Page 114 of Go Back to December

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

The temperature in the cabin has rocketed to eight million degrees. If I don’t get out of my coat, or into cold air, I’m liable to burn this place to the ground.

Baz places his hands gently on my shoulders. “Stay for the fireworks. I promise you’ll get Gentleman Johnson only. After, we can call Annabel and go back to the house.”

His cheeks are glowing pink in the warmth of the room; his gaze is wide, yet tentative.

It’s real.

It’s terrifying.

I can’t refuse.

“Just for the fireworks.”

His grin is so bright, who could want anything else to light up the night?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Iflop onto the bed, cross my legs in lotus position, and stare at the cock-illustrated grocery bag. Baz had a rifle through it, fished out his toiletry kit, and disappeared into the bathroom. My kit is buried somewhere in my overnight bag, now resting at the bottom of the igloo’s small closet. Annabel thought of everything.

Or Baz did. I haven’t quite worked out how much of this arrangement is his handiwork.

Hopefully, the rooster sack also contains something that will dampen the live wire inside me. The one that pricks with every pop of firecrackers across the lake.

I lift out a small thermos, the source of the spicy perfume scenting the air.

“Are there any cups in there?” I shout to Baz. “Mark and Annabel left us some cider.”

“Careful. If Mark packed it, it’s definitely spiked.”

Bless you, Mark.

I place the thermos on the small round table next to the bed and peer back in the bag. Heat rises up my neck and splashes fire all over my face.

“You okay?”

Baz stands beside the bed, a water glass in each hand. He’s stripped down to the techie pants and a fitted T-shirt that hugs the slope of his shoulders and his sculpted abdominals. He shaved in the bathroom. The sexy stubble that trimmed his face no longer hides the scar on his chin and the elegant planes of his jaw.

I may actually be running a fever, I am so turned on.

“Are you feeling sick?” He places the glasses on the table and reaches for my forehead, but I pull back, clamp a hand over my eyes, and thrust the cock bag at him.

Baz takes it and laughs from the back of his throat.

“Did you—”

When he tugs my hand away, I get a full view of his fiendish grin. “Yes, I asked Mark to supply six dozen condoms.”

My jaw drops. “There aren’t that many.”

“Tragically, he only managed twenty.” Baz sinks onto the bed, his face all mock solemnity. “I hope it will be enough.”

When I fold my arms primly over my chest, he can’t contain his grin.

“I didn’t ask him for condoms, I swear.”

“But you planned this.”