ChapterFive
FROSTIE
Clause’s eyes stay glued on me the whole time I make his chocolate cake, and it makes it hard to concentrate on what I’m doing. I turn into a bumbling mess when he’s around. There has always been something in the way he stares at me.
I thought I irritated him because his face is always grumpy. Now I’m starting to think something completely different. Does he want me? What else could it be? He can’t outright demand sex because that would be taking it too far.
A rush of heat flows through my body at the idea of him demanding I service him. What is wrong with me? I really have to stop with the dirty books. Noel over at the library keeps us single ladies stocked up. She even knows which books to recommend to each of us knowing our specific tastes. Noel finds it funny that I enjoy some of the darker reads while our very own Wild-West-let’s-blow-shit-up Tinsel loves them as sweet as she can get them.
I have a taste for a rougher kind of man. Recently I’ve been picking up more lumberjack books, and I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that it was because of Clause. Now that I’m in his home, I don’t think he’s a lumberjack at all. He might chop wood, but he has to do something that pays well.
“What do you do for a living?” I ask to make small talk.
“I’m retired.”
“You’re retired? How is that possible?” If I had to guess, he’s close to forty, but who knows? He looks young even with a full beard and thick dark hair, but there is some gray at his temples. Some men get that in their early twenties too.
“Unless I feel like working, then I might take a job.” He shrugs, not giving me anything more. I’m not sure if he’s trying to dodge my question or he’s being his normal Clause self and not saying much.
Deciding to get back to my cake, I figure that I can get it into the oven before I start dinner. I pour the batter into the pan and place it in one of the three ovens. The kitchen really is a dream. I knew Clause lived out in the middle of nowhere, but I had no idea how modern his home was. It’s made of logs with a wraparound porch that I think goes all the way around the back.
For some reason, I assumed he would live in a small cabin that had only the bare necessities. I wouldn’t have been shocked if he didn’t have a TV, but I would have been wrong. There is a giant one mounted above his fireplace that has built-in shelves on both sides. There’s nothing on them, but it's gorgeous nonetheless. Clause never seemed to be a man that needed much, but what do I know? Everything I think I know about the man I’ve made up in my head, but everyone in town has done the same. Guilt tugs at me for a moment, then I remember he’s blackmailing me.
Maybe it isn’t sex he’s after. He might be lonely out here in the middle of nowhere and doesn’t know how to make friends. If he stopped grunting at people, that might help, but I enjoy his grunting. My mind starts to go in a dirty direction again.
“Are you hot?” Clause finally asks a question of his own.
“Am I hot?” I repeat, glancing down at myself. I don’t think my outfit counts as hot since I’m wearing yoga pants with boots and a sweater that has a chubby cat on it eating Christmas cookies. I might have put some lip gloss on, but that’s it.
“I know you’re hot but I mean…ah.” He stumbles over his words. “Overheated,” he rushes to finish.
I’m a little warm, but it’s because of the awkward conversation we've gotten ourselves into. I see he's flushed, and I wonder if he’s embarrassed about what he said. Why is that so damn adorable? That’s a word I’m sure no one has ever dared call him before. There’s no way I’m going to tell him the real reason is because of all the dirty thoughts I was having about him.
“You think I’m hot?” The second the words are out of my lips, I want to grab them and shove them back into my mouth. “I mean yes, it is a bit warm in here.” I try to cover up my question, not wanting an answer to it.
Clause might be a beast of a man, but he is way hot. He’s in the league of his own. I bet he doesn’t have to chop wood. He could rip the logs in half with his bare hands. I felt how rough they were when he’d taken my hand. His had engulfed mine.
I’ve always been on the curvy side. My grams used to tell me to never trust a skinny baker. I don’t mind my curves, but adding it with my height, I often feel out of place. I’m only a few inches under five feet, but compared to Clause, I might as well be a small doll.
“You’re hot. I’m sure you know that.” He grabs an iPad lying on the kitchen island, and I’m momentarily stunned by his words. Thankfully, he’s focused on the iPad, and I see him using it to turn down the heat in the house.
“You have a smart house?”
“It helps with my security.”
“Clause, I don’t think anyone is going to come out here to face off with you. Unless it’s a bear, which I think you might beat in a wrestling match,” I tease, and his lips twitch. I walk around the giant kitchen island and hand him a spoon covered in chocolate batter. He stares at it. “You’re supposed to lick it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Grams always gave me the spoon when she got done making a cake.” I slide my tongue across the back side of the spoon.
“Tradition,” he grunts before taking the spoon from my hand and putting the whole thing into his mouth, sucking it clean. He lets out a deep rumble of satisfaction.
“You like?” My insides are melting knowing he does. It’s written all over his face right now, which isn’t normal for Clause. His face is always stoic, but tonight I’m catching glimpses of other things.
“I love it, but we all know it’s your frosting no one can get enough of.” I feel flushed and like we’re talking in code, and I’m the frosting he’s talking about.
He doesn’t want to say that flat-out, which I find odd. Sure, I’ll dance around confrontation because Tinsel is the bull in the china shop. I try to do as little damage as possible, but I didn’t think Clause would be a man that would tiptoe around anything.