5. Kate

5

KATE

Did I just say that? Do that?

He thinks I was joking, but I wasn’t. I wanted him to watch me and that’s not like me. Not at all. I’ve never even considered doing anything remotely like that. But there’s something about him that has me craving his attention. Craving his eyes on my body. His hands on me. His… dear lord! I need to pull myself together.

I’m chalking my lapse in judgment— ahem, continued lapse in judgment—to this terrible day and my acute delirium from fighting through a blizzard. I’m still reeling from everything because there’s no way I’d ever undress in front of a stranger fifteen minutes after I’d met him, even though he looks like Santa Claus.

Especially when he looks like Santa Claus.

Well, the white beard, costume, and last name are the only things Santalike about him. Kringle. I still think he’s messing with me. But for some reason, I don’t mind because the rest of the package is… well, let’s just say he’s igniting a little more than Christmas spirit inside me. And if there’s mistletoe somewhere in this cabin, I’m not above hanging it over his head. If I could reach that high…

I’ve never met a Santa with tattoos, muscles as hard and big as boulders, and a ruggedly handsome face that warms me up quicker than the raging fire. God, the way he held my hands. Blew on them? I thought I was going to melt right there, pooling into an amorphous blob of nerve endings and need.

I pull on Cole’s sweatpants. Keep pulling. And pull some more because these things are as baggy as Santa’s suit. They’re massive. He’s massive as if it wasn’t apparent enough.

I close my eyes, picturing the outline of something massive between his legs. I didn’t mean to look. I’d turned around because I couldn’t believe that I might be stuck here for a few days. For Christmas. But as I slide onto the bed, swimming in Cole’s sweatpants, I wonder if it would be so bad.

It’s not like I’m having the best Christmas ever. At the rate it I’m going, I’m pretty sure this will been in the running for the worst Christmas ever. Worse than the gingerbread debacle when I was twelve and nearly burned down our house.

Spending Christmas with a stranger who knows nothing about me sounds delightful in comparison to spending it with my family who knows my flaws, reminds me of them every time I’m around, and makes me question whether I’ll ever be enough. There’s always something more they want from me.

I sigh, pulling up my big mountain man pants, and then slip into Cole’s sweater. It falls below my knees and I can’t help but think I look more like a toddler trying on their parents’ clothes than a full-grown, capable adult woman who pays her bills on time. And when I look in the mirror, I can’t help but laugh.

“ Are you serious?” I mutter waving my arms as sleeves that would be baggy on my legs hang loosely. My pants fall again, so I pull them back up, tugging the drawstring until the waistband is taut and wrinkly. After looping it around my waist and tying a knot behind my back, there’s a fifty-fifty chance they stay up. I wouldn’t mind if Cole helped me find a solution. Maybe they stay off permanent- ohmygod, I’m doing it again.

But as I stare at my reflection, I realize there’s no chance of anything happening with me wearing this. It’s about as much of a boner killer as a sledgehammer to the balls.

After slipping on a pair of socks that are about as long as stockings and a knit hat so large I could hide my mother’s Christmas spiral ham inside, I head for the door, wondering what my excessively large host has in store for me. I’m hoping this turns out a little better than the last eight or so hours. And when I open the door, I think it might.

Speaking of hams… I’m staring at two ham hocks as Cole leans over, tending to the wood stove in the living room. I’m transfixed . I can’t say I’ve ever looked at a man’s butt for this long, but I also can’t say I’ve met a man as large as Cole before. Everything about him is larger than life, and I’m hoping whatever he’s doing takes a little while so I can?—

“Clothes work for you?” Cole asks, his back still turned.

I swallow. The man has a sixth sense made especially for me.

“You could say that. Think you have something bigger?”

He moves away from the stove, sitting back on his heels as he glances over at me. He lets out a deep, rumbling laugh.

“Kate,” he rasps, “Are you in there?”

I wave my arms and then slide toward him, the wool socks like ice skates on the wood floor.

