Chapter 4
Holly
“What is it you do again?” I ask as I pull a book off of his bookshelf that’s about medieval torture. He has so many books. It appears that it’s a heavy mix of research and romance books along with thrillers.
I’m not sure what to make of Hunter. I haven’t been since the moment he picked me up. He’s a confusing contradiction. A gruff mountain man who appears to have a serious addiction to romance books and also a love for books on weapons, torture, and various poisons.
With any other guy, I’d be a little bit scared. But there’s something about being with Hunter. He makes me feel safe. I know I’ve only known him for an hour, but the way he looks at me takes my breath away.
He crosses the room and hands me a romance book from his shelf.
I glance at the cover. It’s a romantic suspense book, judging from the couple embracing on the front along with the stylized weapon. “So, you design covers then?”
He shakes his head. “No, I write books about men with big…guns.”
I look back at the heaving woman with the huge breasts. I can’t resist teasing him. “That’s not the only thing that’s big in your books.”
His eyes sparkle. I think he likes it when I tease him. “Now you know what I do, but I don’t know what your profession is.”
I think of the endless string of holiday movies I’ve been starring in since I was five years old.
When I was ten, I complained to my mom that I didn’t want to do it anymore.
I was sick of acting. She told me we coordinate happiness for others at the holidays.
It seems like a good way to avoid his question and not explain my real identity. “I’m a happiness coordinator.”
His gaze rakes down my figure, heating me up just as much as he did when he grabbed my hips. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”
I roll my eyes even though secretly I’m enjoying his flirting.
I’ve never had someone that makes my heart flutter the way he does. I always thought that was just a sappy expression we used in movies. But now I’m wondering if it’s real. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
He smirks. “That’s a damn shame.”
The soft, unmistakable sound of a dog whimpering comes from a nearby room. I haven’t even met Hunter’s dogs yet, and I’m already pretty sure I’m going to adore them.
“You should go down the hall and take a warm shower. I’ll get started on that pizza,” he says.
I nod, accepting that I’ve been dismissed for now. Not that I mind. A warm shower sounds amazing after the day I’ve had.
I follow his directions through a massive bedroom with a king-size sleigh bed. The blankets are rumpled like he’s a restless sleeper. I have an overwhelming desire to test the mattress and see if the bed is as soft and plushy as I imagine.
The idea of being tangled up under those blankets with Hunter pops into my brain, and I push the image away. I can’t be thinking like that right now. I have a life to get back to after this.
Shaking my head, I pad into the ensuite bathroom with the huge glass shower stall. I start the water, turning it to extra hot before I peel my wet clothes from my body.
There are no girly shampoos or soaps in the shower stall. The scant few products scattered in the shower and on the bathroom counter all have masculine packaging and woodsy smells.
I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water loosen my tense muscles and warm me up from the outside in. When I’ve finally regained feeling everywhere, I wrap a thick, fluffy towel around myself. As I do, I can’t help but wonder what Hunter would look like in just a towel and nothing else.
I shouldn’t do what I do next, but I can’t help myself. I go through his bathroom cabinets looking for evidence of a woman. There are no pink razors or tampons. There’s no extra toothbrush or even a different brand of toothpaste.
Relieved that he’s single for reasons I don’t want to think too deeply about, I pad to his walk-in closet. I grab a faded, flannel shirt that’s almost long enough to be a dress on me.
I wrap it around my body, noticing the way the buttons pull tight across the chest. I like the feeling of wearing his clothes and the way that I smell like him now that I’ve used his shampoo and soap.
Delicious scents of garlic and Parmesan cheese waft through the air ducts. My stomach growls, but since he’s still cooking, I take my time examining his bedroom too.
Dog-eared books are stacked on his bedside table. On the top of the stack is a photo of him with two other men that look just like him. His brothers, if I had to guess. There’s loose change on the top of his dresser and a bottle of beard oil left out. All of these little touches make me smile.
I’m used to being on picture-perfect sets that are carefully curated to appeal to the target demographic. The sets never feel lived in. Even my apartment is like that. I spend most of my time filming. There doesn’t seem to be a reason to decorate it or make it my own.
But this space feels real. It feels lived in, and the coziness wraps around me like a cocoon. No wonder he wants to spend all his time away from civilization up here in these mountains. I’d want the same thing if I had a cabin like this.
I follow my nose into the kitchen to find Hunter kneading dough on the kitchen island. I watch his biceps move wondering what it would be like to have his strong hands massaging my body.
When he finally looks up from the dough he’s been working on, he has a streak of flour on his cheek.
“You didn’t have to go to all this effort. Frozen pizza would have been fine,” I say, touched that he cared this much. Bobby never would have done anything like this for me. He wouldn’t have taken an hour out of his busy schedule to handmake me a pizza.
At this point, I’d be impressed if Bobby even knew my favorite type of pizza. It’s almost like Hunter is reading my mind when he says, “You should be with a man who delights in satisfying you in every way.”
I know he’s talking about more than pizza and part of me wonders what it would be like if he did satisfy me. But that’s not a road I can go down right now. So, I clear my throat and change the subject. “Who taught you how to make pizza?”
“My foster mother, Emma May,” he says, his voice softening when he says her name. “Christmas was hard for me the year I came to her. She asked what I wanted to eat for the holiday dinner, and I told her all I wanted was a pepperoni pizza.”
He pauses there, adding just a pinch more of flour to the sticky dough.
“I didn’t think she’d take my request seriously.
But that year, beside the turkey, glazed ham, and mashed potatoes was a homemade pizza with pepperonis.
She’d even spelled out the word Merry on it.
It was the first time I’d smiled in a long time. ”
My heart clenches at the story he just told. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to be a foster kid. “She sounds incredibly kind.”
“She is. Now, I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But she taught me how to make a fantastic homemade pizza, so I have that going for me.”
We eat a quiet dinner together. I know I should be at the charity event, but I’m glad that I’m not. I’m warm and safe, tucked away in this little cabin with the hot mountain man.
“You’re thinking pretty hard,” he finally observes.
“I’m just really glad you found me,” my voice catches as I realize how much worse this whole day could have gone. If he hadn’t found me, what would I have done? Would anyone have found me in time?
“Glad I was there. Do you need to talk it through?” His voice is a quiet rumble.
I glance at his lips and wonder what it would be like if we kissed. I think about how it felt when he touched me earlier, his hands on my hips like they belong there.
There’s the whimpering sound again, and I realize I still haven’t met his dogs. That seems like a nice, safe topic to focus on, so I say, “I want to meet your boys.”