9. Holt
Chapter 9
Holt
I ’m losing my goddamn mind.
Ivy’s been here less than a week, and already, she’s gotten under my skin in a way no woman ever has. It’s not just the way she looks—though, fuck me, that alone is enough to make a man reckless. It’s the way she moves, the way she bites back when she should probably keep her mouth shut. She’s stubborn as hell, and it’s infuriating.
It’s also sexy as sin.
And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.
Wyatt’s been circling her like a wolf, all quiet intensity and barely leashed interest. And even Hank—grumpy, no-nonsense Hank—has been softer with her than he is with anyone. That’s saying something.
It’s a silent race now. A test of patience and strategy.
Who’s going to claim her first?
Wyatt and I already called it. Rock-paper-scissors. A fair game that ended in a draw. Neither of us was willing to back down. So now? It’s a free-for-all. May the best man win.
I don’t mind a little competition. I thrive on it, really. But the real problem is Hank. He’s already made it clear that she’s off- limits. If he catches wind of what’s brewing, there’ll be hell to pay.
But as long as Hank doesn’t find out?
No harm, no foul.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. Lord knows he’s never going to pull that stick out of his ass and actually give in to what he clearly feels about the girl.
I lean against the counter, watching Ivy from across the cabin. She’s sitting on the couch, curled up in her blanket burrito. Her brown hair is spilling over her shoulder as she focuses on the book in her lap. She chews her bottom lip absently, her brow furrowed like she’s solving a goddamn mystery instead of reading some old paperback Wyatt pulled from his stash.
That lip. Jesus.
She’s been nothing but trouble since the second she walked through the door.
She’s actually a damn good guest—doesn’t leave messes, doesn’t complain, even helps out now without being asked. But she likes pushing buttons, especially Hank’s, and watching him bristle like some cranky old bear. It’s hilarious. And a little sexy.
She’s got this way of needling him, flashing just enough attitude to get a reaction, but not enough to piss him off. It’s an art form, really. One I fully appreciate.
No, this is trouble of a different kind. She’s funny. Smart. A little awkward when she’s caught off guard. And that? That’s dangerous.
I rub a hand over my jaw, trying to talk myself out of staring at her like some lovesick fool.
This is a terrible idea. She is a terrible idea.
No repeats. That’s my rule. Keeps things simple. Keeps people from getting ideas.
And yet, my brain is already supplying all kinds of ideas when it comes to Ivy. None of them simple.
Kind of hard to keep things simple when the girl is living with us for the foreseeable future.
Even if she leaves…I don’t want her to leave.
She shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, and I catch a glimpse of bare skin at her collarbone.
Fuck.
I push off the counter and grab a beer from the fridge, needing a distraction to focus on other than the way my body reacts to her.
“Need anything, CG?” I ask, twisting off the cap and taking a slow pull.
Her gaze flicks up, wary like always. “I’m good.”
“You sure? I can be very accommodating.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.
Progress.
I don’t get the chance to push her further, though, because the front door swings open, letting in a blast of cold air and a very pissed-off Wyatt. He shrugs out of his jacket, his jaw tight as he tosses it over the chair.
“Storm’s picking up,” he grumbles, running a hand through his damp hair. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t lose power.”
I glance out the window, noting the thick sheets of snow whipping past the glass. Great.
“You got the generator ready?” Hank asks from the table, barely looking up from where he’s sharpening one of his hunting knives.
Wyatt nods. “Yeah. Just in case.”
Ivy frowns, looking between the three of us. “How bad are we talking?”
Wyatt shrugs. “Bad enough that we’re probably not going anywhere for a while.”
She tenses. Not visibly, but enough that I notice. The idea of being stuck here must be clawing at her. I get the feeling she doesn’t like feeling trapped, even if it’s in a warm cabin with food and three men who would make damn sure she’s safe.
I drain the rest of my beer and set the bottle down with a thud. “Guess that means we better find ways to entertain ourselves.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and I let my smirk linger just long enough to watch her bristle.
Wyatt exhales sharply, shaking his head, but I see the glint in his eyes. He wants to push her, too.
Hank just grunts. “Leave the girl alone, Holt.”
“Just trying to be hospitable.” I hold up my hands in mock innocence, then glance back at Ivy. “Though, if you’re looking for something to do, I could always teach you how to play poker.”
“Let me guess,” she says, arching a brow. “You’re the only one who knows the rules, and somehow, you always end up winning?”
I press a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”
“I doubt that,” she mutters.
God, she’s fun. And sexy.
Wyatt shakes his head, tossing me a look before grabbing a beer for himself. He doesn’t have to say anything. I already know what he’s thinking: this is dangerous.
And he’s right.
But danger has never stopped me before. I am a firefighter after all.