“I think so. But don’t knock it. This is one big cocoon of warmth.”

And it smells like Cole—a warm and rugged spicy scent that I can’t get enough of. Honestly, it’s reminiscent of Christmas.

“So you’re warming up?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, sliding onto the couch so I can see him better. I can’t get over the white beard. The eyebrows. I can’t believe I didn’t notice them earlier. Dear lord, the man has white eyebrows and now I’m the one trying not to burst into laughter.

“What?” he asks, shoving another log into the stove.

“I just noticed your eyebrows.”

His cheeks redden as he sighs. “My sister’s doing. Said it wouldn’t look right if we only dyed the beard. Planned on shaving ‘em off tonight.”

“Oh, god don’t do that. Your eyebrows and beard? You realize that you could dye them again, right?”

Cole turns to me. “Kate,” he rasps, pushing two meaty fists into the floor as he pushes himself to his feet. “It never crossed my mind,” he says, crossing the room toward me.

My stomach twists and tightens as something jolts inside me. Cole leans down, hooks his arms beneath mine, and scoops me off the couch effortlessly as he hugs me.

“I could kiss you right now,” he says as my head turns staticky. My pulse pounding in my head, chest, and between my thighs.

What’s stopping you? is what I want to say.

What I say instead is nothing more than a garbled mess of syllables that form no words found in any dictionary in any language on Earth or in the universe at large. Thankfully it rolls off of him as he sets me down, my mind still reeling as I stare at him.

And he stares at me. My lips. And then back at my eyes. For a moment, I think I might get my wish after all, but when the kettle screams a few moments later, I realize it’s too good to be true.

“Tea?” he asks, his voice deep and rumbly.

I swallow. “Sure.”

Cole’s gaze lingers on mine a moment longer. The urge to touch his beard rises, but before I have a chance to act, he heads for the kitchen.

“Stew’s ready as well. Still hungry?”

“Starving.”

In more ways than one. I turn, watching Cole as he moves through the kitchen. He pours steaming water into two mugs, dropping a bag in each one. “Only have peppermint,” he says, turning back to me. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“My go-to this time of year.”

He moves toward me and I feel each step he takes. It should be scary being around a man like him. So big and powerful. Out in a remote cabin in the woods without a hope of leaving. But I’m not. He isn’t. The only thing scary about this is how easy it is to be around him.

I feel safe and protected. Like he’s someone I could count on in a pinch. And I was in a pinch. It’s still difficult to wrap my head around the slim chance I had at finding shelter. Maybe Christmas miracles do exist.

“Fresh out of candy canes though.”

“That’s okay. I already ate the one on my sweater.”

Cole’s eyes flare. “I need to hear the story about this sweater. Lose a bet? Your mind?”

I laugh. “Not exactly, but I’ll get back to you on that last one.” I grab the steaming mug from Cole and breathe in the soothing scent of peppermint. “You know you smell a little like candy canes.”

“Carry them around in my suit all day. Couldn’t wash off the scent if I tried. And believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You seem resistant to your family’s calling,” I say, prodding him a little.

“About as resistant as you are to avoiding my question.”

“I’m not so much avoiding it,” I say, taking another deep breath of peppermint steam, “as I am trying to purge it from my memory."

“I’m a good listener,” he says. “And I want to know everything there is to know about Kate Sherman.”

I can’t help but smile. It’s been a long time since someone’s wanted to learn about me and not what I can do for them.

“Well, if that’s the case, you better bring a couple of bowls of that stew. It’s going to be a long night. What time is it anyway?” I ask, finally taking a sip of tea. Piping hot, just the way I like it.

Cole rolls up his sleeve and checks his watch. “A hair past seven.”

“Is that all? It feels well past midnight.”

“Well, I promise after a bowl of my famous stew, you’ll feel like a million bucks.”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“Not as bold as the flavors in my stew.”

I snort. “Now you’re just getting cocky.”

I blush as soon as that last word comes out of my mouth. I know exactly how cocky this man is. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I continue to see it each time I close my eyes.

