “Too busy with my photography and interior design business. Too picky. Too uninterested in men who are impressed with their own reflection.”
He nods. “Fair.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Any special woman in your life?”
He holds my gaze. “There might be one. She broke into my house, hung up mistletoe, and thinks she can win me over with festive frosting and flashing lights.”
I smirk. “Sounds like a menace.”
He smirks back. “She is.”
We stare at each other.
The air stretches between us like elastic. I can feel it. That coiled tension. That pull. The unspoken dare in his eyes.
Touch me.
Try me.
See what happens.
But I don’t move. Not yet.
Because this isn’t just attraction. It’s a game.
And I plan to win.
Chapter 4
Nash
She doesn’t shut up.
She hums while brushing her hair. Whistles while unpacking ornaments. Giggled earlier when the smoke alarm went off because she tried to “roast chestnuts” in my fireplace like this was some kind of cartoon Christmas movie and not real life.
She’s humming again now. Off-key. In my cabin. In my flannel.
Yeah, she’s wearing it.
I came out of the bathroom and found her standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, that red sweater of hers folded on the chair, my shirt hanging halfway down her bare thighs.
No pants.
No apology.
Just a smug little grin like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
She does.
Hell, she’s done nothing but test my patience since she barreled into my life two days ago with glitter, lipstick, and a plan.
A plan I should’ve shut down the moment she opened her mouth.
Instead? I let her stay.
Let her take over my space, my rhythm, my peace.
Let her stir something up in me that’s been dead a long damn time.
Now she’s at my stove, barefoot, humming Jingle Bell Rock while stirring hot cocoa like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Try not burning the house down with this batch,” I say.
She doesn’t look up. “Hmm, put on your sassy pants today, huh? You know mountain man, I think you’re gonna like your life wrapped in pine garland with bows by the time I’m done.”
I grunt. “Unlikely.”
She grins. “Just you wait. A little festive cheer never hurt anyone.”
I lean a shoulder against the wall and watch her move. She’s got no business looking that good in my clothes. That flannel’s seen ten years of chain oil, blood, and wood dust. It’s never looked softer than it does clinging to her like that.
“Take it off.”
She freezes.
Turns slowly, the spoon still in her hand, cocoa dripping to the floor.
“Excuse me?”
“The shirt. Take it off. Before I do it for you.”
Her eyes flare. “Wow. Okay. Full caveman now?”
I take a step closer.
“I don’t like sharing.”
“Clearly.”
“That shirt’s mine. It smells like me.”