Page 10 of Snowed In with the Wrong Cowboy
She shoves her chair back with a sharp scrape and grabs her plate.
“I lost my appetite,” she says, storming toward the sink. “I am not—nor would Iever—go to bed with you.”
“It’s the only comfortable place to sleep in this entire cabin.”
“I’d rather sleep in the fire,” she snaps.
I shrug, leaning back again. “Suit yourself.”
She turns her back to me, dumping her barely touched food into the trash.
She's rattled.
Which means she's not nearly as indifferent as she wants me to believe.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s the people who say “never” that tend to crack first.
3
PIPER
The couch is trying to kill me.
I shift for the hundredth time, trying to find a position that doesn't make my spine scream in protest. The throw pillow under my head is about as comfortable as a brick, and the blanket keeps sliding off every time I move.
It's midnight. I've been lying here for an hour. And I haven't slept for a single second.
The cabin is quiet except for the wind howling outside and the occasional creak of the walls settling. I can't hear anything from the bedroom. No snoring, no movement, nothing. Is Callum even in there? Is he sleeping soundly while I'm out here suffering?
Why do I care?
I punch the pillow, trying to fluff it into something resembling soft. It doesn't work.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm just stuck in a cabin during a blizzard with my best friend's estranged brother who keeps looking at me like I'm something he wants to eat. Who dropped his towel in front of me and called me beautiful.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force my brain to stop replaying the way his gaze felt.
I throw off the blanket and sit up, my back protesting immediately. There's no way I'm sleeping on this medieval torture device.
I head toward the bathroom, already imagining myself sinking into that clawfoot tub.
A hot bath. That’s what I need. Something to melt the tension in my shoulders and clear my head. Something that hasabsolutely nothingto do with Callum.
I tiptoe across the cabin. The bedroom door is closed, no light visible underneath. He must be asleep. Good. Perfect. I can take a bath in peace without him making some comment about how I look all wet and…
Stop. Thinking. About. Him.
The bathroom is small but beautiful, all vintage tile and that gorgeous clawfoot tub. I try the lock, but it doesn’t catch. Figures. I let it go with a sigh and turn on the water, letting it run hot enough to steam. The sound is loud in the quiet cabin, but hopefully not loud enough to wake him.
I strip down quickly and sink into the water with a sigh. The heat soaks into my aching muscles, and I let my head fall back against the rim, eyes closing.
This. This is what I needed.
The steam curls around me, and for the first time since I arrived, I feel myself truly relax. The tension in my shoulders starts to ease. My breathing slows. I let myself float in the heat and the quiet, trying not to think about anything at all.
Especially not about the man sleeping in the other room.
The door flies open.
