Snow Job by Tara Wyatt (best classic books to read TXT) 📕

flames. At least he knew what she really thought of him. Someone not worthy of her time, of her. Someone who’d made such a mess out of his own life that she didn’t want him to touch hers. Someone who was a slave to his vices.

His emotions—the relief that Kayla was safe, the sting of her rejection, his lust—they all sat like a rock right in the center of his chest, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. So instead, he focused on what was immediately in front of him.

He turned and faced Kayla in the chair, kneeling in front of her. “Let’s get these boots off and see what we’re working with,” he said, pulling off first the right and then, much more carefully, the left. She sucked in a sharp breath as he gingerly probed her ankle.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he said after a moment. “Probably just a sprain. Stay here.”

She nodded, relaxing against the back of the chair before sitting up suddenly. “So, are you going to radio someone to come take me back to the resort?”

He grunted and shook his head, pointing out the window. They were in the middle of a full-on blizzard. “You’re safer staying here.”

“Oh.” She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the only double bed in the space. “Oh. Well, I guess I can sleep on the couch, and—”

“Kayla, you’re not sleeping on the couch. Obviously.” He retrieved the first aid kit and pulled out a tensor bandage. Then he made his way into the kitchen, retrieving an ice pack from the freezer.

“Why is that obvious?” she asked as he knelt down in front of her again, gasping softly when he gently pressed the ice pack to her swelling ankle. He cradled her calf, his fingers curling into the tense muscle there.

He squinted up at her. “You really think I’d make an injured woman take the couch?”

“I don’t know. I’m starting to think that I don’t really know you very well at all.”

“That makes two of us.” He pushed to his feet. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes, and keep your ankle elevated. I’ll wrap it when I get out of the shower.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded. “Okay. And Sebastian?”

He turned, his hands on his hips. “Yeah?”

“Thank you, again. I would’ve frozen out there.”

He nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

Kayla watched Sebastian retreat into the small bathroom at the rear of the cabin, limping slightly as he went, the back of his Henley damp with sweat. Because he’d carried her, half a mile through a snowstorm. And then she’d basically accused him of being a pill popper. Between her rejection of his request for a date and now this, it was no wonder he was being gruff and distant with her.

She shifted in the armchair, adjusting the ice pack on her ankle as she looked around the cozy cabin. It was nice—a little rustic, but perfectly comfortable.

Minus the whole bed, situation, anyway. She wasn’t going to take his bed tonight. And not just because she wasn’t sure how she’d manage to sleep on sheets that smelled like him and not crawl out of her skin with wanting him. He’d come looking for her in the snowstorm and then rescued her. The man deserved a comfortable bed tonight.

She heard the creak of the pipes followed by the patter of water and she couldn’t seem to help herself from imagining Sebastian in there, water running in rivulets down what she was sure was an impressive chest. She made a soft humming noise in the back of her throat as she pictured it, and then closed her eyes, resting her head on the back of the armchair.

She’d never been so mixed up over something in her life. She wanted him, but she wasn’t even sure if she liked him. She was pretty sure she wasn’t interested in dating him, but Willa had made a good point earlier, hammered home by her unfairly judgy comment: how much did she really know about him? She knew he’d been a crappy boss, but she didn’t really know what had been going on in his life to cause that. She knew scraps of information about him, all of it second hand. She knew he’d tried to get her fired because he’d overheard her talking to Patrick.

She opened her eyes, realization dawning on her. Sebastian Prescott was a lot more sensitive than he wanted people to believe. He felt things deeply, got hurt easily. His emotions were always right there, just beneath the surface. She mulled that over as the warmth of the fire started to seep into her bones, relaxing her despite the throb in her ankle.

Looking out the window, she couldn’t see much at all. Night had fallen and the ghostly reflection of Sebastian’s living room took up most of the glass. But she could hear the wind pushing against the cabin and rattling the windows. She definitely wasn’t going anywhere tonight—not with the storm raging and her ankle a swollen mess. Licking her lips, she glanced back at Sebastian’s bed, her stomach dipping as she wondered—

The door to the bathroom opened, steam billowing out through the doorway. Sebastian stepped out, a white towel knotted around his hips, his chest still slick with water, his hair damp.

Oh. Holy. Hell.

She’d been totally wrong about his chest. She’d thought it was probably impressive, but impressive fell far short of describing the sight in front of her. His thick arms were sculpted and roped with hard muscle. His pecs were gorgeously defined and covered in a light dusting of dark brown chest hair that arrowed down over a mouthwateringly hard stomach, each of his abs delineated. She wanted to bite him. Lick him. Feel all of that muscle, all of that skin against hers.

“Holy shit,” she said, then immediately pressed her fingers to her mouth because she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. For a second, he just held her eyes, his big hand fisted in