Page 82 of Fighting Words

“Go inside, Summer.”

I cross my arms, feeling petulant. His shrug says,Suit yourself.Then he turns back around and resumes his work. He picks up another rock just as my next snowball hits him in the butt.

He goes stock-still for two seconds, and then he gets back to work.

My next one hits his back. The one after that finally hits his head, and some of it spills down into the back of his jacket.

“Oops,” I say, my tone taunting.

It’s the last straw. Nate turns and starts toward me with a dangerous look in his eyes. I swallow my panic and let the last snowball slip out of my hand. It won’t do me any good now, not while he hunts me down. As he approaches, he doesn’t speed up, but still somehow his momentum builds like a tsunami.

I don’t know what he’s going to do. He’d have every right to pick me up and dump me in the snow. When he reaches me, I hold my breath, expecting the worst, but he doesn’t retaliate. He wraps one hand around my neck and fiercely pulls me to him. I only have a moment to realize what’s about to happen before he bends down and kisses me with aching passion. I can taste the relief, this feeling of euphoria passing between us. I lift my frozen fingers to cup his cheeks and he hisses from the cold.

“You should be inside.”

I smile against his lips. “Then take me there like you did last time.”

I kiss his cheek and then I kiss his mouth, anxious and frenzied. I want Nate shamelessly. There’s no room for doubt or second-guessing. It feels so good to throw myself at him and have him lift me off the ground, holding me with a biting strength. My legs go up around his waist, and as he walks us inside the cottage, I kiss him—his jaw, his neck, his temple. He pushes the door open and kicks it closed and I hear the hinges rattle with annoyance. But Nate’s already peeling my shirt off my body, taking me over to the couch, sitting down while I straddle his lap.

Everything is ice. We should light the fire, but then we’d have to get up and I will not let him leave me, not now. We should have done this weeks ago. We should have been on each other every second since the first moment we kissed. I’ve wanted that, and now, because we’ve waited so long, I’m starved. I feel like I’ll never be sated, not if we kiss here all night, not if we stay here forever.

His hands unclasp my bra and then I’m naked from the waist up, letting him drop his mouth to my breasts, tasting and sucking. He teases me more than I can bear, retribution for the snowballs, no doubt.

“You’re killing me,” I groan with anger.

He pulls back to look at me, his hair mussed from my hands, his lips cherry red and sexy. His smirk is almost too much, too cocky and arrogant. “Am I?”

“If I had a snowball, I’d dump it right on your head.”

He reaches up to cup my breasts, toying with them while he watches me. “You pissed me off this morning.”

“You piss me off every morning.”

His blue eyes darken and he leans in to kiss me, keeping his hands on me always, like he can’t get enough. I know he loves my curves. He doesn’t have to tell me my body drives him wild; I can feel him beneath me, hard as a rock.

He pulls back only enough that our foreheads are still touching. He keeps us here in this vulnerable space and I ask the tough question, the one I’ve wondered about all morning. “Did you think I left?”

It’s a moment before he answers. I wonder if he’s weighing his options, trying to decide just how brutally honest he should be with me. “I wasn’t sure. I checked your room and I didn’t think you’d leave all of your stuff, but…”

There was always the possibility.

I see the worry etched on his face, the fear he carried all morning. I could have so easily left my things here and gone back to the States with Andrew on a whim. In another life, I would have.

I reach up to trace a finger along the edge of his face, feeling the tension start to melt away from his temple and brows. I skim the sharp ridge of his cheekbone and I’m planning to continue this lazy perusal, but as I reach the edge of his scruff, he moves as swift as a snake and takes my finger into his mouth. His teeth clamp down.

“Ouch!” I yelp as I pull my finger out and shake it, mostly for show. The bite didn’t hurt.

He laughs and leans in, kissing me again.

I push him away, continuing our playful struggle, trying to get back at him for ruining my fun. But he doesn’t let me back off. He kisses me with renewed hunger. It’s possessive and hot.

He’s all-consuming in a way I’m not used to. I can feel myself slipping away so easily, inhibitions dropping one by one like dominoes. Have I ever sat shamelessly on top of a man undressed down to the waist, letting him look and touch me in this slow, agonizing way?

I want to cover up, and at the same time, I want to undress completely, expose myself and reclaim that power. There is nothing as sexy as a naked body, and I want to see Nate’s. I take off his jacket and shirt.

Finally, we’re on an even playing field again. Nate’s skin is warm and smooth. I take his bicep in my hand and marvel at my inability to get a decent grip. I’ve never thought I was interested in muscular men, but Nate has thoroughly disproved that theory.

I notice him watching me. We’re playing the same game—ogling each other and trying to be coy about it. I want to ask him what he’s planning to do with me, how much longer he’ll touch me withouttouchingme.

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