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)
“By choice?”
“By necessity.”
She sips. “That’s depressing.”
“It’s peaceful.”
She doesn’t speak right away. Just stares into the firelight like she’s chasing ghosts in the flames. “I used to dream about white Christmases when I lived in California. All the songs made it sound like magic.”
“And now?”
She looks at me, sleepy-eyed and soft. “Now I think the magic’s real.”
My chest tightens.
She doesn’t know it, but that’s the kind of thing that sticks. Burrows deep. Makes a man want things he shouldn’t want—like a life beyond this cabin. A future.
With her.
“You ever shut up, tinsel girl?” I ask, voice low.
She grins. “Only when someone kisses me stupid.”
I narrow my eyes. “You trying to get kissed again?”
She leans in. “Maybe.”
The snow howls outside. The wind slams against the glass. But all I hear is the silence between us.
And her breath.
And mine.
And the heartbeat that thuds hard in my chest like it already belongs to her.
I don’t kiss her again.
Not tonight.
Because if I do… I won’t stop.
And if I don’t stop, I’ll never let her go.
Chapter 13
Noel
The power goes out sometime after midnight.
One second we’re both staring at the flickering flames and trying not to make eye contact again, and the next, the cabin hum dies. The lights vanish. The heater clicks off.
Then silence.
And dark.
Pitch black, until Nash tosses another log on the fire and the room flares orange and gold again. Shadows stretch high on the log walls. My pulse kicks like it’s trying to dance away from me.
Nash straightens. Towering. Barefoot. That damn flannel half-unbuttoned, hanging off his hips like sin wrapped in plaid.
He doesn’t speak.
Just watches me from across the room like he’s trying to decide something.
My heart thunders. I say the first thing that comes to mind, because silence is dangerous around him. “You think the power's out in the whole town?”
He shrugs. “Only place I care about is here.”
Of course.
Because he’s like this—intense. Focused. That same laser-beam glare he gave me the moment I barged in here, dripping with snow and sarcasm.
And now I can’t tell if I want to slap him again…
Or climb him like a tree.
He moves to the side table, flips the switch on the lamp. Nothing. “Breaker’s fine,” he mutters. “It’s the lines. Storm must’ve snapped ‘em.”
“And the crew?” I ask. “They said they were headed back up tomorrow—”
“They’re not making it up the mountain in this.”
“So we’re stuck.”
His gaze meets mine.
It’s not annoyed. Not grumpy. Not even frustrated.
It’s hungry.
“Looks like it,” he says, voice low and rough. “Just you. Me. Firelight. No distractions.”
“You forgot the mistletoe.”
He smirks. “I didn’t forget anything.”
My skin prickles. I cross my arms, suddenly too aware of the fire, the shadows, and the way the snow howls against the glass like it wants in on this tension too.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, mostly to remind myself that’s an option.
“Sure you are.”
I narrow my eyes. “You got a better idea?”
He steps closer. “Strip mistletoe.”
I blink. “Again? Seriously?”
“You scared?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He disappears into the kitchen, returns a second later with a red-and-green striped thermos—and a sprig of mistletoe in his big hand.
He drops onto the bearskin rug in front of the fire and spins the mistletoe like a bottle. “Ready?”
“I’m hardly wearing anything as is.” I gesture to the bare legs and flannel covering my form.
“That’s the fun part.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re joking.”
“Am I?”
The mistletoe slows.
Points straight at me.
He lifts a brow. “Truth or strip, city girl?”
I should say no. I should go upstairs. I should do anything but drop to my knees on the rug across from him.
I choose truth. For now.
“Have you ever hooked up with someone you hated?”
“Never.” I reply. “Have you?”
His eyes gleam. “Hate’s not the word I’d use.”
“Whatever. Answer.”
He leans in. “I haven’t. Yet.”
The mistletoe spins again.
This time, it points at him.
“Truth,” I say quickly. “What’s your biggest regret?”
That wipes the grin from his face. For a second, I think he won’t answer.
Then, softly: “Not kissing you the second you walked into this cabin.”
The air changes.
It’s heavier now. Denser. Like we’ve wandered into forbidden territory with no map out.
He spins again.
It points at me.
Nash raises one eyebrow. “Your turn. Truth?”
I nod.
“Do you want me?”
My throat tightens.
I should lie.
But there’s firelight and stormlight and Nash Hollis staring at me like he wants to wreck me in every beautiful, bone-deep way.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t gloat.
Doesn’t smirk.
Just stares like I’ve handed him a secret he’ll protect with his life.
The mistletoe spins.
Again. Me.
He leans in, voice husky. “Truth?”
I nod.
“What happens when the cameras come back?”
I hesitate.
He waits.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
The game stops.
The silence swells.
But then his hand brushes my knee, slow, grounding. His voice deep. Gentle. Rough as sin.
“I’m not asking for forever, Noel.”
I look up.
His gaze pins me.
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t need to.
My body leans in for me.
Our mouths meet.
And we fall into something I know I’ll never recover from.