Chapter 3

ChapterThree

Sadie

“No answer,” I breathe, and he smirks. It’s bitter, a little angry, and terrifying as hell.

This can’t be happening.

Who does this? I mean, I know I’ve done some weird things, but this is beyond weird. What kind of mother makes an ad for a companion for her son?

What does she expect from me?

We talked about baking, and turkey dinner. We talked about wine nights and books we like. I mean, we talked about romance, too, but I was very clear that romance didn’t exist in my life. At all.

I was clear, I haven’t had a partner—any partner.

Oh my God. I told her that I’m a virgin.

No, no. She can’t possibly mean to give me to her son like that.

No, the ad was for a lonely soul to a lonely soul. She just doesn’t want her son spending Christmas alone. Why is he alone? I mean, I get it. The scars are a little freaky. They’re a bit much when you first meet, and you’re not expecting it. If I would have been expecting it, I would have been fine. I wouldn’t have stared. I would have been cool, but they did surprise me. I feel bad about that. Because I know I angered him.

Had I been prepared I would have tried not to react in shock. Still, looking away would have been hard regardless. The man is attractive. Hot with a capital H.

With his thick dark hair, messily swept to the side and the hard jaw of a Greek God, looking away isn’t easy.

His eyes are dark. Deeply dark. Nearly obsidian, but they’re not. They’re brown. I could get lost in them. And they are fringed in the thickest, blackest lashes. It’s unfair. Women spend huge dollars to get lashes that thick, and here he is, a man who totally doesn’t know what he’s got.

So not fair.

Still. What the actual heck is happening? I mean, I’m standing in the foyer of a man I do not know, have never met, and did not seek out.

I’m standing in his foyer, and he is glaring down at me. He doesn’t want me here. I am no gift. If he could, he would wrap me back up and send me off the way I came.

Speaking of sending me away… “Maybe we should call a taxi.”

“You want a taxi?” he asks dryly.

“I want to leave,” I say, and he doesn’t seem impressed by this—by me leaving. Does that mean he wants me to stay?

Do I want to stay? If he wanted me to stay, would I want to stay?

I don’t know. I’m so confused. I never imagined something like this happening. This isn’t even something that I have read about in my romance books. This is uncharted territory. This is crazy pants territory.

This, I do not have experience with.

“What’s your name?” he asks, and I’m surprised to realize that I haven’t yet told him. I also don’t know his name. His scheming mother, in all the conversations we had, never once mentioned her lonely son.

I blush. I can feel it stinging my cheeks and coloring my ears. This man makes me blush in a way that no one else makes me blush. I don’t like it.

“Sadie.” He lifts his chin but says nothing in reply. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Nick.”

Nick. I instantly think of St. Nick, and I can’t help it, I laugh. It’s totally, ridiculously, insanely fitting. Because here I am, a handpicked gift delivered perfectly on time for Christmas. And at the same time, it’s not. Because there is not one ounce of jolly old man in this sinfully delicious brute.

I laugh again. I can’t help myself as I giggle—a little hysterically. He watches me, his brows pinched, his dark eyes on me.

It’s funny because it’s also really not funny. All of this—it’s not at all funny.

I suck my bottom lip, releasing it with a pop. I think his eyes flare, but they’re too dark for me to know for sure.

Or maybe it happened too fast, and I missed it. It was there and then it wasn’t, so I can’t be certain.

Either way, I feel something stir in my stomach at the possibility of a flare. Thousands of romance book meet-cutes shoot like stars through my mind. I see them all, one after the other, and I wonder—could this be mine?

No, I’m being silly. I’m enchanted by the blowing storm and this mountain house when I should be repulsed by being manipulated.

I shift in place. “So, what does all this mean?”

“It means you’re here until the storm ends,” he says matter of fact. “Don’t worry. It should be over in a few days.”

I feel my mouth drop as my heart lurches. “A few days?! A few days is a long time. I can’t stay here for a few days. I don’t know you!”

He slow blinks at me. “Have we learned our lesson about trusting people from the internet?”

Oh, he did not!But he did.

I fold my arms over my chest and lift my chin. Okay, so it’s a childish move. But it’s the only move I’ve got.

“So, I stay here for a few days. What are we going to do?”

He angles a shoulder into the wall. “What do you want to do?”

Well, that’s a loaded question. What do I want to do?

Hmm. I want to go home. I want to get on a plane, and I want to forget that any of this happened.

Instead, I huff, “I don’t know. You tell me, this is your house.”

“My mom came a few days ago with about six bags of groceries. Shit I don’t need. Shit I don’t use. Chocolate chips. Cream cheese. Flour.” He lists the items, eyeing me with those penetrating eyes. “She bring all that for you?”

I feel my cheeks burn as I sniff. “Maybe.”

He’s not amused. He’s also not fooled.

“She brought it for you.”

“Okay,” I relent, feeling on trial. “She brought it for me.”

He dips his chin, peering down at me. “You gonna bake?”

He makes me feel so small, but I’m not sure it’s a bad thing. “Do you like baking?”

“Eating it, yeah.”

“But you don’t like baking?” I push.

“Nope.”

“Right. Okay, well, I’m here.” I shrug. “I may as well make use of the time that I’m going to be here. What do you like?”

