Snowed In with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 1)

by Sylvia Pierce

  “Come in,” she said. “I can’t hear you.”

  He opened the door and stuck his head in, not trusting himself to go any further than that. “I don’t know which bag is what.”

  “The shoulder bag is the small squishy one with the thick strap,” she said. “Inside, there should be a smaller toiletry bag.”

  Christ, why do chicks always carry so much shit? He tried to imagine her on assignment in some BFE shithole. She’d need a heard of elephants to transport all this crap. It weighed more than she did.

  “I see a leopard-looking thing, a clear thing with more clear things inside, and a green thing with a black zipper,” he said.

  “It’s the green one,” she said. “Just leave it on the counter for me.”

  “I’m standing right here, Georgie. I’ll pass you the damn conditioner. Just tell me what it looks like.”

  “Don’t! I mean, it’s fine.” She popped her head out from behind the curtain again, her skin glowing pink. She looked so fresh-faced and innocent, Ronan felt like he was corrupting her, just being in the same room as that pure, naked flesh. “Just leave it. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Whatever.” Ronan dropped the bag on the counter, torn between wanting to throttle her and wishing like hell she’d invite him in there with her.

  If things kept on like this, he’d have blue balls until New Year’s. Assuming he still had his balls. He couldn’t tell anymore.

  “Ronan?” She poked her face out one last time. “Thank you. That was really sweet of you.”

  Ronan nodded, all the air leaking out of his lungs. “Anytime, Cupcake.”

  Guess we solved that fucking mystery, you pansy-ass, no-balls-havin’ pussy.

  CHAPTER 7

  Wrapped up in a fluffy white towel, Georgie rummaged through the toiletry bag for her pills, double-checking each label to make sure she got the dosage right. This particular cocktail was a new combination, and she was still getting used to them, but they were the best ones yet. No mood swings, no tremors, only a tiny bit of nausea when she didn’t eat enough. And best of all, no chipmunk face.

  She lined them all up in her hand, counted them once more to be sure, and then swallowed them down with a handful of water from the sink, one pill at a time. She was only off by an hour or so—she should be okay—but still. She couldn’t afford to lose track like that again. What if she’d completely forgotten about them tonight? What if Ronan hadn’t been able to get back into the car with all that snow?

  Georgie fisted her locket, sending up another ginormous thank you. She’d already had so many near-misses and second chances in life, she wasn’t sure how many she had left.

  Don’t think like that. You’re doing fine. Totally fine.

  She capped the bottles and zipped everything into her toiletry bag.

  Normally she would’ve taken the time to dry and flat-iron her hair, maybe dab on some lip gloss, but she wanted to get back downstairs to see if the phones were working yet so she could call her family and at least let them know she was in town.

  Yeah, girl. That’s the reason you want to get downstairs. It has nothing to do with that sexy, tough-as-nails bad boy waiting for you in the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron and an oven mitt…

  Georgie laughed. Ronan was not the apron-wearing type. And he most certainly wasn’t down there waiting for her. If anything, he was probably hiding, afraid she’d talk him to death, or worse—send him outside again.

  I can’t believe he went out there and got all my bags.

  She couldn’t figure out his deal. One minute he was a gruff and hot-tempered jerk, and the next, he was the sweetest freaking guy she’d ever met.

  Well, maybe sweet wasn’t the right word. He’d definitely surprised her with moments of kindness and generosity, and despite his gruffness, she felt completely at ease around him, even naked and vulnerable in the shower. But there was something dangerous about Ronan, too—a restlessness that simmered just beneath the surface, calling out to the same restlessness inside her. The feeling seemed to be intensifying the longer she spent in his presence.

  He’d sensed it, too—whatever “it” was. He’d probably never admit it, but Georgie could tell by the way he watched her, the way his eyes smoldered with barely-contained passion, desperate for some kind of outlet.

  Georgie wanted to get to know him.

  She wanted to touch him.

