Ashlyn chugged the last of her strawberries-and-cream Frappuccino and tossed the cup to the floorboard like a badass, then thought better of dripping on the rental, picked it up, set it carefully back in the cup holder, and shoved the door open with the heel of her snow boot. “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”
She marched right up to the biggest cabin, the one that said 1010 on the house number, and took the porch stairs two at a time. She puffed her chest up and reared her hand back to blast her knuckles on the wooden door.
“I wouldn’t,” a man said.
Startled nearly to death, Ashlyn jumped back from the door and clutched her chest.
The man was one of the beasts from the picture Blaire had sent. The big one. He stood—and stood and stood—so that Ashlyn’s head rolled back to take in his massive size. He wore a black T-shirt as if the cold didn’t bother him and black sweats. He held a black cup of something hot in his hand and wore a black winter hat over what looked like blond hair. His eyes were a vivid, light blue, and his jaw was chiseled and dusted with short, blond facial hair. He was sexy as fuck if she ignored the deep frown on his face.
Ashlyn gulped. “I’m here to rescue my friend.”
The man canted his head in a way that reminded her of a curious animal. His eyes, however, didn’t look curious at all. They looked angry. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Taken aback, Ashlyn looked down at her bright pink jacket and matching pink ski pants. Was he referring to her leopard print snow boots? Those were just as hot as the rest of her fitted outfit.
“Rude,” she said curtly. “What the fuck are you wearing, Johnny Cash?” The man’s mouth fell open and his frown deepened, but before he could respond, she held up her hand primly. “No matter. Where’s Blaire? We have a flight to catch.”
The man snorted. “Blaire isn’t getting on any flight, so why don’t you take your blinding outfit and your attitude back to your wildly-inappropriate car for this weather and leave.”
“It’s a smart car! I get like four hundred miles to the gallon!”
“It’s a matchbox car, and the tires are nearly bald. Try not to die on your way to the airport,” he growled as he strode past her.
Fury blasted through her as he walked by, and losing her mind completely, she grabbed the belt of his pants and held on as he dragged her a few feet across the icy porch.
“No,” he ground out. “No touching.”
Nausea rolled through her stomach, and suddenly her hands hurt so bad, she lost her grip.
His eyes looked lighter when he turned around. God, he had a lot of muscles poking out of his shirt. And tattoos. Was she going to barf in front of him? Ashlyn wrapped her arms around her stomach and swayed on her feet. Maybe it was the ten packages of airplane biscotti cookies she’d stolen from the flight attendant’s cart when she wasn’t looking. Perhaps karma was now giving her food poisoning.
“Sorry,” the man muttered.
“Sorry for what?” she asked. “I probably shouldn’t have grabbed your…butt.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Blaire’s not here. She’s in town with the others. Won’t be back until late.”
He turned and opened his door, then let himself into the dark room. He really wasn’t going to invite her in! Ashlyn dashed into the door opening, and then sighed in relief when she made it all the way in before the sexy giant got it closed. Victory.
“What are you doing?” the man asked in an exasperated tone.
“Whoo, it’s dark in here. I can’t see anything.”
“I can. Now get out.” The door opened again.
“Polite decline. Do you have hot chocolate? I’m cold.”
“Do you have no sense of self-preservation at all?” he asked.
“I don’t know what that means, but I’m super thirsty for something hot and sweet, and if Blaire is going to take forever in town, I want to wait inside here, where it’s warm, instead of my”—she deepened her voice to make fun of him—“wildly inappropriate car.”
The man let off a long, harsh sigh that tapered into a weird sound that was slightly scary. He slammed the door so hard, she jumped. The hollow sound of his boots against the wood floors told her he was walking away. Seriously? He really wasn’t going to turn on the lights?
“It’s still dark in here.”
“I like the dark. If you have a problem with it, fix it.”
“God, you’re so rude,” she muttered as she felt along the wall for a switch.
“I’m rude? You barged in here and demanded hot chocolate.”
“Because I could tell you weren’t going to offer!”
“Because I didn’t invite you in!”
“My name is Ashlyn,” she introduced herself angrily.
No answer, but she could make out the tinkling sound of a ceramic mug.
Her fingers fumbled around for a minute before they slid onto a light switch. Score. She flipped it on and winced at the bright illumination.
There was a stone hearth built with rocks of all different shapes and sizes, but it wasn’t against a wall. There were stone steps leading up behind it to a hallway, probably where the bedrooms of the house were. There were scuffed wood floors and log walls and a cute kitchen off the living area. On the back wall were a pair of French doors that showed the snowy landscape of the backyard.
“Whoa,” she whispered in awe, stepping carefully into the big room.