Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“You should be careful, Amelia,” I say, stepping closer, my voice low and deliberate. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, her bravado faltering for just a second. “You’re the one who started it.”
I’m standing in front of her now, close enough to see the flutter of her lashes, the way her breath hitches as I lean in. “I don’t play games, Princess. I win them.”
Her lips part, her retort caught somewhere between her brain and her tongue. She steps back, bumping into the wall, and I let my smirk grow as I rest a hand on the wall beside her, caging her in, punching the thermostat back down to fifty-five, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Still think you can handle the cold?” I ask, my voice a rough whisper.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, all the banter, all the teasing, falls away. The air between us is electric, charged with something neither of us is willing to name. Her lips curve into a small, defiant smile.
“I think I can handle you,” she says, her voice steady despite the flush creeping up her neck.
Damn. The city girl has balls.
My other hand finds her waist, my fingers brushing the fabric of the flannel. She shivers under my touch, and it’s not from the cold.
“We’ll see about that,” I murmur, my thumb tracing slow circles against her side.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then she ducks under my arm, stepping away with a laugh that’s half-nervous, half-challenging. “Nice try, Fox,” she says pressing the button to crank the heat right back up. She grabs the blanket and wraps it around herself again. “But you’re going to have to do better than that.”
I watch her retreat to the other side of the room, her hips swaying just enough to make me clench my jaw. She glances back, her smirk infuriatingly smug.
“Enjoy your arctic palace,” she says, plopping onto the sofa and pulling the blanket tight.
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I can’t help the laugh that rumbles out of me. Damn woman. She’s going to be the death of me.
But as I settle back onto the couch, the distance between us palpable but charged, I can’t bring myself to mind. Let her think she’s won this round. The thermostat war is far from over.
And if it means more moments like this—more fire, more sparks—then maybe I’ll keep the temperature right where it is. For now.
“Damn, Princess,” I drawl, letting my voice dip low. “How’re you gonna handle having just one bed in this place?”
Her cheeks flame red, and I bite back a grin. She’s too easy to fluster, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite pastime.
“I—uh—what?” she stammers, her grip on Buttercup tightening. The cat gives an annoyed meow, flicking her tail, but Amelia doesn’t seem to notice.
“You heard me,” I say. “Just one bed. Looks like we’re gonna end up real cozy tonight.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I think she might drop the cat. Buttercup, bless her temperamental soul, twists out of Amelia’s grasp and lands gracefully on the floor before stalking off to her corner. Jet lifts his head from the fireplace, but doesn’t move. So far, he’s been a good boy about our new roommate situation. I take a step closer to her, watching as Amelia’s gaze darts everywhere but at me.
“You’re kidding,” she says finally, her voice higher than usual. “No air mattress? No cot, no… anything?”
“Couch is too small,” I say, “and no air mattress. Guess it’s just you, me, and that bed in the loft.”
She sputters, her hands clenching at her sides. “That’s ridiculous. You… you can’t expect—”
“Relax, Princess.” I chuckle, the sound low and rough. “I’ll take the couch if that’s what will make you comfortable. I’m not a complete heathen.”
Her shoulders sag with relief, but there’s still a spark of indignation in her eyes. “Good. Because I was about to demand you take the floor.”
“Demand, huh? You sure you’re in a position to make demands? No car, no clothes, no good sense considering you came all the way out to my mountain to be my bride…”
Her breath hitches, and she finally meets my gaze. There it is—the fire, the challenge I’ve come to expect from her. It’s intoxicating.
“Maybe not,” she admits, her voice soft but steady. “What are you, afraid to be my husband? Thought you were a man who stands by his obligations?”
The words hang between us, heavier than either of us expects. Her attempt at brushing it off with a shrug doesn’t fool me. I grunt, giving her a slow once-over, and something about the way she shifts under my gaze—equal parts defiant and unsure—sends a thrill down my spine that lands straight in my balls.
“Right,” I say finally. “Husband and wife.”
Her lips part as if she wants to say something, but instead, she bends down and scoops Buttercup back into her arms. The cat immediately starts purring, and Amelia buries her face in the fur, clearly using her as a shield.