Page 87 of Love in Fine Print

Olivia and Trevor both set timers on their phones, and we all gathered in front of the final tree. I, of course, used the opportunity to snake my arms around her waist and pull her tight. Every chance I got I was touching her, kissing her, telling her how beautiful she was.

Once the pictures were taken, Olivia retrieved her phone and it buzzed with a notification.

Since finding out that she’d had a crush on Maddox Cruz, I had an impulse to know who was messaging her. It was totally insane. I was aware of that, but that didn’t stop me from asking, “Everything okay?”

“It’s the driver letting me know that there were no problems with the pickup.”

“The pickup?” I asked.

“I hired a car to pick up Miss B and bring her to Bay View to meet us. I asked if she wanted to come and see the Christmas trees, but she said it would be too much for her,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“Miss B?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I didn’t want her to be alone on Christmas Eve.”

Not able to help myself, I stepped in front of her, cupped my hands on her face and kissed her. It was a soft kiss at first. I just wanted to feel her lips against mine. Then the kiss deepened and as it did, I felt myself losing control. Not physically, but emotionally.

I’d always assumed the expression falling for someone was a metaphor. But that’s exactly what this kiss felt like. It feels like when you’re dreaming that you’re falling backward, but you always wake up mid-air. I feared in a few months’ time, I was going to land in the reality of Olivia not being my wife, and I was beginning to think about the odds of my surviving the crash unharmed. It wasn’t broken bones I was worried about; it was a broken heart.

37

OLIVIA

I wipedmy mouth after brushing my teeth and stared at my reflection in the en suite bathroom off Ben’s bedroom. I had foregone my normal pajamas, which consisted of an oversized t-shirt and sweats, and was wearing a cotton tank top and shorts that appeared innocent enough but hugged my curves in all the right places. After seeing Trevor’s reaction to my go-to nightwear, I’d decided to try something else.

The past two months had felt like a foreplay marathon and tonight Ben had picked up the pace. I couldn’t count the number of times he wrapped his arms around me, kissed my lips, my cheeks, and the big one, my forehead. It had been a masterclass in PDA. Anyone watching would have assumed that we were newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.

I thought it was bad enough when we were going on our Christmas tree selfie hop, but it only got worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it, at Bay View. I blamed the uptick in sensuality on the kiss he’d given me after he’d learned that I had sent a car for Miss B.

That kiss was…different. It wasn’t for show. We’d kissed when we’d been alone in the honeymoon suite, but those kisseswere fueled by arousal. Tonight’s kiss was fueled by something else. It was loving. It was personal. It was private.

I know it sounds crazy, but it was more intimate than the sex we’d had on our wedding night.

That wasn’t the only standout kiss of the evening. In contrast, the kiss we’d shared under the mistletoe at the senior center was definitely arousal-based. I got so hot I’m surprised I didn’t spontaneously combust.

“Just go to sleep,” I whispered to myself in the mirror. That was the smart thing to do.

Were we attracted to each other? Of course. Did we have insane levels of sexual chemistry? Sure. But we weren’t animals. We didn’t need to act on it.

All I had to do was go out there, climb into bed, say goodnight, and go to sleep.

Easy.

If not, I feared there would be no turning back. We’d crossed the line during our honeymoon, but this would be different. This would feel more intentional. This would be like the kiss he’d given me after the final Christmas tree selfie. It would be loving. Personal. Private. Intimate.

A soft knock sounded at the door before Ben’s deep voice asked, “You okay in there?”

“Yeah.” I grabbed my phone and answered the door to find a shirtless Ben Whitaker in dark gray sweats. Unlike me, who had changed up my nightwear game, Ben was wearing what he wore to bed every night. Or at least, that’s what he wore down to the kitchen every morning. Just like the first day I’d seen him at the park, his bare chest was very, very distracting. I held up my phone. “Sorry, I was just answering an email.”

Ben stared into my eyes, and, like always, it felt like he was staring directly into my soul. Or at least he could read my mind. When he looked at me, I felt…seen. It was unnerving, to saythe least. Those eyes traveled south and that feeling switched to something else. His gaze was hedonistic, hungry, and hot. It left a tingling flame in its wake. I felt it like a physical touch.

When his emerald eyes met mine again, he rasped, “You look…good.”

“Thanks,” I chirped giddily before skipping over to the bed.

Let me repeat. Skipping. That’s right, skip-ping. I could confidently say I had never skipped a day in my life. If five-year-old Olivia hadn’t skipped playing hopscotch, the fact that thirty-five-year-old Olivia had was humiliating.

I climbed in and wished that I could pull the covers over my head and hide. If embarrassment was fatal, I would be in dire need of a defibrillator right about now. I didn’t skip and I also didn’t chirp. I wasn’t perky. I didn’t do giddy. But that’s exactly how I’d just sounded, and it was all because the repressed hormones in my body were making me loopy.

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