Page 61 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
I let out a low whistle, peering out the window at the swirling snow. "Looks like we're snowed in then," I remark, a hint of amusement in my voice despite the situation. "Good thing these cabins are well-stocked. We might as well make the most of it."
There's a moment of silence as the reality of the situation settles in. We're isolated here, cut off from the rest of the world by a blanket of snow. It's an unexpected twist, but not necessarily an unwelcome one.
Isabella stands up, a determined look on her face. "Well, in that case, I guess I should make us dinner," she offers, her tone taking on a lighter, more playful edge.
I raise an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. "You? Cook for me? Now that's an offer I can't refuse."
She rolls her eyes but there's a smile on her lips. "Don't get too excited. It's not going to be anything fancy. Just... you know, food."
I chuckle, watching as she moves towards the kitchen area. "Food sounds perfect, Isabella. I'm at your mercy."
As she busies herself in the kitchen, I find myself watching her, a sense of contentment washing over me. Despite the pain in my knee and the throbbing in my head, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Trapped in a snowstorm with Isabella Carrington—it's like the setup to a story I never knew I wanted to be a part of.
The sound of pots and pans clanging and the aroma of cooking food fills the cabin, adding to the cozy ambiance. Isabella moves around the kitchen with a grace and efficiency that's captivating, and I realize that I'm seeing a new side to her, one that's more relaxed and domestic.
"Need any help?" I call out, half-joking.
"I think I can handle it," she replies, not taking her eyes off the stove. "You just rest and keep that knee safe."
I lean back, resigned to my role as the patient for the evening. The thought of Isabella taking care of me, cooking for me, it's oddly comforting. And as the storm rages outside, I can't help but feel a sense of warmth and safety here with her.
Maybe being snowed in isn't such a bad thing after all.
31
Isabella
"Youeatlikeyou'vebeen starved," I tease, watching him attack the meal.
Dinner is an uncomplicated yet cozy affair, the kind that suits a snowbound evening perfectly. I opt for a classic—grilled cheese sandwiches with a side of tomato soup. It's comfort food at its best, simple but delicious, and just right for the snowy night outside.
He looks up, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hey, I’m in recovery mode. My body needs it.” He takes another spoonful, his appreciation evident.
The cabin is quiet except for the sound of the crackling fire and Dom's satisfied eating. Once he's polished off the plate, he wipes his mouth with a napkin, looking contented.
"I want to sit by the fire," he announces, pushing the plate away.
I raise an eyebrow, my protective instincts kicking in. "You're supposed to be resting. Moving around isn't a good idea with your knee."
"It's just a few feet to the living room," he counters, a hint of challenge in his voice. "And didn't the medic leave crutches somewhere?"
I sigh, knowing there's no arguing with him when he's set on something. "Fine, but I'm helping you."
He grins, a boyish charm in his expression that's hard to resist. Carefully, I help him out of bed and onto the crutches. As he leans into me for support, I'm acutely aware of his presence—the solid weight of his body, the warmth radiating from him, and that unmistakable scent of his that's a blend of cologne and something innately Dom.
My heart skips a beat as I feel his muscles tense and flex under my hands. There's a raw strength to him, a primal energy that's both intimidating and incredibly attractive. I steal a glance at his face, finding his eyes already on me, a silent communication passing between us.
We move slowly towards the living room, each step a careful dance. I'm hyper-aware of his proximity, the heat of his body seeping into mine. It's a strange juxtaposition—Dom Steele himself leaning on me for support.
As we settle by the fire, the warmth envelops us, a cozy cocoon against the storm raging outside. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the room, adding to the intimacy of the moment.
We sit there, side by side, watching the snow fall outside and the flames dance in the fireplace. It's a serene, almost picturesque scene, but my mind is a whirlwind. The news of my pregnancy is still sinking in, a shockwave that's reverberating through every part of me. And right here, beside me, is the father—Dom.
Then, breaking the silence, Dom chuckles. "Can't wait for this knee to heal up. I've still got some game left in me," he says, a playful grin on his face.
His words ignite something in me, a fuse that's been burning since I saw him on the ice. "You think this is a joke?" I snap, turning to face him. "You were reckless out there, Dom! You could've seriously hurt yourself—for what? A game?"
He raises an eyebrow, his smile fading. "Easy, easy—just a joke. And besides, you don’t need to baby me. It's not like you're myreal..."
