Page 53 of My Rival for Christmas

I blame the weather, the damn red truck, the cabin, and this cursed vacation.

I blame Christmas and Cole, and everything that led me to being stuck in a tight space with Nate’s insufferable ego. It’s choked me enough to cut off the oxygen to my brain, driving me to lunacy.

I blame snow days and movie marathons, uncomfortable couches, and hedgehogs tucked into t-shirt pockets. And for the normalcy I’d forgotten that existed between us. The quiet comfort that I’ve only found with a total of three people.

But most of all, I blame that frozen lake and secluded landscape that was the backdrop to that almost-kiss that’s beenstuck in my mind ever since. The way Nate’s body felt pressed against mine, the smell of his Irish Spring soap that’s lingered in my nose, making me intoxicated off the strong, masculine scent.

I’m so wrapped up in the audacity of my subconscious, of having it betray me in such a treacherous way, I almost forget where I am.

I almost miss the way my body is far too cozy for a room so cold, or the persistent ache now throbbing between my legs.

Almost miss the way my body is curled around a very large, very warm side. How my head is nestled into the crook of a strong, broad shoulder, the edges of a beard tickling my forehead. Miss the way I’m wrapped around something like an octopus very opposed to personal space.

I miss it all, until my body is jostled hard enough to yank me from my spiral as warm, bare skin brushes mine, as solid, coiled muscles send tendrils of wanton desire across my body.

My already charged body.

Nononononono.

Everything inside me stiffens. My thoughts, my heart. My limbs lock up to the point of pain. I don’t move, I don’t breathe as slowly, so slowly, I’m pulled from my backstabbing thoughts and back into the room.

To the bed.

To Nate.

And how I’m curled into his body like a pillow, my leg thrown over his waist, arm wrapped around his broad chest. His rose tattoo that so easily captured my attention last night is mere centimeters from my face.

I glare at it as a wave of heat, as violent and destructive as an erupting volcano, washes over me. Overtaking my limbs. Threatening to consume me.

I don’t like it atall.

The bastard. The utter, rotten bastard!

He breached the sleep barrier!

Iknewhe couldn’t be trusted.

Grrrrrr.

I try to pull away when a strong, muscular arm tightens around my lower back.

Underneathmy borrowed t-shirt.

Pinningme in place.

A heady current of awareness spirals out around his hold, making sure I’m aware of just how much my body appreciates his tattooed touch.

I don’t think so.

I struggle to break free, set on beating him with a pillow.

But it’s like Nate’s fortified his muscles with steel or iron or something because all it does is have my body rubbing up against parts of his shirtless chest that I don’t need to be touching.

A rush of heat pulses—Nope.There will be none ofthat.

Now reduced to limited movement, I grit my teeth and glare up at Nate with a volatile expression. The urge to throttle him is so, so strong. But he remains blissfully unaware.

The soft, limited light from the curtain-free window casts a hazy glow around the room, illuminating his smug, handsome face. Sleeping like nothing is wrong. A thief with no worries, like he didn’t break the one rule I had when he crossed the mighty wall of blankets andkidnapped me.

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