Page 12 of Curvy Cabin Fever
When I look at Rhett, his blue eyes are intense enough to make me catch my breath. There’s something haunted in them—not empty, exactly, but guarded, like he’s holding a storm just behind his gaze. It makes me want to dig deeper, to know what wrecked him enough to build walls that high.
The kitchen smells amazing now—Morgan is clearly some kind of culinary god. I watch him move around the space with surprising grace for someone his size, his tattoos shifting as he works. He catches me looking and winks, but it’s friendly rather than flirtatious. “Almost ready,” he says. “Hope you like pasta.”
“I love pasta,” I gush, then immediately feel self-conscious. Of course I do—my size makes that obvious enough. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my stomach.
Thunder crashes outside, impossibly loud for a snowstorm, and the lights flicker ominously. My heart jumps into my throat.
“Don’t worry,” Rhett comments, noticing my panic. “We have generators.” He moves to light the fireplace. “But just in case.”
The warm glow of the starting fire catches the angles of his face, softening them slightly. For a moment, I glimpse something gentle in his expression before it’s gone again, replaced by his usual stoic mask.
“It’s getting cozy,” Damien remarks, stretching like a cat beside me. His shirt rides up slightly, revealing a strip of toned stomach that I absolutely donotstare at. “Almost romantic, isn’t it, Aria?”
I’m definitely not imagining this. His gaze is practicallydevouringme, and the thought of it has a strange, giddy flutter rising in my chest. My heart’s racing now, like I’ve just sprinted a mile. And I can promise you, I haven’t run a mile in years, if ever.
Morgan emerges from the kitchen area with a steaming pot of what looks like the most amazing pasta I’ve ever seen. “Food first, flirting later,” he states firmly, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes me wonder if he’s really as disapproving of Damien’s behavior as he seems.
As I watch them move around each other with familiar ease—Rhett grabbing wine glasses, Damien finally making himself useful by carrying sauce to the table, Morgan orchestrating it all—I feel like I’m watching a well-choreographed dance. They fit together somehow, these three very different men, and I’m suddenly desperate to understand how.
The storm rages harder, as if trying to remind me that I’m trapped here, in this stunning cabin with these beautiful, yetunfamiliar men. But as I rise to join them at the table, I’m starting to wonder if “trapped” is really the right word for what I’m feeling.
Maybe “fated” would be more accurate, even if that thought terrifies me almost as much as the storm outside.
“Would you like some wine?” Rhett offers, holding up two bottles. “Red or white?”
Fuck, I could just do with a nice glass of white wine. But that would be incredibly stupid, considering I don’t know these men. I bite my lip, weighing the risk against the way my nerves are crawling under my skin. Damien sighs heavily, his elbows thudding on the table as he drops his head into his hands, his gaze darkening.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. Or maybe I just don’t want to be the girl who panics over a single drink.
I gulp. “Uh, sure, white please.”
Rhett nods and pours me a glass, his cologne dancing close to my nostrils.
God, he smells divine.
“This is incredible,” I say after my first bite of pasta, the rich flavors dancing on my tongue.
Morgan can definitely cook!
Morgan beams at the compliment, and I notice how his entire face transforms when he smiles—the intimidating exterior melting away to reveal someone softer.
“Finally, someone who appreciates good food,” he replies, shooting a pointed look at Damien.
“Hey, I appreciate food,” Damien protests, twirling pasta around his fork. “I just appreciate other things more.” His eyes lock with mine as he says this, and I nearly choke on my wine.
The wind howls louder, and suddenly the lights flicker again before plunging us into near darkness—if not for the soft glow of the fire. I gasp, my fork clattering against the plate.
“Don’t move,” Rhett’s calm voice instructs from the darkness. “The generator will kick in soon.”
I feel movement beside me, and then Damien’s warm breath is at my ear. “Scared of the dark?”
Before I can answer, the backup lights hum to life, casting a softer glow around us. Damien is indeed leaning close—too close—and I catch a glimpse of something hungry in his expression as his knee brushes mine again, this time just a little too long. My pulse spikes, and I hope like hell no one notices the heat in my cheeks. But of course, he does.
“You’re quite safe with me, pretty girl.”
My heart screeches to a halt, my mouth dropping open. He shakes his head at my reaction, digging back into his food like he hasn’t just ruined my panties with seven words. I stare at him, struggling to find my voice. “Is that so?”
I’m playing with fire, and the way Damien’s lips tug at the corners tells me he wants to play with me too.
