Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I continued setting up the shot, moving lamps around, lighting the newspaper under the stacked logs in the fireplace, and setting the tree and decorations within the frame. Though Maddox stood to the side, the weight of his stare was like a physical thing.
I went into the bedroom to pick out the right clothes from the Nordique collection, and my hands shook slightly as I pulled off my shirt, hyperaware that he was somewhere behind me. I stripped out of my own jeans and reached for the Nordique ones.
“What are you doing?” Maddox demanded, his voice noticeably gruffer.
The heat of his gaze seared my back as I pulled up the new jeans, but I didn’t turn around. “Working.”
“No sexy Nordique boxers?”
I turned, zipping the jeans and adjusting my junk to fit. “You don’t find plain black briefs sexy?”
Maddox’s eyes were dark and cheeks ruddy over his beard scruff. He swallowed hard before answering. “It’s not the briefs I find sexy,” he muttered before looking away.
His response shocked me. “I must’ve heard you wrong,” I said, incredulous. “For a minute there, it sounded like you complimented me, Sullivan.”
He looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “Your sex appeal has never been in doubt.”
“No, it’s just everything else about me, right? Because I’m an asshole for selling a product for money… even though you do the same thing at the hardware store.” I grabbed a soft Nordique henley and pulled it on, suddenly self-conscious of my body.
“It’s not the same,” Maddox insisted, closer now, though I hadn’t heard him step into the room. “People need what we sell. We don’t manipulate them into buying shit they don’t need.”
“No? There’s an ad on the back of the bathroom stall door at the cafe offering free cinnamon-scented light bulbs with every purchase. ‘Come on down to Sullivan Hardware for your holiday essentials!’”
“I don’t do the advertisements,” he said, cheeks darkening. “That’s all Bonnie.”
“How nice for you that you have other people handling your marketing so you don’t need to dirty your hands with manipulation.”
I stalked back toward the tree. Maddox didn’t step away, and my arm brushed his chest as I passed. His sharp intake of breath sent a thrill through me.
“You make it sound like I have a damned marketing department. I don’t,” he said, losing his temper now. “Hell, maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be dead broke and on the verge of losing the fucking store.”
His words settled around us like shrapnel from a grenade blast. “Fuck!” he snapped, forking his fingers through his hair. “Can you just… forget I said that?”
I frowned. “You’re having trouble with the store? It’s popular as hell and the only place like it for miles and miles. You know, I have experience in marketing. I could help you—”
Maddox glared. “I said forget it.”
“Fine.” I moved to my phone and connected my wireless lapel mic to the Bluetooth before attaching it to my shirt.
Talking to Maddox Sullivan was like talking to the giant spruce in the corner. God forbid someone give the stubborn man advice, let alone help.
The fire had gone out, so I decided to film myself relighting it in case it provided an entertaining comedic relief moment in my probably boring Christmas-tree-decorating clip.
I knelt by the fireplace, fumbling with matches and kindling, very aware of Maddox watching from his corner with his arms crossed over his chest.
The first match went out immediately. The second barely caught before dying.
“That’s not going to work,” Maddox muttered.
“Feel free to take over,” I chirped. “Unlike some people, I can admit when I need an assist.”
He sucked in a breath through his nose and held it for a second, then marched over and squatted next to me. The heat from his body was immediate, his shoulder pressing against mine as he reached for the kindling. “Can’t believe you don’t know how to start a fire.”
“I start fires all the time,” I shot back. “I just do it on social media when I share shirtless vacation pics.”
Maddox muttered under his breath and reached for some small sticks from a nearby copper bin. “It wasn’t set right to begin with. Pay attention because I’m only showing you this once.”
I rolled my eyes.
Maddox’s gaze met mine with his usual intensity. “The first lesson in mountain survival is learning how to make a fire.”
“Simmer down, big guy. This place has a furnace,” I said, sitting back on my heels. But I didn’t move away, staying close enough that our knees touched.
“And if the furnace goes out?”
“I feel confident the heat from your judgment would keep us both warm for a very long time.”
Maddox flexed his jaw to hide a smile. “Watch and learn, city boy. First, newspaper or fire starter. Then small sticks, arranged like this—”
“Ahh, the teepee method,” I said, leaning closer to watch what he was doing. My shoulder pressed more firmly against his, and neither of us shifted away. “I recall something about this from a YouTube short on survival skills.”