Ellis gets a shock when he arrives at his annual writing retreat to find a half-naked stranger dancing in his living room. Matteo is hot and impulsive, and just the sort of man Ellis needs. The heat between them is scorching from the moment they set eyes on each other, with Ellis planning to play for keeps.
There's only one bed at the cosy winter cabin and a snowstorm brewing outside. Is it love at first sight?
For a moment we had a stare-out competition, then I said, “You’re not having the bed.”
“I am,” he shot back.
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
I charged out of the lounge and headed for the stairs in some ridiculous attempt to stake my claim on the bed before he could get his hands, or his body, on it. I hesitated at my suitcase and realised there was no way I could drag it upstairs before he stopped me, so I left it there, cursing myself for bringing so much with me. He followed as I darted upstairs, arriving panting at the bedroom where I intended to throw myself on the sole bed in the only bedroom and refuse to move.
Instead, a big suitcase squatted there wide open on the middle of the mattress. With a growl, I grabbed it by both sides and dragged it off.
“What the hell, dude?” he demanded and I ignored him, yanking the suitcase across the room, shedding clothes and toiletries as I made for the door. “You can’t ... get the hell off ...” He made a grab for the case and we tangled in the doorway, the luggage flapping open, shirts and socks and underwear hanging out and being trampled by us. He slapped at my hands. “Stop! Stop!”
I didn’t stop. We were nearly nose to nose, the suitcase between us, one floppy open side each. He was taller than me, maybe a couple of inches, and stronger, too, but my fury gave me the upper edge. I managed to turn him around in the doorway, then I was out, heading for the stairs with my half of the suitcase, most of the stuff already dumped out of it.
He swore and growled at me. I ignored him, apart from the heat of his nearly naked body. I noticed that almost too well. I launched the suitcase down the stairs, nearly taking him with it. It crashed into the wall, then bumped and bounded to the bottom, knocking over an occasional table and smashing a vase, leaving a trail of clothes on each step.
We stood staring down, both of us panting. “Mature,” he said. “Real mature. You’re paying the damages.”
I said nothing. I stalked into the bedroom and slammed the door on him. Then I threw myself onto the bed, my chest heaving. As I lay there, I started to worry that he would barge in, drag me out bodily and throw me downstairs, then out into the snow. He had looked mad enough to. Instead, I heard him outside, muttering. “Great. Just great.” He raised his voice and it trailed off as he went downstairs. “I’m going to drink wine. Then I’m going to throw you and your luggage out of the house.”
I launched myself off the bed and yanked open the door. “You’re not drinking my wine!” I screeched.
“Are you going to stop me?” he tossed back, already somewhere downstairs.
I slipped and slid on items of his clothing as I charged down and found him in the cabin's spacious kitchen, pulling the bottle of crisp white I had been fantasizing about from the fridge. I watched him in disbelief as he popped the cork, tipped the bottle to his mouth and gulped.
