Chapter 12

ChapterTwelve

Nick

The wind is stronger today. The force of it reaches into the house like a hand to slam the door shut behind me as I stomp the snow from my boots. Christmas music plays as I kick off my boots, tug off my gloves, toque, and jacket. Next, I strip out of my frozen coveralls. The warmth of the house burns my skin after the hours I spent in the cold, blowing snow. Cutlery rattles and a bowl hits the countertop a little too hard as the woman in my kitchen hums to the jingle of a Christmas beat.

For a moment, I’m frozen by the reality I’m living. There is a woman in my kitchen, humming to Christmas music. It’s surreal. And I like it. I like it a fucking lot.

I also hate that I like it so much. I hate it because before the accident, I’d been ready for this life. For a woman making herself at home in my home. I’d been ready for marriage, kids—a family to call my own.

I’d been ready for all that shit I’d never have now. Not looking like I do.

What woman would want me as I am? Scarred and rough to the touch—angry at the world.

Darkness blooms in my brain and I rub stiff fingers into my temples. I’m pissed that it always comes back to this—to my disfigured fucking self. I hate that I hate myself this way, that the accident clings to me with the ripple and dip of scars that mar the entire left side of my body. It makes me angry that I allow myself to be so ruled by the accident. But my fiancée had left me because the thought of me touching her had left her so shaken with disgust. The woman I thought would love me until I took my dying breath had abandoned me to heal from something most never heal from at all.

And that’s not the worst of it. Because she’d left me in that car to burn. My scars are so severe because of her.

When I think of that—the true anger comes. It hits me like a wave of red, knocking the breath from my lungs and forcing me to suck in deep breaths of air.

I find my calm quickly, because the woman humming the Christmas tune with her sugary personality and sweet as fuck smile doesn’t deserve my anger.

I don’t know what Mom was thinking when she sent her to me. She had to know she was sending the beauty into the den of a beast.

No, she doesn’t deserve my anger. No one does.

With the anger comes the beast. And he isn’t pretty. Pulling in another deep breath, I inhale the scent of cookies. More fucking cookies. I’m not complaining. Really, I’m not. I love cookies.

I’m a man that likes to eat the shit a woman makes me, but if I keep eating her cookies, I’m going to get fat. Really fat. And I’m already an abomination, adding an unhealthy gut to the scar tissue isn’t going to do me any favors.

The yard had been a mess. Two more trees had fallen over the driveway, and I’d been out for hours. I didn’t just plow the snow in my drive. I plowed one drive over and two up from that because the couples in both houses are old. They shouldn’t be out in the storm. If one of them falls they’re likely to break something. If that happens, they’re unlikely to get an ambulance up here in the snow. I would never have thought twice about plowing their drives before Sadie arrived. Now, with Sadie here and in my house—in the warmth—I’d had to convince myself to do it.

All I wanted to do from the moment I stepped outside into the storm was turn back around and find her.

I want to be close to her with a fierceness that unsettles me. I don’t get it, the drive I have—the itch—to be near this woman. The pull she has on me is intense. It’s senseless. More, I really dislike that she’s the woman my mother chose for me. She’s the woman my mother put an ad out to find for me. What does that say about me? That I can’t find my own woman? That my mother has to do it for me.

What does Sadie think it says about me?

Jesus.My thoughts are a mess. So, is my life, apparently. Even through all the order I command, chaos still seems to find me.

Since the accident, order was all I had, and I’d clung to it. Needed it.

Still, chaos is always there. Always underneath the order, lingering, waiting to strike. I already knew she was baking by the scent in the air. But when I round the hall into the kitchen and see my island and then my kitchen table, I stop. I’m in shock.

Trays of cookies line the surface. She’s got squares and little cakes. And they’re all iced. I don’t know how she did this. I don’t know how she thinks we can eat this.

“Hey,” she smiles as she chirps. It’s cute. She’s cute. She’s even cuter with the streak of flour on her cheek. Fucking adorable.

I need to call Trevor. My hand is already in my pocket reaching for my phone, when she pulls back from the counter with her little hands on her full hips.

