Page 15 of Snowed In With the Grump
"Apparently." I walked toward him, snow crunching under my boots. "Miss me?"
His jaw tightened. "Lucy..."
"Because I missed you." I wasn’t going to play games. "I tried not to, but I did."
He lowered the axe, ran a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to disappear into the forest. "Why are you here?"
"Officially? Left my phone charger." I stepped closer. "Actually? Because you’re full of shit."
That got his attention. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You’re full of shit, Griffin. That night meant something. I felt it. You felt it. You’re just too scared to admit it."
"You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
But he didn’t back away when I moved closer.
"No? Then why are you shaking?"
He looked down at his hands...slightly trembling...and cursed. "It’s cold."
"Try again."
"Lucy, don’t."
I reached up, laying my palm against his cheek. His beard was slightly softer than I remembered, and his skin was warm beneath it.
"Tell me you don’t feel this."
His eyes fluttered shut, like it hurt to even pretend. "What I feel doesn’t matter."
"It matters to me."
"You don’t want this." His hand came up to hold my wrist, but he didn’t push it away. "You don’t wantme."
"Pretty sure I do."
"I’m complicated."
"Good thing I like puzzles."
"I’m not good at... this." He gestured vaguely between us. "Relationships. People."
"Could’ve fooled me." I rose on my tiptoes, our faces inches apart. "You seemed pretty good at it the other night."
His breath hitched. "That was different,” he said.
"Why? Because you could pretend it was just physical?" I pressed even closer, heart pounding. "News flash, Grumpy... it wasn’t just physical for either of us."
"Lucy..."
My name came out like a warning and a prayer.
"Tell me to leave," I whispered against his lips. "Tell me you don’t want me here, and I’ll go."
He didn’t tell me to go.
Instead, he kissed me...hard, desperate, like he’d been starving and I was his only salvation. His hands released my wrist and tangled in my hair, and I melted into him like I’d never left.
