Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

“Emma, get in the truck.”

I’m wracked by a full-body shiver. My hands and nose are numb.

“Look at you, you’re gonna get yourself sick. Don’t make me come out there.”

I keep going.

“Goddammit.” I hear the clank of Samuel putting the SUV in park. My heart skips. Eyes burn.

He rounds the truck, as big and broad as a bear in his sharply cut coat. His breath billows around his head in a cloud.

“If you don’t stop walking, I’m gonna throw you over my shoulder. You have three seconds. One. Two—”

I round on him, tears blurring my eyes. “Please.”

He studies me for a stunned second. Then he slowly holds up his hands, eyebrows snapped together. “I was just kidding. I won’t touch you without your consent. But I get the feeling that’s not what you’re upset about.”

We’re trapped in our own little snow globe, the snow falling silently around us. Snowflakes catch on his eyelashes and eyebrows. He’s standing a couple of feet away, but I can still feel the warmth radiating off his body.

I want to curl into his chest and live there forever.

How do I tell him I can’t stop falling for this nice guy he’s turned into? That he’s putting me between a rock and a hard place, and I feel like I’m going to break? That my one chance to get some breathing room was dashed by this fucking storm?

“I’m not okay,” I blurt, eyes stinging, throat burning.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Walk if you want to. But if you’d let me, I’d love to give you a ride. Warm you up a little bit. And if you wanna talk about whatever’s on your mind…well, I’ve got a generator at my place, and a whole tray of lasagna with your name on it. I used Mama’s recipe with sides of Caesar salad, homemade dressing, of course, and garlic knots. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles of that 2016 Screaming Eagle to sweeten the deal.”

Fuck him.

Seriously, fuck this guy for life. How does he know what I want—need—before I do?

Think about your career.

But then I shiver, drawing a sharp breath through my teeth. I am so cold. And hungry.

Really, really hungry.

“That’s it,” he says, his expression hardening as he takes a step forward. “You’re coming home with me. Give me permission to put my hands on you.”

I grin, despite the fact I can’t stop shivering. It’s a fun little inside joke Samuel and I have, throwing each other's lines back and forth.

Samuel and I have inside jokes. I don’t know how it happened or when, but I love it, and I want more of it.

That’s when I give up.

Or maybe it’s just giving in to the truth. And the truth is that I want to go home with Samuel.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Samuel

I move quickly.

Shrugging out of my coat, I wrap it around Emma. Poor thing is shaking like a fucking leaf. Her teeth chatter. Anger grips my heart. What was she thinking, coming out in this weather? She should’ve called the main house.

She should’ve called me.

I’ll have time to be mad at her later. Right now, I need to get her warm.

I open the passenger side door and hustle her inside. Thankfully, I already had the heat blasting, and I adjust the vents so they’re pointing directly at her. She closes her eyes and exhales, wrapping her arms around the bag she’s set in her lap.

I furrow my brow. Was she planning on staying the night at the main house? Leaning in to make sure she buckles her seat belt, I get a good look at her face. She’s wearing more makeup than usual. And her hair—it’s down, wild, wavy.

“What’s up with the Van Halen?” she asks when I climb into the driver’s seat.

I glance at the center console. “Am I not allowed to like eighties rock? Where do you think Eddie and David’s names came from?”

“Ha! I get it now.” She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Indulge my totally inappropriate curiosity for a sec.”

“Shoot.”

“You said you had a date tonight. Where were y’all going?”

Settling my left hand on the top of the wheel, I use the other to put the truck in gear.

“I cancelled it,” I say. Which is and isn’t true. When I saw how bad the weather was leaving The Barn Door, I knew my date with V wasn’t happening. I don’t doubt the restaurant where we were supposed to meet will be closing early anyway. I just haven’t officially cancelled our date yet. Chances are she already did anyway, but I haven’t had a minute to check our chat since this morning.

“Oh. Oh, okay.” Emma almost sounds…relieved?

I try not to think too much about what that means on the drive back to my house. I also try not to drive like a lunatic. The roads are already starting to get slick. But my girl clearly needs to get out of her wet clothes and into a hot shower stat, so I hit the gas.