Page 10 of Curvy Cabin Fever
Was my suggestion not proper?
Morgan glares at me, but Aria?
She smiles.
And fuck, I want to see that every day for the rest of my life.
5
ARIA
The storm howls outside, rattling the windows of the cabin as I try to settle into this unfamiliar space. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since those croissants at the little coffee shop in town. The thought of food makes me more aware of my current situation—trapped in a luxury cabin with three sinfully attractive men.
How did this happen again?
“Well, sweetheart, looks like you’re stuck with us,” the sullen dark-haired one drawls, leaning against the kitchen counter like he owns the place.
I mean—hemightfor all I know.
His smirk is lazy, but the way his gaze drags over me is anything but. “I’m not complaining.”
Heat rises up my neck, and I turn away so he doesn’t see.
Damn this man.
The one who looks like he’s stepped out of a fitness magazine sighs. “The storm’s getting worse.”
The other man hasn’t said a word. He stands near the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw tight. The crackling flames cast shadows over his face, making his expression unreadable.
He doesn’t want me here.
That much is obvious.
“Since you’ll be stuck with us for the night, we should probably introduce ourselves,” the fitness god-like creature says, gestures toward himself. “I’m Morgan. The menace over there is Damien. And the broody one by the fireplace is Rhett.”
I nod, rolling the names over in my head.
Morgan, Damien, Rhett.
They’re normal. But I still feel uneasy.
“Maybe I should drive back into town,” I begin hesitantly, imagining driving in that storm.
“Not in this weather, you’re not,” Rhett’s deep voice cuts through my suggestion. Coffee mug in hand, he turns to watch the snow build up against the glass. His blue eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the storm. “Roads will be impassable soon.”
I curse myself for the way my stomach flips at his deep voice. He sounds like authority, like safety, like…Nope. Not going there.
I close my eyes and curse myself for letting that thought slip in. But I can’t help it—RhettscreamsDaddy vibes.
Moody Daddy vibes at that.
I sink into a plush armchair, trying to make myself smaller. The heat rises to my cheeks as Damien drops onto the couch closest to me, spreading his arms across the back with casual confidence. “You better get comfortable, Aria.”
Morgan’s cooking fills the open-plan kitchen with mouth-watering aromas—garlic, herbs, something rich and savory. My stomach betrays me again with an audible growl, and Damien’s laugh makes me want to disappear into the cushions.
“Someone is hungry,” he remarks, winking.
“I should help,” I say, starting to rise, but Morgan’s voice booms from the kitchen area.
