Unwrapping Holly

With a hard shove, Cole pushed against a wicked wind to open the exit door. Snow fluttered furiously around them.

They stepped outside, where the cold air battered their bodies, a violent contrast to the heat they’d generated in that restroom.

Holly huddled deeper into her long, cashmere black coat, shivering violently, her gloves and hat still tucked in the bag hanging over her shoulder. Clearly, her decision-making where wardrobe was concerned was far too rooted in Texas living, because, suddenly, her dress, tights, and winter boots felt about as appropriate as a bikini. The cold cut a path up her skirt and chilled her to the bone. One didn’t dress to impress a date in this weather. One dressed to stay warm. An old lesson she was relearning the hard way.

Protectively, Cole pulled her close, under his shoulder, so his big body blocked the wintry elements from attacking her, without concern for the absence of his coat, which he’d apparently left behind.

“You need your coat!” she yelled against the wind. The navy, long-sleeved tee and jeans he wore were barely enough to be called decent in these temperatures. The man must really want to avoid his brothers, but then, she had sisters, and could appreciate where he was coming from. She could love them and want to beat them within an inch of their lives, all in one beautiful, twisted moment.

Cole pointed to the far corner of the parking lot where a black pickup truck set in a secluded corner, one of the three vehicles parked in the rear of the building. “I’m over there.”

Holly nodded as a gust of wind darned near turned her to ice, and she eagerly melted farther under the shelter of Cole’s arm, which was draped around her shoulders. They couldn’t get to his truck fast enough to suit Holly, and when he clicked the lock and held the driver’s door open, she eagerly scooted inside. She couldn’t see through the ice and snow on the windows; they would need to defrost to travel. Holly barely had time to slide her purse to the floorboard, let alone contemplate seating arrangements, before Cole had closed them inside the cabin, started the truck, and cranked up the heat. The next thing she knew, he was reaching for her.

“Come here,” Cole ordered in a low, masculine voice that danced along her nerve endings almost as erotically as his muscular leg that was now aligned with hers. He opened her coat, merging their bodies beneath it. “I’ll keep you warm until the heater kicks into gear.” He grabbed her cold hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes locked with hers. “You’re freezing.” He covered her hand with his own to warm it.

Freezing? He thought she was freezing? Was he crazy? Holly was feeling the melting-butter effect he had on her all over again.

“You’re the one without the coat,” she managed hoarsely.

“I’ve lived in the cold all my life,” he replied, obviously assuming she had not. “I’m used to it. But then, you mentioned growing up here.”

She nodded. “Yes, but I’ve been in Texas a long time. I’d be in shorts right now if I were still there.”

He arched a brow. “Texas. That’s a long way from home.”

“Yes,” she said, biting back the urge to say more. He had said no thinking, no planning. And that felt right. It felt like the fantasy she’d burned for. “A long way from home.”

A penetrating stare followed—he sent her a deep probing look that said he was trying to read her and, indeed, had. She saw the moment he registered the reason she’d avoided giving out personal details—the moment he knew she sought anonymous pleasure. He showed no reaction to that conclusion, but she doubted he’d complain.

He began rubbing her hand again, warming it a second before he reached out and tested the air flowing from the vent. “It’s already getting warm.” He tilted it more in her direction. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Thank you. I feel it.” Or rather him. She felt him. And he was making her hot. He had a raw, masculine presence that oozed power and control. The kind that attorneys learned to convey in law school, yet Cole possessed the authority naturally, wore it like a second skin. She bit her bottom lip, her gaze dropping to where the fingers of her free hand splayed wide against the wall of his amazingly broad chest. Cole raised his hand and covered hers, holding her palm where it rested, as if he didn’t want her to stop touching him. His finger slid beneath her chin, lifting her eyes to his as he pinned her in a potent stare. The dull glow of a not-so-distant streetlight illuminated the dark passion in his eyes, and the sexual tension in the cabin suddenly grew thick, heavy, and delicious.