Page 56 of My Rival for Christmas

“Clearly, there has been some misunderstanding.Iwould never actively choose to cuddle with you, if it wasn’t imperative for my health.”

“You saying I’m imperative to your health, sweetheart?”

“No.” God, no. “Only that if I had a choice between surviving or not, and my only option to live was through you, then I’d have to pick you.”

“So what you’re saying is you had to cuddle me last night or else you wouldn’t have made it?” We need to get this man that CT scan immediately. There is something loose in the logic part of his brain. Especially as he muses, “That the raw power of my body is enough to keep you alive?”

“I’msayingthat it must’ve been so cold in here last night that I had to find some way to warm myself up. Don’t read anything else into it. It was purely survival.”

My explanation only amuses Nate further. “You decided to bypass all those blankets because you knew they couldn’t keep you warm like I could.”

I glower at his grin. That self-satisfied, delighted grin. He’s enjoying this far too much.

“Clearly my subconscious makes poor judgement calls.” Case in point: the sex dream. That stupid, stupid sex dream. “But now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I think you can get off me. And we can get on with our day. Lots to do, cabins to leave, all that jazz.”Cold showers to drown in.

I need Nate to get off me. Every part of my body is humming under his, demanding more. The ache that settled between my legs when I woke up has only intensified with every subtle shift Nate gives.

But Nate doesn’t relent. Still holding my hands above my head, he stares at me like I’m seconds away from disappearing. It’s a look that strikes a chaotic rhythm in my chest, beating deeper and deeper into my psyche.

“Not so fast, Princess,” Nate draws out slowly. “I think I recall you saying there would be consequences for anyone who crossed the barrier.”

“I was talking about you.” Heat spreads across my chest under his stare.

“And I think I said something about promising to return the favor if you crossed it instead.” Nate’s so close, his eyes, his scent. His being. Everything is drowning me. “And I always honor my promises, Paige.”

That stupid organ in my chest wallops. From his words, his stare. The possibilities lingering beneath both.

I swallow thickly.

“The question is—what should I make you do?”

It’s almost hard to hear him over the banging in my chest, the pressure building in my lower stomach.

It’s too much. He’s too much. This is all too much.

Everything that I’ve tried to fight since I saw him in the lobby days ago refuses to be suppressed, everything I’ve tucked away two years ago fights to break free.

“There are so many possibilities,” Nate continues, letting go of my wrists to drag his hands down my arms in the softest caress.

I shiver, not from the chill that clings to the room but from the coil of want that runs down my spine.

“I could have you make me breakfast,” he ponders casually.

“I’m a terrible cook,” I argue, my voice coming out all breathy as Nate continues to run his hands up and down my arms, in the most featherlight touches. Teasing touches.

“Hmm,” he hums, “then maybe I’ll just make you compliment me for fifteen minutes straight, and if you slip an insult in, the time resets.”

“You’d hate that.” I focus on my words, not Nate’s hands as they travel down to my sides, his thumbs pinching the shirt’sfabric, pulling at it so it stretches across my chest to reveal my hard nipples. “You like me being mean to you, remember?”

“Maybe.” Nate coaxes his hands along my sides, slipping under my shirt. I startle under his cool touch, my skin tingling with lustful demands. “I think I could like you being nice to me, though.”

I barely hear his words, despite looking at his mouth. I’m too busy tracing the outline of his lips, unable to tear my gaze away as I wonder what they would feel like against my skin. If they would feel similar to how they teased and touched and punished me in my dreams. I wonder what it would feel like to have his beard scrape the sensitive flesh of my thighs.

Nate and the emotions, these visceral, choking emotions that he’s always been able to stir up inside me, are getting harder and harder to push to the side.

Harder for me to keep putting effort into something I don’twantto push aside, something I don’twantto ignore.

Maybe for the first time in my life, I don’t care about what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I don’t want to think about the past or the future, to only drown myself in the now.

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