  She wanted, she realized, to be utterly taken by him… and that thought shocked her. Sure, she’d always had her little crushes and fantasies, ready to be conjured in her mind whenever her bed in New York felt a little too cold and lonely. But Georgie had never felt such an intense physical pull toward a man—toward a total stranger—especially not one whose default setting seemed to be Raging Jackass.

  Her whole body had nearly burst into flames when he’d touched her face, smoothing away her tears.

  Georgie hung her towel on the door hook and stood naked before the steamed-up mirror, her reflection a blur as she ran her hands down the front of her body. The briefest vision of Ronan’s rough, calloused fingers on her porcelain-smooth skin was enough to flood her with hot, molten desire.

  Her thoughts were suddenly overrun with him: Ronan, gliding his hands along her curves. Ronan, pressing his hot mouth to her collarbone, to her breast, to her nipple. Ronan, roughly parting her thighs and taking everything she had to offer.

  I bet he’s as demanding in the bedroom as he is out of it…

  She’d had a steady boyfriend in college—her first and only lover—but he’d always treated her like a glass doll, so certain she’d break, even on her healthiest days. No matter how often they’d had sex, no matter how many times Georgie had tried to convince him that she could handle it, it never moved beyond average. Decent. Comfortable.

  Ronan Steel? That man didn’t know the meaning of comfortable. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, the cocky attitude, the rock-hard body… everything about him was aggressive, commanding, and hot as hell.

  And Georgie freaking wanted him.

  She was this close to calling his name… but no. She couldn’t. Guys like Ronan came with a warning label so big and obvious it could be read from outer space, and she’d seen too many of her friends go up in flames for ignoring those warnings.

  Bad idea. Very bad idea.

  Georgie would not go down that road to heartache. She needed to get dressed. Pronto.

  She slipped into her bra and panties, then tugged on her yoga pants and a thermal shirt with three small buttons at the top, which she fastened all the way up to her neck.

  When she got back downstairs, fresh and clean and ready to forget about her momentary lapse in judgment, she was greeted with a sight even more shocking than her apron-and-oven-mitt fantasy.

  Ronan was cooking Christmas dinner.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I t smells amazing in here,” Georgie said, joining Ronan and Bella in the kitchen. There was a beet-and-orange salad already on the table, along with bottled waters and a fresh mug of coffee. He must’ve just made it for her.

  Bella wagged her tail in greeting.

  Ronan was at the sink, a yellow-and-white checkered dishtowel draped over his shoulder, his back to her as he drained a pot of cooked pasta. Georgie took a second to admire the view, dragging her eyes across his broad shoulders and down his back, the curves of his muscles well-defined even underneath his gray hoodie. He had the sleeves pushed up, revealing his tattooed forearms, thick and muscular and perfect for pinning her down…

  Pull yourself together, train wreck!

  “So, you know how to cook?” she asked brightly.

  “Nah, but since I gave the head chef the week off, you’re outta luck.” He turned to look at her over his shoulder, his smirk changing into a real smile when he saw her—probably the first real one he’d offered up all night. It felt like a Christmas present.

  Georgie’s heart fluttered. It actually fluttered.

  “I thought you lived on Soldi
er Fuel bars,” she said, massaging her chest.

  “Only in combat situations.” He set the pot back on the stove and checked on something that sizzled on another burner. “For instance, when I’m too hungover to go shopping.”

  “Guess I showed up on the right day, then.” Georgie gathered her hair into one hand and leaned over the stove to investigate. “What is all this?”

  “I know you’re allergic to a bunch of shit, so I kept it pretty basic. Fusilli. Sautéed spinach and mushrooms. Alfredo.” He lifted a wooden spoon to his lips and sampled the sauce, letting out a satisfied moan that made Georgie’s mouth water—and not from the succulent aroma filling up the kitchen. “Here. Tell me what you think.”

  Cupping his hand beneath her chin, Ronan tipped the spoon into her mouth, watching intently as she licked the excess from her lips and swallowed. It was so rich and creamy that one taste had her stomach grumbling in anticipation.

  “You made that from scratch?” she asked.

  “Hey, I don’t fuck around when it comes to Alfredo.” He released her chin and dipped the spoon back into the pot, taking another sample for himself. “Think it needs more salt?”

