The Snuggle Is Real

He stands, his cock solid, and my memories of the night return. Making love several times, laughing and exploring, learning one another’s bodies like they are road maps leading us both home.

“I worked up an appetite. Can I make you breakfast?”

I nod, wrapping a blanket around me. “Sounds perfect. I can make the coffee.”

“And I’ll make the French toast.” He finds some sweats in his luggage and pulls them on, and I admit with the low-slung waistband, he looks just as good as he did naked. “Why are you staring?” he asks with a grin.

“I can’t help myself, you’re so handsome, Whitaker. I can’t believe you’re single.”

He frowns, walking toward the bathroom. “I’m not.”

My heart stops. “What?” I ask, frozen.

He turns, giving me a smile. “I thought I was taken. I’m with you now, aren’t I?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. “You scared me.”

He walks toward me, squeezing my ass. “Don’t you worry. I told you, I got you.”

I smile tightly, wondering if he’d feel the same if he knew the whole truth. The money I stole means trouble is coming for me. And if he’s by my side, it means it’s coming for him too.

We make breakfast together and Whitaker finds an old tray in a cupboard, placing the steaming cups of coffee spiked with whiskey on it. I carry the plates of French toast to the coffee table, ready to dig into the slices covered in bourbon maple syrup.

“For being a stranger, I sure do like spending this holiday with you,” I say, taking a bite. We sit on the couch, snuggled close.

He lifts an eyebrow as he takes a drink of coffee. “We’re not strangers anymore, Cozy.”

I nod, wanting to believe him. But when has a man ever been this good?

“What’s that under the tree?” he asks.

I smile, walking over and taking the wrapped package in my hand. “It’s your Christmas present,” I say with a wink.

He laughs. “But you didn’t even know I was gonna be here.”

“True, but I made this and thought the tree looked lonely, so I wrapped it up anyways. It’s actually perfect for you.”

“Is that so?” he asks, unwrapping the gift. He pulls out the thick knitted scarf, the forest green and cream colors perfect for him. “You made this?”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, blushing. “Yeah. I found the yarn in a closet.”

He wraps it around his neck. “It is special that you made it, but even more special that it was with yarn from my grandma.”

“You won’t hold it against me? That I stole yarn too?”

Whitaker’s eyes narrow and he takes my hands in his. “Stop, Cozy. Stop trying to pretend what is happening between the two of us doesn’t matter. I think it was fate that you ended up here. And it’s not the boozy coffee talking. It’s the truth.”

Tears prick my eyes and I’m about to say something more, but then there is banging knock on the door. Loud. We must have been so caught up in the moment that we didn’t hear someone pull up the driveway.

“That’s odd,” Whitaker says, standing. He walks over to the door without a fear in the world. He is not like me. He doesn’t live with constant fear and threats — he believes that the world is a safe place. I hate that I’m the one changing that for him.

“Careful Whit,” I say, my voice catching, fear in my heart. I’m not ready for this fantasy to end.

But he’s already opened the door. It’s Max and Joe.

And they are both holding guns, pointing them straight at us.Chapter ElevenWhitakerHer scream breaks my heart.

And I will not stand for these men threatening her. Not now, not ever.

“There you are,” one of them sneers. “You know how long it took for us to track you down?”

Cozy has her hands in the air, tears running down her cheeks. I don’t have a gun, or any other weapon in the cabin, but I grab the axe hanging on the wall.

“Max,” she begs. “Don’t hurt him. Please.”

The man with a goatee sneers, walking toward her and side-eying me. “What, you think you’re gonna chop me up, big shit?”

The other man laughs. He has a big belly and he keeps sucking his teeth. “Yeah, we know who you are, Whitaker Lancaster. We know about your company.”

I tense, walking toward Cozy, standing in front of her as Max walks closer with the gun pointed at my gut.

“Where is the money, Cozette?” Max seethes. “Because we know you took it.”

“I … I don’t have it…” she says shakily. “Joe,” she says looking at the other man. “You have to believe me. I’ve never lied to you.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have it? I have a goddamn video camera next to the safe, and we saw you take the cash before you left. You stupid little slut.”