“I think we’re going to need to call someone for backup.”

I raise a brow. “Backup? For what?”

She waves a hand at the island, and then the table, exclaiming, “This! There’s no way we can eat all this just the two of us. I mean, I’d love to try, but it’ll never happen. And I don’t want to waste it.” She nibbles her lip as my hand settles around my phone and I tug it free. “You must have a neighbor who will want some?”

“I’ve got a friend,” I tell her. “Soon as the storm clears, he’ll be here.”

She frowns, her full lips puckering into a pout. “He’s alone for the holiday?”

She’s got a big heart.

“No.” I shake my head. “He’s got a wife.”

“Oh. She doesn’t bake?”

“She does, or did. She does a phenomenal job when she does it, anyway.”

Her head tips to the side, curiosity and confusion lighting her eyes. “When she does it?”

“They’ve got four kids under five, so she doesn’t have the time. Even when she does have the time, I don’t think she has the energy. So, Trevor gets store bought shit, and that’s not the same. He bitches about it. So he’ll be happy for this. She will be too.”

“Because she won’t have to listen to him bitch.” She dusts her hands on her leggings, leaving flour prints behind. “Right. Wow, four kids. Okay. Well, I’m happy to help. I’ll keep baking.”

I bark a laugh and her eyes bounce to me with delighted surprise. She’s beautiful, I think, but I say, “I don’t think even Trevor can eat that much baking, Sunshine.”

Her eyes on me fill with mischief. Fuck, she’s hot when she’s got that look in her eyes.

“They have four kids. This isn’t going to be a dent in the Christmas baking they’ll consume.”

I round the counter, coming to a stop right in front of her. My voice is deep when I instruct, “Keep baking, then.”

“Okay,” she breathes.

I like her in my kitchen. I like that she feels at home in my kitchen. My eyes sweep her face and land on the flour on her cheek. I grin. It happens before I think about it, and I can’t help but notice the way her eyes fall to my mouth when I do. My gut clenches violently and my voice sounds rough in the space between us.

“You got a little something here,” I say as I lift my hand to her face, swiping away the flour on her cheek.

Her breath hitches at the contact, and my dick feels heavy in my pants as I watch her lips part. Then she shocks the shit out of me as she dips her finger into the bowl of icing, sliding it across her bottom lip. There’s a dare flashing in her eyes, heat simmering in the depths as she challenges huskily, “You gonna get that too?”

My dick throbs violently, my desire for this woman so intense, it’s sharp and painful. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman as much as I want her in this moment. Not even as a teen with blue balls after months of making out in the backseat of my car with Lily Montgomery.

I want her like I want air.

I want her like a starving man wants a feast.

One word from her, and I’d devour her.

I can’t think. I’m driven entirely by need as my hand finds the back of her head, my fingers curling in her hair. My mouth claims hers. She tastes like icing and almonds. I groan into her mouth as she opens for me without an ounce of hesitation.

I devour her.

Crowding her body with my own, I guide her to the counter, my body curving around hers when I pin her there. She’s so tiny, and yet she fits so perfectly against me.

I need to be closer to her, though. My hands find her hips, and I lift her onto the counter, sliding between her thighs as I deepen the kiss. She whimpers into my mouth, and my desire is agony. It’s hot and hard and demanding and entirely unfulfilled.

I need this woman, but I can’t have her. Not the way that I need her. Not yet. Probably not ever.

Her hands find my hair, and she meets me, matching every ounce of my desire, shocking and igniting me. Blood roars between my ears. Fire licks in my veins as this tiny woman undoes me. My hands move up from her hips to the hem of her shirt, and I hesitate because last night when my hands found skin, she stopped me.

I don’t know if I should continue. I don’t know if she wants me to touch her.

I want to touch her.

I want to touch her like I want nothing else.

Touching her in this moment is my one desire. It’s my only need. I might die if I don’t do it.

She pulls her mouth from mine to breathe against my ear. “It’s okay,” she breathes “You can touch me. I want it.”

I don’t need her to tell me twice. I slide my hand under the hem of her sweater to press my hands flat against her skin.

