Page 8 of Falling for the Beast

His eyes are dark. Deeply dark. Nearly obsidian, but they’re not. They’re brown. I could get lost in them. And they are fringed in the thickest, blackest lashes. It's unfair. Women spend huge dollars to get lashes that thick, and here he is, a man who totally doesn’t know what he’s got.

So not fair.

Still. What the actual heck is happening? I mean, I'm standing in the foyer of a man I do not know, have never met, and did not seek out.

I'm standing in his foyer, and he is glaring down at me. He doesn't want me here. I am no gift. If he could, he would wrap me back up and send me off the way I came.

Speaking of sending me away… “Maybe we should call a taxi.”

“You want a taxi?” he asks dryly.

“I want to leave,” I say, and he doesn't seem impressed by this—by me leaving. Does that mean he wants me to stay?

Do I want to stay?If he wanted me to stay, would I want to stay?

I don't know. I'm so confused. I never imagined something like this happening. This isn't even something that I have read about in my romance books. This is uncharted territory. This is crazy pants territory.

This, I do not have experience with.

“What's your name?” he asks, and I’m surprised to realize that I haven’t yet told him. I also don’t knowhisname. His scheming mother, in all the conversations we had, never once mentioned her lonely son.

I blush. I can feel it stinging my cheeks and coloring my ears. This man makes me blush in a way that no one else makes me blush. I don't like it.

“Sadie.” He lifts his chin but says nothing in reply. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Nick.”

Nick. I instantly think of St. Nick, and I can’t help it, I laugh. It’s totally, ridiculously, insanely fitting. Because here I am, a handpicked gift delivered perfectly on time for Christmas. And at the same time, it’s not. Because there is not one ounce of jolly old man in this sinfully delicious brute.

I laugh again. I can’t help myself as I giggle—a little hysterically. He watches me, his brows pinched, his dark eyes on me.

It’s funny because it’s also reallynotfunny. All of this—it’s not at all funny.

I suck my bottom lip, releasing it with a pop. I think his eyes flare, but they're too dark for me to know for sure.

Or maybe it happened too fast, and I missed it. It was there and then it wasn't, so I can’t be certain.

Either way, I feel something stir in my stomach at the possibility of a flare. Thousands of romance book meet-cutes shoot like stars through my mind. I see them all, one after the other, and I wonder—could this be mine?

No, I’m being silly. I’m enchanted by the blowing storm and this mountain house when I should be repulsed by being manipulated.

I shift in place. “So, what does all this mean?”

“It means you're here until the storm ends,” he says matter of fact. “Don't worry. It should be over in a few days.”

I feel my mouth drop as my heart lurches. “A few days?! A few days is a long time. I can't stay here for a few days.I don't know you!”

He slow blinks at me. “Have we learned our lesson about trusting people from the internet?”

Oh, he did not!But he did.

I fold my arms over my chest and lift my chin. Okay, so it's a childish move. But it's the only move I've got.

“So, I stay here for a few days. What are we going to do?”

He angles a shoulder into the wall. “What do you want to do?”

Well, that's a loaded question.What do I want to do?

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