Page 2 of Her Holiday Heartthrobs

“Is that what you did?”

His hands are so big around the shot glass as he rolls it between his fingers. “To start with. Now, we’re pretty set in, butthat doesn’t mean I couldn’t sell my shares and start something new if I felt like it.”

“But you don’t. Feel like it.”

“No.”

“That’s what I want.” I stare at the black TV, trying not to unabashedly stare at Henry, although I do follow his reflection in the glass. But I can feel him looking at me, so I swallow my nerves and meet his gaze again. “Right now, I want to be a photographer, but like a commercial photographer for those elaborate fashion designs. I want to be able to plan every little detail and watch it all come together.”

He reaches for the bottle, but I snatch it up first. Henry pauses mid motion, leaning in toward me. “I’m not taking it away from you.”

“Mm-hmm.” But I relinquish the bottle.

Two fresh shots wait for us, and we gravitate a little closer as I ask him about where he started. At first, the plan was a bar and restaurant. Then, a bed and breakfast. Then, he opened his first hotel with his two buddies—Dad’s two other best friends. And it grew from there.

The passion in his face as he tells me about it excites me. He seems equally interested in the dreams I talk about, what I expect out of school, and all of the experiences waiting for me.

The more we chat, the closer we get. Like old friends, I feel like I click with him. Even if that’s insane. No one else in my life understands the drive I have to work for myself. To have complete control over my future, but Henry does.

And we keep drinking, sharing from the bottle until I’m far past the ability to keep all of my secrets buried. When I turn to talk to him, my knee lifts over his, and his hand squeezes it. His touch is warm and heavy, my body is so full of awareness at the point where we connect.

It’s so stupid, but with all of the adventures coming my way, I want one more thing from my pre-college life. One thing to send me off to my future.

Every wiggle closer has my body telling me things that certainly aren’t true, but I’m so tense that I feel like I might burst. With every inch I close between us, Henry doesn’t pull back. I even catch him looking at my mouth a few times.

I’ve decided. I’m going to kiss him. Half of my blood is alcohol right now, so even if he rejects me, I can blame it on that. I’m going to do it.

Lifting to my knees, I nearly moan at the way Henry’s hand grips my hip to keep me from wobbling. It doesn’t move as I slide across his lap, but his scruffy jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare.

Need tightens down my middle as I dip my face closer to his.

“Paige.” He probably means my name to sound like a warning, but it’s soft and gruff. Fingers flex on my hip. I nibble my lip, and he focuses on it.

He’s not pushing me away, and that gives me the confidence I need to close the gap between our mouths. Soft, sweet and lingering, the small kiss zaps straight down my center.

His other hand lifts to my hip, he holds me in place like he’s fighting with himself. I kiss him again and feel him yield under me. My hands run across his shoulders, nails digging gently into his muscles.

My name drops from his mouth again, and I smile.

I feel bold and sink my hand into his hair, grabbing it gently at the back until he grunts. I say his name again, unwilling to retreat to look him in the eyes as I confess.

“I want you, Henry. I have for a long time.”

His chest expands under my touch, and my nose brushes his. “You shouldn’t.”

“But I do. And see. Here’s the thing. I’m an adult. I know what I want. And I’m giving my consent.”

That grip on my hips tightens with his fight. “What about?—”

“Patrick won’t be home until tomorrow. And I’m telling you…this is okay. I’m okay. You’re not taking advantage of me, Henry.” As if to prove it to him, and maybe myself, then I drop into him a little further and moan lightly when I feel him hard under me. “Besides, we don’t need to tell anyone.”

I don’t wait for him to respond, I just start kissing him again, and it’s like something’s snapped in him. The hungry way he kisses me back sets me on fire. I grind down against him, but he’s still not touching me. He’s letting me make the moves.

Fine. I’ll make a move.

I rear back, struck by the flush of his skin. I see the vibrancy and need in his blue eyes before I yank my baggy shirt over my head, revealing the small, sheer bra underneath. I’m not big-breasted, but I overflow from the fabric. When his pupils dilate, taking me in, my nipples harden.

Bracing my hands on the back of my couch, I practically shove them in his face. “God, Henry. Touch me.”

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