Page 40 of The Naughty Or Nice Clause

“There’s some boiled water in the kettle on the stove– don’t drink from the tap.” His voice held no emotion, only a warning. “The bathroom is through the kitchen,” he finished, running his hand through his hair, and she noticed he was flushed.

Maybe he isn’t as unaffected as I thought.She fought the urge to rise and kiss him, to admit to the tension between them and give in to the temptation that was sure to consume them both.

“And the wolves won’t get in?” She couldn’t bring herself to say anything else. Maybe if she admitted her fear he would stay with her on the couch. She couldn’t help wondering how long the torches outside would last, considering how much snow was falling.

“The cabin is warded against them; the torches are added protection.” His smirk was enough to remind her how much he irritated her. “Don’t worry, you can sleep easy. I won’t let the big bad wolves get to you.”

Warded?“And who’s going to protect me fromyou? This is the second time I’ve almost lost my life since I’ve arrived.” She closed the gap between them, forcing him to look at her. Her heart was more in danger than her life, even if he couldn’t see it.

“If you hadn’t run away—” he argued, stepping closer, but she was too tired to go in circles, even if it was fun to watch the veins bulge in his neck as his temper flared.

“Goodnight, Mason.” She turned her back on him, settling on the couch.

He said nothing, but he hesitated, and she wondered if she should turn around. Finally, she heard the creak of the warped floorboards telling her he had left the room, and then the door closing. Her fingers grazed her lips, remembering how much she’d been tempted to kiss him. The feel of his hands on her waist, and how she had arched into his embrace… She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the blanket tighter.

The cold made you do it,she reassured herself, but an inner voice told her it had been much more than his body heat calling to her. Lyla forced herself to sleep before that same voice tempted her feet towards his bedroom door.

Chapter Sixteen

SITTING AT THE breakfast table, Lyla picked at a protein bar she’d found in the cupboard. Thankfully her jeans and jumper had dried overnight, so she was warm and fed – for the most part. It would have to do until they got back to the main house. Mason wasn’t up yet.

Jones distracted her from her pathetic breakfast by pawing at the closet door.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, wondering if he smelt something. “Please don’t let it be a mouse!” She opened the door cautiously to find that it was full of jackets, a shovel, bucket and a mop. Jones wandered in and, much to her surprise, knocked his head against the bucket, which contained two pairs of skates.

Crouching down to pick up the cat, she noticed Mason’s name engraved on one pair. Back home, she remembered how he had turned his desk away from the ice rink.Why did he say he hated skating? From the wear on these he must have done it a lot.

She gathered the evidence and shoved open the bedroom door to find Mason sleeping on his back, his blankets askew, revealing his broad chest. The sight of him stirred an ache in her she wasn’t proud of. Focusing on his face, which wasn’t much better, she climbed onto the other side of the bed and dumped the skates on him, not caring how heavy they were. He woke with a start, sitting up as the heavy boots winded him.

“You told me you couldn’t skate,” Lyla accused.

Mason looked like he was going to strangle her with the laces as he shoved them off.

“I told you I don’t like skating. There’s a difference,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. The blanket had fallen to his waist. Lyla noticed the freckles on his shoulders and had the sudden desire to count them– with her tongue. Thankfully, he rose and pulled on a jumper before she could complete such a mission.

He went to the bathroom without another word, and it only struck her then: maybe skating brought up some unpleasant memories. The man had more layers than a tiramisu, but she was determined to figure him out. She waited for him in the kitchen, leaving the skates outside the bathroom for him to discover, or trip over.

“This pair was my sister’s. They should fit you,” Mason said gruffly, dumping a smaller pair of skates on the table before going to the stove, where she had made coffee. He picked up the cup and smelt it before taking a sip. Lyla couldn’t resist a little smile when he didn’t contest it. In the office, his coffee order was never made right; he had almost driven the PAs to drink after their multiple failed attempts. Here, perfection didn’t seem to matter as much to him.

“You’re going to skate?” she asked excitedly, sitting at the table with her knees tucked under her chin in an attempt to keep warm.

Mason rolled his eyes, nodded, and finished the rest of the coffee before replying. “You survived a pack of wolves, so I can spare you five minutes on the ice – but then I have to get to the workshop.”

“What am I going to do for the rest of the day? I’m not going back to the village to face your dearest Natalie after what happened at the gingerbread contest. I might have to curl up and die,” she said.

He crouched in front of her. “I couldn’t have you suffer another near-death experience, so I think there’s something you need to see.”

“What would that be? Elves?” she asked, nervous about what else he could possibly surprise her with.

“Elves don’t exist. Sorry to disappoint you. But I can show you how it all works– separate the fact from the fiction. As a Christmas fanatic, I’m surprised you haven’t done your own exploring.”

“Not when there are wolves outside the door… and I didn’t want to risk causing trouble,” she admitted, though it went against everything in her nature not to snoop.

“I think you make enough trouble as is,” he said, hiding a smile behind his mug.

“Think how dull your life would be without me,” she replied, putting her knees down.

Mason avoided her gaze and went to the window, pulling back the sheer curtain. “The snow has stopped for now, and the ice should be thick enough.”

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