Chapter 21
Twenty-One
DECLAN
Snowed In
The cabin was exactly what my parents had described—rustic charm with good bones, nestled in a clearing surrounded by towering pines that were currently being decorated with what looked like Mother Nature’s most ambitious Christmas display.
Snow was falling so heavily now that the world beyond the windows had turned into a swirling white curtain.
“This is beautiful,” Holly said, standing in the main room and turning slowly to take in the stone fireplace, the exposed beam ceiling, and the large windows that would normally offer spectacular mountain views. “Your parents have good taste.”
“They do,” I agreed, though what I was thinking was that bringing Holly here might have been a spectacularly bad idea. The cabin was cozy in a way that made maintaining appropriate distance challenging, and the storm outside was getting worse by the minute.
I forced myself to focus on the reason we were supposedly here instead of how much I wanted to drag her to the sad-looking sofa and ravage her. I pulled out my checklist and ticked off ‘new sofa’.
I started with the obvious things—checking the rest of the sitting area, the kitchen, and flicking on lights as we went around.
Holly followed me, ostensibly interested in the assessment process but more likely avoiding the conversation we both knew we needed to have about why she’d panicked at the sight of me leaving this morning.
“Water pressure’s good,” I said from the kitchen sink, trying to maintain normal conversation while hyperaware of how small the space felt with both of us in it.
“That’s important,” Holly agreed, leaning against the counter in a way that made my concentration falter.
She was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read—part amusement, part nervousness, and part something else that made my pulse quicken.
“Declan,” she said softly. “You don’t have to keep pretending this is just about property inventory. ”
I stopped pretending to examine the ceiling fixtures and looked at her directly. “What do you think it’s about?”
“I think we both know why I asked to come with you today,” she said, moving closer. “And it wasn’t because I’m fascinated by home inventory.”
The space between us felt charged with the tension we’d been carefully ignoring for days. Outside, the wind was picking up, rattling the windows and reminding us that we were increasingly cut off from the outside world.
“Holly,” I said carefully, “we agreed to keep things friendly.”
“That was before I realized how hard it would be,” she admitted, stepping closer still. “I can’t stop thinking about the other night. Under the mistletoe.”
Neither could I. The memory of kissing her had been playing on repeat in my head, making every subsequent interaction feel loaded with possibility and frustration.
“The storm’s getting worse,” I said, though what I meant was that my resolve was getting weaker. “We might be stuck here for a while.”
“I know,” Holly said, and the way she was looking at me suggested that being stuck here together wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
A particularly strong gust of wind shook the cabin, and the lights flickered ominously.
“We should probably get the fire going,” I said, grateful for a task that would give me something to do with my hands besides reach for her. “In case we lose power.”
“Good idea,” Holly agreed, though she made no move to help with the fire preparation, instead watching me arrange kindling with the kind of focused attention that was making simple tasks unnecessarily difficult.
The fire caught quickly, filling the room with warm light and the kind of cozy atmosphere that belonged in Christmas movies and romance novels. Exactly the kind of atmosphere that made maintaining distance feel increasingly artificial.
“There,” I said, standing back from the fireplace and immediately regretting the way the movement brought me closer to where Holly was standing.
“Much better,” she said softly, and when I looked at her, the firelight was dancing across her face in a way that made rational thought challenging.
“We should probably check the bedroom,” I said, then immediately realized how that sounded. “For the inventory. Check the bed and the curtains...”
“Of course,” Holly said with a smile that suggested she was enjoying my discomfort. “For the inventory.”
The bedroom was at the back of the cabin, dominated by a large stone fireplace and windows that would normally look out over the forest. It was also dominated by a single bed that we both stared at for a while.
“A single bed,” Holly observed, looking around the room. “That was unexpected.”
“No shit,” I muttered, checking the rest of the room out as quickly as possible, making notes of things my parents would have to buy. It suddenly occurred to me that this was a fool’s errand. Somehow, someway, this was a set-up. I could feel it in my bones.
The sight of Holly sitting on the bed made my mouth go dry. This was dangerous territory—isolated cabin, snowstorm, one bed, and rapidly failing resolve to keep things platonic.
“We should head back to the main room,” I said, backing toward the door. “Check on the fire.”
But Holly didn’t move from the bed. Instead, she looked at me with an expression that was part challenge, part invitation, and entirely too tempting to resist.
“Declan,” she said quietly. “What are we doing here?”
“Inventory for my parents,” I said automatically.
“No,” she said, standing up and moving closer. “What are we really doing here?”
The honest answer was that we were fighting an attraction that had been building for days, trapped together in increasingly intimate circumstances, and rapidly running out of reasons to maintain distance that was feeling more unnatural by the minute.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“I think you do,” Holly said, stopping directly in front of me. “I think we both do.”
The space between us felt electric. Outside, the storm was howling with increasing intensity, but inside the cabin felt warm and safe and entirely separate from the real world where we had to worry about appropriate boundaries and professional relationships.
“This is complicated,” I said, though what I was thinking was that nothing had ever felt less complicated than the desire to kiss her again.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Holly said, reaching up to touch my chest. “It can just be... this. Right now. The storm, the cabin, us.”
Her touch sent electricity through my entire system, and when she rose up on her toes to kiss me, rational thought ceased entirely.
This kiss was different from the mistletoe kiss—less tentative, more urgent, carrying days of suppressed attraction and the freedom that came with being out of town and completely alone together.
I pulled her closer, and she responded by pressing against me in ways that made it clear that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to stop with kissing.
“Are you sure?” I asked against her lips, giving her one last chance to maintain the boundaries we’d been working so hard to preserve.
“I’m sure,” she whispered, and the way she was looking at me—like I was something precious and desired and entirely worth the risk—made every careful reason for restraint disappear.
It was like the leash was ripped off. Frantic tearing at coats that landed in piles on the floor.
I was eager to get my hands on her tits, to suck her nipples and bury my face between them.
I hooked my thumbs under the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head in one swift motion.
Her breath hitched, her hands tangling in my hair as the soft wool landed on the floor.
She was even more beautiful than I’d imagined, her skin pale and perfect, her plain beige bra doing absolutely nothing to hide the hard points of her nipples.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” I rasped, my fingers fumbling with the clasp at her back.
“Tell me,” she whispered, her voice husky as the bra came loose.
Instead, I lowered my head and took one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then with more urgency as she arched against me, her hands tangling in my hair and pulling me closer.
Every protective instinct, every logical argument about why this was complicated, evaporated in the face of how right this felt.
My cock was bursting against my jeans, desperate to get inside her.
I groaned against her skin, my other hand cupping her breast, tweaking the nipple as I switched my attention to the other side.
“Declan,” she gasped, her nails digging into my arms through my shirt. “Please.”
I lifted my head, my breath coming in harsh pants as I looked at her. Her lips were swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with desire, and seeing her like this—wanting me as much as I wanted her—made something fierce and possessive surge through my chest.
“Tell me what you want,” I said, roughly.
“You,” she said simply, reaching for the buttons of my shirt. “Just you.”
Her fingers were trembling slightly as she worked the buttons.
It was taking too fucking long. I gripped her ass, dragging her closer to my cock and grinding against her.
She moaned into my mouth, her hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that nearly made me come in my pants.
I walked her backward toward the bed, lifting her slightly so she could feel exactly what she was doing to me.
We fell onto the narrow mattress together, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. I braced myself above her, drinking in the sight of her spread out beneath me—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I said. “I’ve been going crazy thinking about this.”
“Show me,” she challenged, her fingers working at my belt buckle with determination. “Show me how crazy.”