Page 85 of Big Dill

That works out great, because I like taking care of her.

“Next weekend,” I say. “We’re going to the cottage. I’m going to show you what it’s all about.”

She folds her arms, lips pursed in a dramatic pout. “Hmph. I don’t know about that.”

I laugh, but my eyes flick back to her, catching the tremor running through her. Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe it’s not. I tap the brakes gently as we ease down the icy driveway, headlights sweeping over snowbanks and dark trees, and kill the ignition.

“Well, I do.”

Jami is out of the truck before I can even shift into park.

“What’s your hurry?” I call, scrambling after her, boots slipping slightly on the packed snow as I race to catch up.

“Cold.”

“Seems like you’re trying to get away from me.” I step ahead of her, swinging the door wide.

“Who wants to be around a guy who’s always telling them what to do?”

I don’t answer. Inside the house, I kick the door shut behind us, and before she can bolt, my fingers grip the front of her coat. I pull her close, and the world narrows to the heat of her body, the sharp scent of winter clinging to her hair. My lips hover over hers, a breath away.

“You,” I murmur. “You’ve had a rough go, and there’s a freedom in letting me take control.”

“Wrong.” She scoffs, but it’s full of arousal. “I can’t wait to get my own place.”

I don’t let her go. She exhales, surrendering, abandoning the pretense that she doesn’t want this. My gaze roams over her face, memorizing the curve of her jaw, the tilt of her lips. “Oh, Little Birdie…do you have any idea how much I wanted you alone tonight, to devour that smart mouth of yours, to kiss you?”

“Brody. What about…Jaxon?” she asks.

“He’s not here,” I remind her. I brush the back of my knuckles over her cold cheek.

“Yet.”

“We’d hear the vehicle outside.” My gaze roams over her face. “I’m just talking about kissing, but if you want me to stop.”

“I don’t,” she shoots back quickly, breathlessly.

I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “It’s the first night we’ve had this place to ourselves. What else do you think we should do about that?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“But we’re not going to do nothing, are we?” she murmurs.

“No, babe. We’re not going to do nothing.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Everything.”

She nods, giving herself over. “I don’t think we have a say in it,” she breathes out, zero fight left in her.

Her eyes flutter shut. When they open again, I’m on her, lips pressing hard, claiming, devouring, reacquainting myself with her softness. It’s reckless, intoxicating, so impossibly wrong, and yet it feels inevitable.

I back her against the door, pressing in, kissing Liam out of her brain and letting her know in no uncertain terms that she’s mine, at least for tonight, and possibly on the weekend at the cottage.

I yank down her hood, rip off her hat, and run my fingers through her hair. She tangles her hands in mine, tugging at my zipper. I find hers, pulling it down, sliding my hands beneath her sweater. Her shiver is electric, a lightning bolt against my chest as my cold hands touch warm skin. I deepen the kiss and for a moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist. Then, somewhere in the distance, or perhaps it’s near, I hear an insistent sound that pierces the haze.