A Snowbound Scandal

Mimi had never been ambivalent or calloused to the needs of others. No matter how badly they’d treated her in the past.

“Tell me more about what you do,” he said, turning to lift the lids of the containers.

“What I do?”

“Yes.” Even cool, the food was an inviting array of holiday fragrances. Thyme and sage and butter.

“Um. Okay. I’m the director of student affairs for the Montana Conservation Society. I work mostly with teenagers, but I’ve also spearheaded a recent and very important recycling campaign with a local apartment complex.”

He punched the buttons on the microwave—first removing a small plastic container of cranberry sauce thoughtfully included “on the side.”

“One of many,” Mimi added.

“You’re as passionate as I remember.” He pulled two forks from a drawer and laid them on the island.

“Is that a nice way of saying I’m misguided?”

“Not at all. The world needs more advocates like you.”

Her mouth was frozen in a half gape, like she was shocked he’d paid her a compliment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stood on opposite sides of the island—what a metaphor for how they’d left things—in silence as the remainder of the seconds ticked down on the microwave before it beeped. He set the containers between him and Mimi, grabbed an open bottle of wine and two glasses and poured himself one.

She placed a finger on the neck of the bottle when he tipped it toward her glass. “I’m leaving.”

“I can’t let you do that.” He poured the wine anyway and set the glass in front of her. She frowned. He offered her a fork. She shook her head.

“I ate already. This is for you.”

Chase locked eyes with the woman who used to love him, with the woman he’d nearly loved more than his own common sense. “Thank you.”

He dug in, scooping a bite of turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing, dunking the fork into the cranberry sauce before closing his eyes and savoring the flavors of a slow-cooked, took-all-day-to-make meal. Before he meant to, he moaned his approval.

Without another glance in her direction, he unapologetically took another big bite.

Six (#u01f7f579-cf9e-5b56-aee2-a5b84aa7aafc)

Watching Chase eat bordered on pornographic.

Or maybe Miriam didn’t get out much. She rested her top teeth on her bottom lip and watched as he moaned around another bite. Her mouth watered, not for the food, but for him. Hearing those familiar moans reminded her of the time they’d spent together. Naked. No holds barred.

Not why you came here,she reminded herself sternly.

Yet here she stood, a woman who’d been literally naked before him, and was at this moment metaphorically naked before him. He’d figured out—before she’d admitted it to herself—that she’d come here not only to give him a piece of her mind but also to give herself the comfort of knowing he’d had a home-cooked meal on Thanksgiving.

With one masculine hand, he cradled the red wine, swirled the liquid in the glass and took a sip. She watched his throat work while he swallowed, her own going dry. It was an erotic scene to take in for a woman who was currently not having sex with anyone but herself.

She balled her fist as a flutter of desire took flight between her thighs. Now she wanted wine, dammit. And maybe to touch him. Just once.

He heartily ate another scoop of his food, then pushed her wine glass closer to her. An offer.

An offer she wouldn’t accept.

Couldn’t accept.

She wasn’t unlike Little Red Riding Hood, having run to the wrong house for shelter. Only in this case, the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t dining on Red’s beloved grandmother but Miriam’s family’s home cooking.

An insistent niggling warned her that she could be next—and hadn’t this particular “wolf” already consumed her heart?

“So, I’m going to go.” She’d risk her gas tank running dry before she stayed another minute and found herself trapped with him.

When she grabbed her coat and stood, a warm hand grasped her much cooler one. Chase’s fingers stroked hers before lightly squeezing, his eyes studying her for a long moment, his fork hovering over his unfinished dinner.