  “Nope. It’s perfect.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He smacked his lips together and set the spoon on a small dish off to the side, wiping his hands on the towel. “Have a seat. Sauce needs to simmer five more minutes, and then I just need to add the spinach in with the mushrooms and we’re good to go.”

  Bella followed Georgie to the table, her nails clicking on the hardwood floor. The moment Georgie sat down, Bella put her head in her lap.

  “Hey!” Ronan snapped his fingers and pointed at the dog. “We talked about this, Bells. You don’t put your head in a woman’s lap without an invitation.”

  “Aww, she’s fine.” Georgie scratched behind her ears until the dog was putty in her hands. Bella’s infinite affection reminded her of her old canine companion, Turkey. “Aren’t you, baby? What’s a nice girl like you doing with a creep like Ronan, anyway?”

  The grunt that passed for Ronan’s laugh erupted from the other side of the kitchen, but before he could retaliate with one of his smart-ass comments, the lights flickered.

  “Oh shit,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “Nothing good.”

  “Don’t you have a generator?”

  “Yep. But it’s—”

  There was a popping sound, then everything went black.

  “Broke,” he finished. “I’m waiting on a part. Fuck.”

  Georgie sighed. “Does this mean Soldier Fuel is back on the menu?”

  “Not a chance, Cupcake.” Ronan turned off the electric burners and covered the pots. “You’re getting a proper Christmas dinner tonight. We’ll just improvise.”

  Undeterred by the setback, he rummaged around in the pantry for a bunch of outdoor gear—three small metal camping stoves, lightweight pots, fuel canisters, half a dozen emergency candles, a lantern, and a box of matches.

  Georgie lit everything up, then watched closely as Ronan transferred the Alfredo into two smaller pots, hooked up the stoves to the fuel, and set the flames to simmer. He dumped the mushrooms into a third pot and instructed her to keep stirring while he added fresh spinach, a handful at a time.

  “Wow.” Georgie was beyond impressed. If this had happened at her place, they’d be going out for takeout. “So you’re a prepper, obviously.”

  Ronan scoffed. “Nothing wrong with being prepared for an emergency.”

  “Says the man who let his generator die in the middle of winter.”

  “Oh, that’s pretty rich, coming from a girl who treks through the high country dressed like an elf hooker.”

  “Oh my God! Rude!” Georgie smacked him on the arm, letting her hand linger a little longer than necessary. His thick muscles undulated beneath her fingertips.

  Ronan caught her gaze and held it, his flint-gray eyes sparking dangerously in the candlelight. Heat pooled low in her belly, just waiting for a single spark to ignite a raging inferno.

  Kiss me. Drop everything else and kiss me, right now, before I spontaneously combust…

  “Better sit down,” he said, his deep, gruff voice intimate in the soft light. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Georgie removed her hand. Whatever moment had passed between them was gone again, leaving a still-simmering tension in the air that did nothing to cool Georgie’s rapidly overheating insides, but she obeyed anyway.

  “Sorry there ain’t a dish in the shape of a tree,” Ronan said, rolling his eyes, “but hopefully the food still tastes good.“

  He put everything into serving bowls and loaded up the table with a feast fit for kings and queens. Tree dish or not, Georgie was suddenly starving. She couldn’t wait to dive in.

  From an unlabeled bottle on the counter, Ronan poured himself a glass of dark, amber liquid. “You good with water and coffee, or you want something that’ll put a little hair on your chest?”

  Georgie shook her head. “I don’t need hair on my chest. And I thought you weren’t keen on sharing?”

  “It’s Christmas. I’ll make an exception.”

  “Thanks anyway. I don’t drink.”

  “Ever?” Ronan raised an eyebrow, but Georgie wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.

  “This looks amazing, Ronan.” She reached for the beet salad, and spooned a pile of it onto her plate. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, well.” Ronan sat down next to her. “Gotta eat, right? Don’t get sentimental on me.”

  “Oh, I won’t get sentimental on you. I won’t even get sentimental near you. I hear sentimentality is highly contagious.”