“Whenever you want to make me, I’ll eat.”

“Great. A man who doesn’t complain,” I smart, eyeing the muscle that twitches in his cheek.

I think he almost smiled.

I think I almost made him smile. Why do I like that as much as I do?

I shift on the spot, tugging at the zipper on my coat.

I’m starting to get hot. This jacket is warm, and his house is warm. I think smell a wood burning stove. How did I not smell that before? Oh, right, I’d been distracted by him and all the other insanity that’s gone down tonight.

This place is like a dream. Too bad he’s here. It could have been perfect.

“It’s been a long day,” I sigh. His eyes trail the zipper as it moves down my body. I feel hot. Hotter than I should from my jacket alone.

I feel like he’s watching me undress. It feels inappropriate. And, somehow, I like it.

What is wrong with me?

I pull in breath. “If I’m staying—"

“You’re staying.”

I nod, my heart kicking in my chest even as I try to play it cool. “As I was saying, if I’m staying, I’d like to get cleaned up. It’s been a really long day, and I’m exhausted. I’d like to splash my face with some water and get changed.”

“Right.” He peels himself from the wall, tearing his dark eyes from my body. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room? You were prepared for me?”

He side-eyes me. “Same day Mom came with the groceries; she came with new sheets. A new duvet, and new pillows. The guest bedroom has been made up for you. Though she told me it was for her.”

Again, I feel hot. “Of course.”

He gestures to the closet behind me. “You can put your coat in there. Boots too.”

I do as he says, and when I turn, I find his eyes on me.

I shiver, unable to stop myself. When I bend to lift my suitcases, he moves fast, taking them both in his large hands. I watch him move down the hall, passing the wide set of stairs. I’m disappointed. I want to know what’s up there. I want a tour of his beautiful home.

Everything is wood, and stone, and rustic, and earthy. It’s nothing like my trailer back home. My trailer has the personality of the 70’s. It’s lonely in my trailer, lackluster. It’s lonely here, too, I think.

I wonder why he’s so lonely. It can’t just be his scars, can it? Can he possibly think that he has nothing else to offer because he’s scarred? There has to be more to his story. There has to be more of a story behind his lonely soul.

I wonder if he’s going to want to know my story.

Will he want to know why I’m lonely. Why I answered an ad such as the one that led me here to him?

Will he want to know about them? Will I tell him?

He walks down the hall that is long and wide. This home is spacious. The floors don’t moan beneath my feet. They’re strong and sturdy and the color of burned honey. Everything is so warm and rich; I could get lost here.

Still, when the blizzard blows by, I’ll be gone too.

We pass an open door, and inside, I see a desk. An office, I think. Does he work from home?

I want to ask. I want to know about this man whose mother thought to gift me to. I don’t want to invade his privacy, though. I’ve invaded enough as it is.

The door next to his office is the bedroom he leads me into. “It doesn’t have a private bath, but there’s a bath across the hall. As you can imagine, Mom made sure it was fully stocked.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“You can put your clothes in the closet or the dresser. Both are empty.”

“That’s okay. I can live out of my suitcase.” His jaw hardens, like he doesn’t like my answer. “Or maybe I’ll hang a few things.”

He nods, looking pleased. “Good.”

I tap my hands on my thighs as I roam deeper into the room. It’s big and beautiful. Again, the design is rustic, but pops of creams and pinks have been added. I wonder, did Lucy add the cream and pink because I said my favorite color was pink?

Behind the bed is a wall paneled entirely in wood. The bed is a queen, which is plenty big for me. The bed frame matches the end tables in a darkly stained, contemporary wood with sleek corners and matt black hardware. The lamp on the nightstand is cream and delicate, which makes me think that like the bedding, it’s new.

On the wall opposite the door, there is a big window. I’m sure the picture beyond is something to see, but it’s so dark outside, and with the swirling snow and the light on in the bedroom, all I can see when I look at it is my own reflection staring back. And beyond my reflection, I can see that Nick is staring at me too.

Heat pricks my skin, and my heart starts an unsteady rhythm.

I spin when Nick moves into the room, placing the suitcases next to the dresser on the wall opposite the bed. The room is big—massive even—but with him in it, it feels small. He’s a large man. Larger than large, really. I’m five two and he towers over me at six four, six five, even. He’s broad too, and he must work out because under his skin muscles bulge.

“Are you hungry?” His deep voice rumbles into the silence. I swear, I feel his voice like a physical thing.

“I can eat,” I say softly.

“Right. You want a tour of the house now or later?”

I shift, feeling suddenly nervous. “I’d really like to change.”

He eyes me up and down. I wonder what he’s thinking as his gaze roams my body. Does he like what he sees? I can’t tell…

“Think you can find the kitchen on your own?”

“Probably.” I smile, and his eyes drop to my mouth.

I feel a flutter in my stomach, and I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him. I’m surprised. I haven’t been attracted to a man in a long time. So long, in fact, I don’t remember the last man I felt genuine attraction. But I feel it for this man.

It’s bizarre, really. I’m not normally attracted to big men. The men who could crush me with their fist. The men who could overpower me. The men who could hurt me.

So why am I so attracted to him?

What is it about him?