He lifts his eyebrows. “You don’t remember that, either?”
“No,” I mumble. “I just thought, you know, we were kissing, and… did I stop it?”
“No, Alex.” There’s a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You did not stop it. I did.”
“But… you said you wanted to kiss me. So why stop it?”
“Because we were drunk! I didn’t want it—us—to be that; drunk sex on New Year’s.”
“Oh,” I murmur. He was being a gentleman, not taking advantage of what I, apparently, was eagerly offering. “That’s… that’s really sweet.”
His eyes linger on my face and his mouth softens into a smile. “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”
I smile too, relieved to see him coming around. “It sounds like I wasn’t that nice to you on New Year’s Eve. Sorry I can’t remember.”
There’s a twitch in his cheek. “I never said you weren’t nice.”
Right, that’s it. I have to know.
“Are you going to tell me what I said?”
He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, playfulness lighting his eyes, and shakes his head.
“Come on!”
“Nope.” His gaze remains locked on mine as a slow smile spreads across his face, and desire ignites in my bones. God, that’s all it takes—one provocative smile from him and I start to unravel.
With a low chuckle he pushes to his feet, raising his arms above his head to stretch. His sweater lifts, exposing half his abdomen, and my eyes fix on the bare skin. There’s a trail of dark hair from his navel down to the top of his belt buckle—a path to his treasure. My fingertips tingle with the need to touch it, to follow and see where it leads. And when he catches me shamelessly feasting on him, his eyes spark with a hunger of his own.
Holy fuck.
Heat rockets through me, settling in an ache between my thighs. Suddenly I’m gasping for breath and I have to look away or I don’t know what I’ll do. No wonder I was behaving so inappropriately on New Year’s Eve after a boatload of booze. I’m barely holding it together now, stone-cold sober.
I need to get away from him. Fast.
“Right.” I dig deep into my reserves of self-restraint as I rise from the chair, knowing there’s only one way to get this out of my system. “I’ll be in my room, writing.”
“You might be more comfortable at the table. Plus it’s warmer out here.”
“No, thank you,” I say stiffly, walking straight to my room and closing the door, even if that means being cold. The further I am away from him, the better.
I sink down onto the bed and flip my laptop open, desperate to dive into my romance novel. I should be working on another article for Justin, but I’ll be honest—I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel for upbeat angles on being single. What Agnes said at Christmas keeps coming back to me: being a single lady is only fun when there isn’t anyone special. And Michael—the guy who wouldn’t have sex with me when I was drunk, who went out of his way to bring me up here even though he was mad—he’s pretty fucking special, I think.
But it’s not just that. I’ve sent through three, feature-length articles now, and while Justin has been encouraging, they haven’t even been published yet. It’s already the second of January, and he said the column would be launched in the new year. After everything, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m even in the running for it after all.
I push the thought from my head as my laptop powers on. Because right now, there’s only one thing I want to write about, and that’s not being single.
It’s an hour later when I look up from my laptop and my neck is stiff. Michael was right, I should work at the table. I crack open the door to the living room and I’m relieved to see he’s not there. He must have lit the fire in his room, after all.
I wander out and set my laptop down on the dining table, then pop into the bathroom. The wooden floor is cool under my feet and I shiver, gazing at the bathtub longingly. I could have a quick bath to warm up before getting back into my writing. That would be nice.
Michael has left some fluffy towels out for me, so I run the bath and slip my clothes off, sliding into the deliciously warm water. I sit in the tub, watching the steam swirl up into the air. It’s amazing that I’m here in this warmth while the world outside is freezing. The weather here is crazy. In a way, I’m relieved Michael is here with me, because if I were snowed in by myself I’m sure I’d panic, or freeze to death. At least with him here I know I’ll be okay. Of course, the idea of him helping to keep me safe only makes me want him more.
With a sigh, I drain the tub and dry off, slipping my clothes back on. The last thing I’m going to do is walk across the living room in nothing but a towel in case Michael is out there.
But the bath did the trick, I think. With a serene smile, I head back out into the living room, feeling warm and snuggly, ready to dive back into my writing.
I find Michael sitting at the table with my laptop open in front of him. He stands slowly and turns to me, his eyes wide.
I tilt my head. “What?”
His cheeks are flushed and he looks a little shaken. No, actually, he looks—well, almost turned on. What was he reading on there? Oh…
No.
He huffs out a breath. “I, uh, read some of your romance writing.”
Fuck.
31
“What?”
A smile nudges his lips. “It’s really good.”
Heat rises up my neck and colors
