Page 6 of Curvy Cabin Fever

Fuck, I could just do with a nice glass of white wine.

But that would be incredibly stupid, considering I don’t know these men.

I bite my lip, weighing the risk against the way my nerves are crawling under my skin.

Damien sighs heavily, his elbows thudding on the table as he drops his head into his hands, his gaze darkening.

Maybe I’m being paranoid. Or maybe I just don’t want to be the girl who panics over a single drink.

I gulp. “Uh, sure, white please.”

Rhett nods and pours me a glass, his cologne dancing close to my nostrils.

God, he smells divine.

“This is incredible,” I say after my first bite of pasta, the rich flavors dancing on my tongue.

Morgan can definitely cook!

Morgan beams at the compliment, and I notice how his entire face transforms when he smiles—the intimidating exterior melting away to reveal someone softer.

“Finally, someone who appreciates good food,” he replies, shooting a pointed look at Damien.

“Hey, I appreciate food,” Damien protests, twirling pasta around his fork. “I just appreciate other things more.” His eyes lock with mine as he says this, and I nearly choke on my wine.

The wind howls louder, and suddenly the lights flicker again before plunging us into near darkness—if not for the soft glow of the fire. I gasp, my fork clattering against the plate.

“Don’t move,” Rhett’s calm voice instructs from the darkness. “The generator will kick in soon.”

I feel movement beside me, and then Damien’s warm breath is at my ear. “Scared of the dark?”

Before I can answer, the backup lights hum to life, casting a softer glow around us.

Damien is indeed leaning close—too close—and I catch a glimpse of something hungry in his expression as his knee brushes mine again, this time just a little too long.

My pulse spikes, and I hope like hell no one notices the heat in my cheeks. But of course, he does.

“You’re quite safe with me, pretty girl.”

My heart screeches to a halt, my mouth dropping open. He shakes his head at my reaction, digging back into his food like he hasn’t just ruined my panties with seven words. I stare at him, struggling to find my voice. “Is that so?”

I’m playing with fire, and the way Damien’s lips tug at the corners tells me he wants to play with me too.

Hot damn.

I yawn despite myself, rubbing at my arms.

Damien watches me, then stretches, his smirk widening. “Time for bed, sweetheart. You’re with me.”

I blink. “What?”

He shrugs, standing and stretching some more, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal the deep V of his hips. “You heard me. My bed. You’re sleeping in it. With me.”

Morgan gives me an encouraging nod. “It’s the best option. The couch isn’t great, and Rhett barely sleeps as it is.”

I glance at Rhett, but he doesn’t argue. That alone is enough to make my stomach tighten. I should say no. I should insist on the couch, or the floor, or literally anywhere else. But no one’s arguing with Damien, not even Morgan or Rhett. And the worst part?

I don’t actually want to argue either.

“You’ll be safe, Damien may not look it, but he’s a good guy.” Morgan grins as Damien rolls his eyes.

Can I sleep in bed next to a strange man? Even if he does make my core tighten and gives me butterflies…

This is crazy.

But…what other choice do I have?

I hesitate for only a moment before exhaling. “Okay.”

Damien grins like the cat that got the cream. “Good girl.”

I swallow at his words, pushing images of him whispering that in the dark as his tongue laps at my core…

“Well,” Morgan stands, collecting plates. “Welcome to Ridgehaven, Aria. Hope you’re ready for an interesting stay.” His grin is easy, teasing—like he’s in on some private joke.

I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. The way he says it makes me wonder if he means more than just the storm, and judging by the looks passing between these three mysterious men, I’m pretty sure he does.

Damien leads me down the hall, opening the door to a surprisingly neat room. A massive bed takes up most of the space, the sheets dark and inviting.

Am I really doing this?

“Relax,” Damien murmurs as I hover near the door. “I won’t bite.” A slow, wicked grin. “Unless you want me to.”

I roll my eyes and look around, wondering what I’m supposed to wear to bed. All my clothes are in the car.

I’ll have to sleep fully clothed, I guess.

I hear a drawer opening, and I turn to see Damien tossing a large shirt onto the bed.

“You can wear that if you want.”

I suck in a breath, imagining my thick thighs exposed beside him in bed.

Oh god.

“Do you have any bottoms?” I ask in a small voice, and he frowns.

“I think mine will be too big for you.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “No, they won’t.”

“Okay,” Damien relents with a shrug, searching through the drawers. He pulls out some gray sweatpants, and I immediately imagine him wearing them.

Nothing but them.

“Are you okay?” he questions, a teasing tone in his voice. “You don’t have to wear any , just saying.”

I flush deeply and snatch them up. “Can you turn around?” I request, my eyes darting around us.

“There’s an ensuite,” Damien replies, pointing behind me. “And a spare toothbrush.”

I sigh my relief and nod, grabbing the shirt from the bed too. “Thanks.”

“If you decide you want a shower and need any help, let me know,” he adds, winking.

I open my mouth to respond but don’t trust my words— and god, when did I get this awkward? I’m not usually like this around men. But something about Damien just blows my brain. Instead, I hurry into the bathroom, locking it behind me.

My hands tremble as I pull my sweater over my head, letting it drop to the tiled floor. The bathroom is luxurious, all deep gray tiles and fluffy white towels. The shower is huge, and I can’t help but notice there’s enough room for two.

Maybe even three.

Or four.

That’s it, time for bed!

I pull his shirt on, almost drooling at his manly scent as it covers my curves.

It’s not too tight, thank god, but it does hug my breasts a little.

I’m used to not fitting in men’s clothes, though, and yank the bottoms on, staring at how long they are.

I practically pull them up to my chest, and they’re still too long, even when I try rolling them over my waist.

Fuck.

The shirt reaches just under my panties, so I could bypass the bottoms.

I close my eyes and wonder once more if this is really happening to me.

Fuck it, I’ll leave the bottoms. I’m too tired to care.

But as I reach for the door handle, a small voice in my head whispers a warning: Nothing about tonight is going to be restful.

And I think, deep down, I already know that.