He returns a few moments later with two bowls, setting one in front of me on the coffee table, the other he brings with him to the armchair across from me.

“I’ll let the stew do that talking, and then I’d like you to do some. You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in years.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.”

“However you’d like,” he says, sipping his tea and then cringing at the heat.

I stare at him for a brief moment. Not even Evan showed me this much interest today. All he wanted to talk about was Christmas and himself. I’m not sure if he knew anything more about me than my name.

Cole takes a spoonful of his stew as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table. He blows on it a few times and I swear I feel his breath on me again. A few moments later he takes it into his mouth, moaning as he leans back.

“Good?” I lean forward and set my tea down, collecting the hefty bowl in front of me.

“I’ll let you be the judge. I don’t want to influence you.” He takes another bite. “Fuuuuuck, this is good.”

I snort. “Yeah, you’re doing a great job of that.”

I watch as he licks his lips and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like against mine. Across my skin. Lips wrapped around my— no!

Tingles radiate across my skull and down my back as I put the thoughts I shouldn’t be having out of my mind. I need to stop torturing myself. I’m leaving after my sister’s wedding. Cole lives on a mountain. I live in a city apartment. This is not happening.

I scoop a spoonful of Cole’s stew pausing right before I bring it to my lips and blow. I can feel Cole’s gaze burning against my skin. It’s nearly as hot as this stew. I blow once more and then finally, take it into my mouth.

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa!

“Cole,” I moan. I take another spoonful and skip blowing on it—this puppy is going straight into my— phlecgk. The stew flies out of my mouth because it’s a few degrees cooler than molten lava. “I’m sorry,” I whine, taking my mug of tea to my lips and— pffffft. Scalding tea sprays out of my mouth, following the same fate as my stew.

“Ice,” I say, whimpering.

My mouth feels like it has been raked across hot coals, and the roof of my mouth is peeling like old paint. Ow, ow, OW!

Cole launches to his feet. “Hang tight,” he says, heading straight to the front door.

Where does he keep his ice?! A few seconds later when he returns with an icicle, I get my answer. “This should get the job done.”

Get the job done? What job is he talking about with a thing this massive? I thought it looked like the size of a candy cane in his hands but it’s hardly smaller than my wrist. But I don’t have time to complain. My mouth is on fire so I snatch it and stick it into my mouth, relishing the frosty relief it brings, albeit with slight jaw discomfort. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long because my tongue is stuck to the icicle.

“Cahhh,” I moan, shuddering as I turn and look for him. He’s rushing back to me with a cup of something as I continue whimpering, wondering what I did in my past life to deserve this day. “Ih tuck,” I mutter, adding “Ah tuhn,” as I point to my tongue, hoping that it will clarify my situation.

And my situation is clear. My virginity will remain safely intact into the foreseeable future. What. Is. WRONG WITH ME?!

“Easy,” Cole says, threading his fingers through my hair. “Lean back.”

I tilt my head back, watching Cole out of the corner of my eye as he raises the cup. “Should’ve warned you. Can’t tell you how many times me and my brother’s got our tongues stuck to icicles. Sully had his tongue stuck to a metal downspout for a good half an hour before my mother found him. Not the smartest brother of the bunch,” he adds, sighing.

I laugh but then cringe because it’s making it all the more painful as drool spills out both corners of my mouth. Is this what blowing a snowman feels like?

“Here comes the water,” Cole says, tipping some into my mouth. It hits my tongue and I can feel the icicle’s frosty grip on my tongue melt. A few more seconds and I’m free, taking in deep breaths as I wipe my slobber from my face.

Forget a Christmas miracle. All I want for Christmas is to crawl into a hole and die. “I think I’m giving up food for my New Year’s resolution. Everything to do with eating and drinking.”

“I could spoon-feed you like a baby,” Cole says, stroking the back of my head.

