Page 5 of Mountain Man's Merry Grumpmas
"Really? Do you still have family there, or aren't they around for Christmas?" I ask, knowing I'm being nosy, but for some reason I want to know everything about this guy who is grumpy and rude one minute, and looking at me with a different kind of heat the next.
Drake gives me a long look and then sighs. "My sister and her family live there. My parents will be at her house for Christmas as well. I haven't talked to my sister in a few years. She's actually great friends with Cora and Miranda."
"Oh." Noting the flicker of pain that crosses his face as he tells me, I add, "I'm sorry you guys are distant."
Drake's gaze locks with mine and my heart races, but then he breaks eye contact and looks around the kitchen. "Are you hungry?"
"Um, yes, I am." I grin at the man in front of me who probably saved my life by letting me stay here tonight and offer the onlyolive branch I have available. "Pizza and margaritas sound good? My treat."
"I accept."
When Drake smiles back at me, a rush of desire immediately soaks my panties. He turns and opens the freezer to pull out one of the pizzas, and my eyes bounce down to his firm backside. I want to swoon. This man is a knockout. What did he say about living out my mountain man fantasies?
For the next twenty minutes, we work as a team in the kitchen. The margarita mix is cold already, so Drake gets the drink supplies set up while I pop the pizza in the oven. When I'm done there, I shoo him to the other side of the counter, and he watches me make margaritas.
I grab two glasses out of the cupboard, giving each a generous pour. I won't make any more tonight, but if I want to find a way to actually get some sleep while surrounded by the clean, woodsy scent of Growly McGee, I'm going to need to loosen up a bit. One margarita, and I'll still have my wits about me.
When I turn to bring our glasses to the table, I gasp and just about drop our drinks on the floor. In Drake's hands is the stack of sexy books Miranda gave me. I haven't had a chance to peruse the titles yet, but based on the look on Drake's face, I'm guessing these came from the top shelf of the chili-pepper bookcase.
As a flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks, I shake my head. Fuck this. I'm not going to be ashamed about my taste in literature. I square my shoulders and place his drink on the counter in front of him.
"See anything you like in there?" I ask, glancing at the books pointedly.
Drake grins sheepishly. "I thought they were … well, I don't know." He shakes his head and picks up the margarita.
"I like a variety of books, but for a weekend alone, smutty romance is my top pick." I take a sip of my margarita.
Drake eyes me over his glass, taking a sip of margarita and licking his lips in a way that has me swallowing hard.
The buzzer on the oven sounds, and I push back off the counter.
Saved by the bell.
As I pull out the pan, I'm reminded once again of what he said when we first met, about not living out my mountain man fantasies with him, and I decide he's going to have to make the first move. I can't imagine anything more humiliating than being rejected if I am misinterpreting his interest. Actually, I can. It would definitely be more humiliating to be turned down and then still stuck in the cabin with him.
Nope.
Dinner is pleasant. We chat about surface-level things, and I don't bring up Duhring Park again, but the sexual tension is palpable. Although, I'm 50/50 on whether it all might be in my head.
When he brings over the pitcher of margaritas to refill both our glasses, I put my hand over the top of mine to decline. He doesn't see it and pours the margarita straight onto my hand. It splashes everywhere, but most of it lands in a puddle on my lap, soaking my jeans immediately.
"Oh shit! I'm sorry, Monroe." Drake turns for a towel, as I stand quickly. More liquid sloshes to the floor, and I can't help but burst into a fit of giggles when Drake slips in the mixture on his way back to the table. The hulking moose of a man goes down, and then I slip trying to help him up and land straight on his chest. His laughter vibrates, and I lift up to one arm to stare down at him.
"I don't want any more margarita," I deadpan, trying desperately to stifle my giggle, but when he grins up at me, it comes out anyway.
Drake reaches out and brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my cheek, and a shudder racks my body. My breath catches. He swallows, and I lean in toward his lips, but he gently pushes me back so he can stand up.
"Why don't you go get changed in the bathroom, and I'll clean up out here."
Drake reaches for my hand, helping me to my feet, and my cheeks heat from his obvious lack of interest.
"Right, thanks," I say, barely looking at him. Mortified, I head for my luggage as tears prick behind my eyes.
Girl, get your shit together right now, I chastise myself, shaking my head and dropping to my knees to pull the suitcase over to me. My stomach drops when I open it up.
Oh shit.
I stare down in horror at the pile of vintage lingerie filling my suitcase and realize I have a problem. I didn't bring anything else to wear. Last year, I brought sexy nightgowns and wore those, never even touching my other clothes, so my friend Stella convinced me to go all four days wearing nothing but sexy lingerie. I had planned to go home in the same outfit I wore today.