  Ronan tried to shoot her a tough-guy glare, but he couldn’t even keep a straight face. He pointed at her with his fork. “Just pass me that salad and don’t get cute.”

  After the salads, they each served up heaping portions of the main course, eating in companionable silence while Bella paced behind them in search of scraps. As the wind howled against the windows, the fire in the living room crackled and popped, making Georgie happy and cozy in a way she hadn’t thought possible just a handful of hours earlier.

  Despite his best efforts to be a total Grinch, Ronan had given her a decent Christmas dinner after all.

  She reached over and squeezed his fingers. He flinched at the touch, but didn’t pull away, and Georgie left her hand there, not quite ready to let go.

  “What’s up?” He slid his thumb across her knuckles, a tiny gesture that made her shiver. “You’ve gone quiet on me again.”

  “That’s because I’m eating. Stick something in my mouth, it’ll shut me right up.”

  Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

  “I didn’t mean… oh my God. Anyway.” Georgie pulled her hand away and lowered her eyes to her plate, her cheeks on fire. “Everything was delicious. Thank you, Ronan. Your filthy mind aside, you actually made my Christmas Eve not so sucky.”

  He laughed, loud and long, a sound that she wanted to capture and bottle for the next stormy night, a time when she’d be long gone from this place. From him.

  “Hey, I aim to please, Cupcake.”

  Georgie met his gaze as he raised his glass in salute, and sipped his whiskey. When he lowered the glass again, he was watching her with a look she couldn’t decipher, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

  “What?” she asked shyly.

  Ronan reached forward and tugged on one of her corkscrew curls, pulling it straight, then releasing it like a spring. “Your hair is mad curly.”

  “I know. I usually straighten it, but—”

  “What? Fuck that.” He looped another lock around his finger, his knuckle brushing her cheek. “I like it like this.”

  Warmth spread across her chest. “What else do you like?”

  Ronan laughed. “Um…”

  She rushed to clarify. “I mean, like, what else do you enjoy doing. For fun. Or work. Or whatever. You know what I mean.
Does everything have to be about sex with you?”

  Oh my God, stop talking. Stop talking right now.

  “Please go on.” A wicked grin lit up Ronan’s face. “What were you saying about sex with me?” He gave her curls another playful tug, then sat back, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.

  “I’m just trying to make conversation,” she said. “Like regular people. You know, you tell me about you, I reciprocate, we progress from total strangers to… slightly less strange?”

  Ronan took another sip of his whiskey, pressed his lips together, then sighed through his nose. “I’m not that interesting. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  She looked around the cabin, taking in the open floor plan, the timber-framed architecture, the hardwood floors, the plush area rugs, the custom-built stone fireplace, the security TVs mounted in the kitchen. “Pretty sweet setup you’ve got here for such a boring guy. What do you do for a living?”

  “Mostly I sit around all day and scratch my balls. Watch a little porn. Drink myself into a stupor. Good times.”

  “They pay you for that?”

  “Not anymore.” He flashed his trademarked Ronan smirk. “I’m retired.”

  Georgie narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her coffee mug. “Yeah, right. What are you, thirty-two?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “What kind of work lets you retire that young?”

  “Eh, this and that.”

  “Sounds like code for something shady.”

  Ronan grabbed her fork and speared a lonely mushroom from her plate, lifting it to her lips. “It’s code for shut your mouth and finish your dinner before I spank you and send you to bed early.”

  Holy hell. Georgie’s stomach dropped to the floor, her thighs clenching together. The thought of Ronan spanking her sent shivers up her spine, creeping across her scalp. It felt naughty. Forbidden.

  Hot.

  The way he stared at her mouth as she chewed wasn’t helping matters.

  She swallowed and grabbed her water, chasing down the mushroom with a big gulp.

  “You’re turn.” Ronan set down the fork and tipped back in his chair, leaning against the counter behind him. “Based on the sheer amount of crap you packed into that car, I’m guessing you don’t live close by. Or you’re even more high maintenance than I thought.”