I laugh and then cringe because everything hurts. “I mean, I basically look and act the part now. I can’t talk or eat. I’m wearing clothes made for someone five times my size. Give me a few more minutes and I’m sure I’ll either forget how to walk or find some way to maim myself.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking care of you,” he says in a voice so gruff I feel it more than hear it. There’s as much weight to it as his fingers threaded through my hair. Playing with it. Letting strands fall through his thick fingers as he stares at me.

I swallow hard as my nipples pebble. My pulse quickens and then slows as it pools into an irresistible throb between my legs. Am I turned on by a man telling me he’d take care of me because I clearly can’t take care of myself? Yes. I shouldn’t be but I am. And the incessant throbbing isn’t letting me forget it.

“Good to know,” I say, finally. And then, “I’m not usually this helpless you know. I have a career. An apartment. Bills that I pay on time. I have excellent credit.”

He continues playing with my hair silently as a smile forms on his lips. “An independent woman,” he rasps. “Who can brave a blizzard most mountain men never would and come out alive. I admire it.” He swallows. “I admire you.”

Nerves flutter in my core. It’s getting a little harder to breathe with Cole so close, saying things I’ve wanted to hear from lips I’m wanting to kiss. How in the world could a man like this, living in a place like this, understand my wants and needs so well?

His intense gaze moves from mine, and for a brief moment, I think I’ll have a reprieve from the tension that’s been building between us. But then his eyes land on my lips, and I swear I can feel them tingle.

“How’s your tongue?”

The tension in my body coils tighter and his fingers, now grazing the back of my skull, are doing nothing to ease it.

“A little better,” I breathe. “Is it bad?” I ask, sticking my tongue out.

Cole’s fingers stop as his eyes widen, and a small guttural sound rolls off his tongue. Did I just fluster the unflappable mountain man?

He swallows. Shifts next to me. And then finally regains his steely reserve. “Looks good. But if it’s still tender, I could kiss it better,” he says, knocking me completely off-kilter.

I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t that. And the next words out of my mouth are even more unexpected.

“If you think it would help.”

The throbbing between my legs seems to think so. Every nerve ending in my body is in agreement as well. And then I stick out my tongue like I’m about to catch a snowflake.

“I do,” Cole rasps, wrapping one hand around the side of my neck, thumb brushing my jawline as he leans in.

I can’t believe this is happening. That I asked for this. Any trace of this being a dream or some blizzard-induced hallucination has been shattered. And as soon as Cole’s lips press against my tongue, I’m obliterated.

Sparks. Bright lights. My mind and body feel like it’s been lit up like a Christmas tree, and I can’t help but whimper. But it’s over too soon.

He pulls his lips away from my needy tongue, and I damn near jump onto his lap and thread my fingers through his hair and claim a second helping.

“Better?” he rasps.

I try to respond but I’m so discombobulated that I can’t speak. I shake my head. I nod. I grunt because I can’t deal with what just happened.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says as he gets up. “Now I want to hear how you came to be on my doorstep.”

I swallow. I shake my head, blinking as I watch him grab his mug and take a seat in his armchair again.

“You know a convo like that usually happens before you stick your tongue in someone else’s mouth.”

I can’t believe he’s acting so nonchalantly. Like he didn’t just kiss me. Did he kiss me? Does that count as a first kiss? I don’t know what to call that but my body’s reacting like it wants more. A lot more.

“Is that what I did?” There’s that smile. The disarming, dazzling smile that makes my stomach and chest ripple with electricity. “That was your tongue. And only my lips.” He takes a sip of his tea. “You’ll know when I use my tongue.”

He lets out a deep, satisfying sigh.

Ooookay, Santa Claus. I reposition myself on the couch and then again because I can’t find a comfortable position anymore. Each time I move I feel a jolt. A burst. Another delicious pulse.

“Is that so?”

He nods, grunts, and stares. Penetrating and intense. He’s looking at me in a way I’ve always wanted to be looked at. And I’m thinking this won’t be the last time.

“Tell me, Kate. Do you have a man?”