Chapter 2
Griffin
The generator was fine. I knew it was fine. I just needed a minute to get my head straight... away from those big blue eyes and that smart mouth wrapped in my clothes.
Damn snow. Damn broken-down car. Damn woman who just had to knock on my door looking like a half-frozen angel with attitude.
I hadn’t wanted company. Hadn’t wanted anyone in my space. Definitely hadn’t wanted to notice how she bit her lower lip when she was nervous, or how my shirt hung loose on her frame in ways that made me think things I shouldn’t.
When I came back inside, she was curled up on my couch like she belonged there, sipping coffee and staring into the fire. My clothes were too big on her, making her look small and...
No. Not going there.
"Hungry?" I heard myself ask, like my mouth had disconnected from my brain.
She perked up. "Starving, actually. But you don't have to..."
"Stop saying that." I headed for the kitchen. "If I offer, it's because I'm choosing to."
"Wow, a whole sentence. We're making progress."
I grabbed ingredients for soup, ignoring the way her teasing tone got under my skin.
"I can talk plenty. Just usually don’t have anything to say."
"And yet here you are, saying things." She followed me into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. "Need help?"
"No."
Yes. I needed help remembering why letting her close was a bad idea.
She ignored my answer and started washing vegetables anyway.
"So, what's your story, Griffin? Why's a man like you hiding out in the woods?"
"Not hiding. Living." I chopped an onion with more force than necessary. "And what do you mean, 'a man like me'?"
She shrugged, her shoulder brushing mine as she reached for a carrot. "You know. Tall, dark, handsome, clearly educated despite the whole mountain-man aesthetic. You're not exactly giving off ‘this was my only option’ vibes."
My knife paused mid-chop. "You think I'm handsome?"
"That’s what you took from that?" She laughed, and the sound did things to my chest I didn’t want to examine. "But yes, obviously. Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you."
I resumed chopping, willing my face not to heat up. "You talk a lot."
"And you deflect a lot." She bumped my hip with hers. "We all have our quirks."
The casual contact sent a jolt through me. It had been too long since anyone touched me like that... so easily, so naturally. Too long since I’d let them.
She reached across me for the salt, and I caught a whiff of her perfume, mixed with my soap from her quick wash-up. The combination was... distracting.
"You're in my way," I growled.
"Am I?" She looked up at me through her lashes, not moving. "Or are you in mine?"
For a moment, we just stood there...too close...the air gone static, like the moment before lightning hits the top of a dry pine. Dangerous. Crackling. Way too combustible.
Then she stepped back, breaking the spell.
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "I'll behave."
I doubted that very much.
The soup came together quickly, despite.
..or maybe because of...her help. When I handed her a bowl, she took it to the couch and did something that nearly stopped my heart: she moaned at the first taste.
It sounded like a sex moan... so fucking erotic it made my cock twitch.
I shifted in my seat before she noticed the growing problem in my jeans.
"Oh my god," she said, licking her spoon in a way that should be illegal. "This is amazing."
I sat in my chair, my grip a little too tight on my own bowl. "It's just soup,” I said.
"Just soup? Griffin, this is like... restaurant-quality soup. What else are you hiding under that grumpy exterior? Can you also bake? Paint? Write poetry?"
"Now you’re just being ridiculous,” I told her.
She took another spoonful, making another appreciative sound that went straight to my groin.
"A girl can dream. Speaking of dreams... where am I sleeping tonight?"
I choked on my soup.
"That’s what I thought." She smirked. "One bed?"
"Couch," I managed.
"For you or me?" she asked.
"Me."
She raised an eyebrow. "Such a gentleman. But I’m the guest. I should take the couch."
"Not up for debate, and you’re not a guest.” She raised an eyebrow. “ You're a stray. I don't let strays on the furniture,” I told her.
She chuckled.
So. Fucking. Sexy.
“Everything’s up for debate with the right argument,” she said as she set her empty bowl aside and stretched. My shirt rode up to reveal a strip of skin above the waistband of my sweats.
Holy fuck.
She had curves for days.
"But I’ll let you win this one. For now,” I said, when I finally had control of my mouth again.
Christ, it was going to be a long night.