Page 8 of Silent Night Temptation

He is stunning.

His blue eyes, which had seemed so distant before, now gleam with an intensity that almost startles me. They are a shade of blue so pale they’re almost arctic, as if they belong to the deepest winter itself, sharp and piercing. His gaze seems to flickover me with a subtle precision, calculating and composed, as though he’s always assessing and always in control. The coolness in his expression only heightens his allure, making him feel untouchable, unknowable.

Without his coat, I can now fully take in the broad lines of his shoulders, the way the fabric of his shirt clings slightly to his form. He’s in remarkable shape. His physique was apparent, even under the understated simplicity of his clothes. His height becomes even more pronounced as he stands there, looming just slightly over me in a way that makes the space between us feel charged, almost electrified. Every detail, from the clean cut of his jaw to the slight tension in his frame, radiates a quiet, almost dangerous power.

For a moment, I feel myself melt in front of him, my pulse quickening in a way I hadn’t expected. I can’t help it. My eyes flick over his form, betraying my thoughts. There's something magnetic about him, something that draws me in and unsettles me all at once.

Stop staring. My stomach twists with embarrassment. The realization of how blatantly I’ve been gawking hits me hard, and I tear my eyes away, willing myself to regain composure before he notices.

But has he? I wonder. Did he see the way I was looking at him? See the telltale signs of my racing thoughts? I risk a quick glance up again, catching only a flicker of his expression before I turn my attention back to the fire.

If he’s noticed, he doesn’t show it. His demeanor remains steady and unreadable, like the snowstorm swirling just outside these walls, cold, controlled, and utterly untouchable.

I take a breath, trying to still the rapid flutter in my chest. My fingers clench in on themselves to steady the trembling beneath my skin.

Mr. Davenport gives me a nod, his expression unreadable. “You’re welcome,” he says simply, before turning toward the kitchen. “Coco should be here tomorrow, if the weather clears up. In the meantime, I’ll make sure you’re settled in.”

I nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and unease as I watch him disappear into the other room. The house is quiet now. The only sound is the soft crackling of the fire and the faint howling of the wind outside. I’m alone, standing in the middle of this beautiful, unfamiliar space. My thoughts are a tangled mess of nerves, uncertainty, and something else. Something Mr. Davenport is sparking within me.

***

Marcus

Isit in my office, the polished oak desk a battleground of reports and scattered papers. The air smells of aged wood and faint traces of coffee, remnants of a long day spent wrapping up the last few meetings and phone calls before the holidays. Outside my window, the city sprawls beneath a tumultuous sky, heavy clouds swirling ominously, mirroring my turbulent thoughts.

The weather has taken a dire turn, and with every glance at the horizon, my stomach churns with worry. My daughter, Coco, is due to land soon, and I can’t shake the dread that grips me. What if her flight is still in the air, battling the merciless winds? The thought of her soaring through the storm sends a jolt of anxiety through me, tightening my chest as I envision her trapped in a metal tube, surrounded by clouds and turbulence.

The hum of the city fades into the background, and I cannot help but pace the room. The familiar confines suddenly feeling too restrictive despite its spaciousness. Each tick of the clockseems to mock my worry, each second stretching into an eternity.

My phone vibrates on the desk, breaking the oppressive silence, and my heart leaps as I see Coco’s name flash on the screen. Relief floods through me as I answer quickly, eager to hear her voice. “Dad, my flight’s delayed,” she says, the tension in her voice dissipating with the admission. A weight lifts from my shoulders, but a feeling of concern remains.

“Thank goodness,” I reply, forcing calmness into my voice, though the fear still lingers like a shadow. “How are you doing? I hope you are somewhere warm.”

“I’m okay, but I need a favor,” she continues, and I brace myself for what comes next. My heart is racing at the thought of her request, not fully recovered from the bout of worry it endured when I feared she was in the air.

“Anything,” I assure her, my voice steady, the words leaving me almost in reflex.

“Can you pick up Nyree? Her flight arrived on time, but I can’t make it. She’s waiting at the airport.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I agree. My relief that Coco is safe relegates any mild discomfort of driving in this weather to a mere insignificance. Although, this certainly is no weather to drive in, but it is even less so weather to be stranded at the airport in. I throw on my coat, grab my keys, and swiftly walk out the door. The chill in the air bites at my skin, a sharp reminder that winter has taken hold. Yet the real chill comes from the impending storm as I slide into my black Jeep. The road ahead is a blur, slick with ice and snow swirling in the wind.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, focusing on the narrow view of the wipers clear from the windshield. The pilots made the right choice, delaying her flight instead of taking off in this weather. That eases my mind a little, but the knot between my shoulders refuses to unwind, along with the constant worryticking away in the back of my mind that Coco is stuck at the airport.

As I get closer to the airport, my curiosity grows. Nyree. Coco’s friend, but someone I’ve never heard much about. I keep a watchful eye on Coco, despite her living in another city. We are also quite close. I usually know most of the people in her life, her friends, and their stories. Yet, Nyree remains a mystery. It feels strange not knowing more, especially since Coco seems to care about her so much.

It’s not like Coco to keep things from me, and even less like her to ask me for a favor with little explanation. I can’t help but wonder who this woman is and what she means to my daughter.

The snow is falling heavier now, the storm making the drive feel longer than usual. Finally, the airport lights dimly come into view. I pull into the arrivals lane, grab a piece of cardboard I had tucked away in the car, and quickly scrawl her name on it:“Nyree.”

It’s not the most polished way to meet someone, but in this weather, I don’t have time to be walking around trying to find her. I step out of the car, the cold gnawing at my skin as the wind pushes against me. I hold the sign up, scanning the crowd. My curiosity deepens as I wonder who this Nyree is.

“Mr. Davenport?” a voice calls out through the howling wind, faint but clear enough to cut through the storm. I turn toward the sound. Through the falling snow, I see a figure bundled in a heavy coat, her face hidden beneath the hood. She gestures toward the cardboard sign in my hand. “Nyree?” I ask, wanting to be sure.

She nods, and wasting no time, I move quickly to load her luggage into the back of the car. The wind is relentless, stinging our faces and hitting us with an almost physical force. She stands there, hesitant. Her movements are small and careful, asthough unsure of herself. There’s a shyness about her, one I can sense even through the thick layers of her coat.

“Get in,” I say, my voice steady but with an edge of urgency that the cold seems to demand. This weather isn’t something we should linger in. I round the car swiftly and slide into the driver’s seat just as she settles into the passenger side. As soon as the doors close, the sharp noise of the wind is replaced by a muffled quiet. The sudden warmth of the car is a welcome relief, a cocoon of safety against the chaos outside.

I ease the car into motion; the tires crunching over the ice-laden road as I grip the wheel tightly. The snow falls in thick, white sheets, making visibility poor, and every turn of the wheel feels precarious. The weight of the jeep barely holds steady on the slippery surface. My focus is sharp, every muscle in my body attuned to the road, unwilling to take any risks. But part of my attention is also drawn to Nyree, seated quietly beside me.

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