“I want to go home,” she snapped, her mood taking a dark turn. Good. She clung to that anger, used it as a shield against him as he frowned at her, his rich brown eyes gaining something akin to hurt, as if the thought of letting her go pained him.
“No.” He looked over his shoulder at the kitchen window. “You really want to go out there?”
She glanced at the window and lingered. The storm was worse now. Snow constantly rushed past the window, almost horizontal as the wind caught it. That wind whipped around and hit the glass, rattling it.
Fine. Maybe she didn’t want to go out into the freezing blizzard.
As soon as it died down, she was making a break for it though.
“Fucking snow,” Saint grumbled, deep hatred in his tone, as if he held it personally responsible for all that was wrong in the world.
“You don’t like the snow?” She looked at the window and then at him, caught the black look on his face before he turned his back to her and stared out of the window too, his hands braced against the counter in front of him.
“Do I sound like I like it?”
“No.” She twisted on the couch, angling herself towards him, curiosity gripping her. Was it a bear thing? Cougars weren’t bothered by the winter, not as the bears clearly were. She didn’t feel the call of the wild as Saint did, had no instinct to sleep through the colder months. “I was born in winter. I always liked the snow when I was younger, but not so much these days.”
He frowned over his shoulder at her and came to face her, planted his backside against the counter and folded his arms across his very bare chest. Would it kill him to put his shirt back on now that he was done with the manscaping?
“Why don’t you like it now?” His dark eyes searched hers.
She cursed herself for getting so comfortable around him, didn’t want to answer his question but could see in his eyes he wouldn’t let this one go. He wanted to know why she had changed her opinion of snow.
She sighed. “My family are a handful and always tease me at this time of year, making my life hell. This is the first time I’ve managed to escape them for the holidays, and look at what happens. I get myself kidnapped. They’ll never let me leave again.”
He was quick to avert his gaze, his mouth flattening as he turned his profile to her as if that would change what he had done. He pushed off and came to her, and rather than feeling tense that he was near her, she found herself wanting him to sit with her, to tell her more about himself.
He didn’t.
He sank to his knees in front of the fire and tended to it. Holly studied his profile and the feelings her senses could detect in him, reading him like an open book. He felt guilty about his actions, yet he wouldn’t let her go.
Why?
She doubted it was because of the storm and that he didn’t want her freezing out there or getting lost.
Silence fell again as he stoked the fire, as the warm light of it danced across his rough but handsome features, attempting to soften the harsh planes of his face as he glared at it.
When that silence became too comfortable again, she searched for something to say.
He didn’t take his eyes off the fire as he spoke. “Are you so young that you’re not allowed to be away from your family? I’m not sure how cougars work. Are they like other shifters?”
Heat that had nothing to do with the fire scalded her cheeks as she realised he was trying to ask about her age and whether she had matured, was considered an adult now. Most feline shifter species reached maturity at around a century old when biological urges like desire and need awakened.
Together with the ability to breed.
She really didn’t want to answer that question, but as she stared at the fire, avoiding his gaze now as he looked at her, it struck her that he had a point.
She was old enough to go her own way.
To do as she pleased.
She shifted her gaze to meet his, stared into his dark eyes and had the feeling that what she wanted to do was something dangerous.
Something wicked.
His deep brown eyes warmed, gained a shimmer of gold as he looked at her, his pupils slowly dilating. Firelight flickered across the broad expanse of his bare chest, tempting her to trace his hard muscles with her fingers, to know the feel of a male’s body at last.
Apparently, she wasn’t dysfunctional after all because whenever she looked at Saint, the urges she had thought she didn’t possess roared to life, almost overwhelming her.
She pressed the back of her hand to her overheating cheek and stood, struggled to breathe as she muttered, “The fire is a bit hot.”
His gaze tracked her as she moved away from him, towards the far end of the room, fanning herself with her hand as her heart raced.
And her cougar side growled, pacing restlessly, flooding her with a startling urge to turn that snarl on him, to walk right up to him where he knelt on the floor and stand over him, take hold of his jaw and keep his eyes on hers. Holly recognised that urge for what it was—a display of dominance.
Her hands shook, as unsteady as her breathing as that hunger rattled her.
“Holly?” Saint eased onto his feet in a sexy, fluid move that spoke of strength, had his muscles rippling in a symphony that came dangerously close to ripping a feral, possessive growl from her.
She was quick to shake her head, fanned herself more furiously. “I’m fine. Just… stay over there.”
Because she wasn’t sure what she would do if he came any closer to her.
Pouncing on him seemed the most likely outcome.
She breathed through the cacophony of instincts that were intent on ripping her apart, had her unsure of herself, made her feel as if she was looking at a different person. Not chaste, sweet Holly, who felt nothing when a male looked at her, couldn’t even muster the desire to kiss one.
No. This Holly was far removed from that one. This Holly wanted to pounce on Saint and claw him, wanted to dominate him and make him submit to her, revelled and found pleasure in the thought of him doing just that.
“You don’t look well.” Concern shone in his dark eyes as she glanced at him.
“I just need some air.” She looked around her, desperately seeking somewhere she could get that air. “Why do you have so few windows?”
She hurried to the kitchen, couldn’t stop her feet from moving as she stared at the window there, as her temperature hit boiling point and she feared she was going to pass out if she didn’t cool down soon.
She was panicking.
“Holly.” Saint strode to the door, and she thought he meant to block it, that he would stop her from opening it and getting the air she needed, air that felt vital, the only way of stopping herself from passing out.
She growled at him and bared fangs.
He arched an eyebrow as he opened the door at the same time as she threatened him.
Shame flooded her cheeks with even more heat and she lowered her head as she scurried past him, relief crashing over her at the first cold kiss of the wind on her face. Saint caught her arm when she tried to step out onto the snowy deck, holding her back. She shivered at the firmness of his grip on her, at the strength she could feel in it together with a silent declaration that he wasn’t going to let her go.
That did more to calm her racing heart and cool her burning blood than the air that swept snow against her.
Her temperature quickly took a nosedive back to normal, the strange urges that had seized control of her falling away as Saint held on to her arm, as she grew aware of him standing just inches behind her, his gaze on the back of her head.
“Better?” he rumbled.