She gasps at the contact, the sounds she makes nearly brings me to my knees. I want to worship her. I want to worship at the altar of her. I want to devote my soul to making her moan for the rest of her life.

Her skin is soft and warm. I want more of it. My hands curl around her waist, my thumbs sweeping over her ribs as she arches her chest into me, her lips searching again for mine. I don’t let her search long. The taste of her is too sweet to deny. I need more.

“Nick.” She moans my name, and I nearly come in my jeans as I lift my hands higher. My thumbs finding the silky cups of her pink bra.

I’ve been tempted by this bra since the moment she came into the kitchen wearing this sweater that’s just translucent enough to give me a peek. A taste of everything that I can’t have.

But maybe I can. Maybe this beautiful creature can be mine. Because right now, this beauty is amazingly, unbelievably within my reach. Her breaths shake, her body trembling as I slide my finger across the nipples that are pebbled beneath her bra.

She’s responsive. So. Fucking. Incredibly. Responsive.

I wonder, if I slipped my hands into her pants, would I find her wet?

The thought that maybe she isn’t wet for me nearly destroys me.

What if this is an act? What if this is pity?

What if this isn’t real?

I have to know. My right hand falls slowly, my knuckles trailing the soft skin of her belly. She sucks it in on a sharp hitch of breath, her belly quivering. If she’s acting, she’s good. If she’s acting, she’s the most dangerous woman I’ve ever encountered.

I kiss her harder, my tongue diving into her mouth, pressing against hers. Her taste burns through my veins as my fingers tease the band of her pants. I slide one finger inside, and when she doesn’t stop me, I take it as permission to continue. I push my hand into her pants, my fingers connecting with the lace of her panties.

I think once about shoving my hand under the lace, but I hold my control and lower my hand between her thighs over her panties. And I have my answer.

Her panties are soaked through.

I hiss in a sharp breath through my teeth. “You’re burning up for me, baby.”

She swallows hard, a soft groan tugging from the deep of her throat as I slide my finger over her seam protected by sheer, wet lace.

Desire nearly incinerates my body as she spreads her legs wider for my hand, and I cup her. Pushing my palm into her clit, I stoke her firmly as she rocks into me. I’m struck by this creature on my counter—because she’s not acting. This is real. She is real.

She’s perfect. Mine.

The thought shocks me, but I forget it as her hand comes around the back of my neck and I feel her nails biting into my skin as she pleads, “Nick. I need—I need—I need—”

She keeps repeating the words, like she doesn’t know what to ask for. But I know exactly what she needs. I just don’t know how she doesn’t know how to ask for it. There’s no way she’s innocent. She’s too beautiful, and she’s too old. Still, she doesn’t ask me to make her come. She just drops her shoulder to mine as her body quivers and shakes as I run my hand over her seam. My thumb finds her clit through her panties, and I press and roll until she’s pulling her body closer to mine, her hand clinging to the back of my neck, her body desperate for a closeness that our clothes will not allow.

I push her panties to the side, knowing what she needs, and she gasps. I think there’s a little bit of fear in that gasp, and although I can’t pull it apart from the desire, I’m certain it’s there. The sound of it makes me hesitate, but she doesn’t ask me to stop. Still, I don’t shove two fingers deep as I’d intended. I slow my movements as I push two fingers into her wet heat, and she cries out, her body tensing around me. She’s so hot and so tight. She grips my fingers like a vise, and I want her to grip my cock like this.

I want to push my body into hers and lose myself forever.

But this isn’t about me. This is about her, and I want to make her come undone for me. My thumb finds her clit again, this time skin to skin. At the angle she sits on the counter, I can’t pump my fingers as deep as I’d like, but she still finds her peak fast. I’m surprised by how responsive her body is to my touch—by how fast she comes undone under my hands. I fucking love it.

This woman, this siren, she’ll be the ruin of me. And I will be her willing victim, because when she comes—her head tossed back, her red lips parted, the sound she makes—she’s the most exquisite thing I have ever seen.

She’s the only thing I ever want to see again.