Page 47 of Her Holiday Heartthrobs

I want to hear the story.

Will you tell it to me?

I don’t expect an answer after the rest of our collective texts have been ignored. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since she fled our house Thursday night, or Friday morning as it were.

Especially after I had more fun with her than I’ve ever had with another woman. Not just the sex, which, God, she took everything we gave her. Like a dream. But also, being able to make her laugh in the middle of it. Not being serious the entire time.

I’ve never had that before. And it was so easy with Paige.

And that spins around in my mind the rest of the evening, latching onto the short conversation we had with Patrick about a small Christmas party he’s having. Just family, and the three of us.

I want it so badly. To be part of the family.

To be there with Paige.

To have a reason to celebrate Christmas with people I care about and who actually care about me.

The more I sink into this idea, the more another idea grows until it’s Monday morning, and I can’t help myself.

I’m up early, taking a car to Paige’s place. I don’t know which apartment is hers, so I wait on the street for her. The sun casts an orange and pink glow across the clouds. And the morning promises a bright and clear day, even with the brisk breeze blowing through.

When she steps out of the building, she stops, surprise rounding her eyes. “Eli?”

I smile at her, pushing off the side of the car to approach her.

“What are you doing here?”

Thank god, she doesn’t pull away when I reach for her, the simple act of holding her hand has my blood pumping. “I need your help with something.”

Paige purses her mouth. “Vague.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

She points at me. “That’s not helping.”

“You ready for another test?”

Her eyes narrow. “What kind of a test?”

“A decorating one. Since Rockwell International’s style is out-of-date, I need a fresh perspective for our Christmas party.” I raise my brow at her. “Up for the challenge?”

“With you, it’s going to be challenging.” But the quirk of her mouth tells a different story.

I pull the back door open and wait for her to climb inside. Her pants are molded to her ass and thighs, and God, I want to take a bite.

Following in behind her, I close us into a cozy silence where I can properly take her in. Soft pink highlights her cheeks, her hair is wound into a tight bun at her neck, her jacket reveals a slice of pale skin down her chest, and when her eyes catch mine, their blue arrests my heart.

What the fuck am I going to do with myself?

The car pulls into traffic, rocketing her back and yanking a full laugh from low in her throat. I want to kiss along that column of skin, drag her into my lap, and keep her there.

“You’d think I’d be used to the sudden movement since I ride the train every day, but nope.”

I settle back in my seat and watch her. Her cheeks grow pinker. Until she breaks.

“What?”

“I’m just waiting for my story.” I fold my hands together in my lap to keep from grabbing her.

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