never acted around others, and had been silent so long that the thought of speaking made her uncomfortable. There was too much pressure on her now, as if whatever she said would have to be incredible or inspiring given how long she had been silent.
Her gaze tracked him against her orders and she fell into drinking her fill of him. She was sure everything he was doing; it was done on purpose. He was trying to get her to look at him.
So far, he had removed his shirt and washed up in the sink, drying himself off with a small towel as he had been looking at her. His smile had been a little too satisfied when she hadn’t been able to drag her eyes away from his chest, so she had flashed him her middle finger.
In response to that, he had dampened his hair, had grabbed a mirror and some scissors, and had taken to cutting his hair and trimming his beard.
Holly stared at the fire, trying to come up with a plan to escape and failing dismally as her focus drifted back to the mountain of a man just a few feet from her. He was humming a tune now.
“You want a drink?” His deep baritone rolled over her and through her, heating her blood.
“No.” She made the mistake of looking at him.
That heat became an inferno and she cursed him for trimming his beard down to a short layer of scruff and taming his wild brown hair.
He was too handsome.
It was a little disarming.
Actually, it wasn’t just a little disarming. She had been fighting softening towards him and now he had made it harder than ever to hold on to her anger. He was transforming before her eyes, becoming so different to the male who had snatched her.
Holly clenched her fists in her lap.
He had snatched her.
She was his captive.
That was enough to have her heart hardening again, to have her walls coming back up. He could be handsome all he wanted, could smile and be kind to her, but it didn’t change the fact he had kidnapped her to hurt her friends and that he showed no sign of releasing her.
“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