Page 48 of The Holiday Games

“I can’t guarantee the purring, but I’ve got the rest of it covered,” I say. “We can catch the subway. Less fun than the cable car, but we’ll be at my place in under twenty minutes.”

“Amazing,” she says.

Itisamazing. Waiting for the subway, chatting on the way across town, stopping to buy a bottle of wine on the way back tomy place—all the humdrum, everyday things feel special when I get to share them with her.

I already know there’s no way I’m keeping my hands or my feelings to myself tonight. It’s not a question ofifI’ll break our “just friends” vow, but when.

She’s too beautiful, too magnetic, toomine.

At least, I want her to be. Fuck Vivian and the past and the fact that we come from such different worlds. Fuck the reality show and our quasi boss-employee status. Suddenly all that seems small, silly compared to the way I feel when she kicks off her shoes by my door and scoops my evil cat into her arms.

And, of course, he purrs.

For her.

And that’s it, the final straw.

The moment Caroline sets Greg down on the floor, I reach for her, pulling her into my arms.

nineteen

. . .

Caroline

Imeet Leo’s gaze as he wraps his arm around my waist and know instantly that this is it, the moment we stop pretending.

We crash together, lips meeting in a bruising kiss, tearing at each other’s coats with fingers still numb from the chill outside.

But we’re warming up fast…

His tongue dances with mine as he backs me down the narrow hall, making my skin burn and my heart soar.

Our second kiss is even better than our first.

This kiss is personal, intimate, and for no one’s benefit except our own.

It’s also far too hot for public consumption, a fact Greg proves by letting out a judgmental yowl and racing into the living room.

“We’re traumatizing Greg,” I murmur, breath catching as Leo squeezes my ass through my dress in a possessive way that turns my bones to ramen noodles.

“Then maybe we should take this to my bedroom,” Leo says.

“We definitely should.” I shove his coat off his shoulders, desperate to eliminate all barriers between his skin and mine.

We really shouldn’t be doing this—it’s still the wrong call on so many levels—but it feels so right.

So right for him to toss my coat and his on the floor before pulling me into his room and slamming the door behind us. So right for him to cradle my face like a treasure as he kisses me slower, deeper, and we sway toward the bed.

So right for him to whisk my dress over my head, leaving me in nothing but my white lace bra and panties and soft cashmere socks that end just above the knee.

“Damn, Caroline,” he murmurs, stepping back, his gaze raking up and down my body in the dim light streaming in from the street outside. “You’re… I have no words, but I’m pretty sure I’m not worthy.”

“You’re the most worthy,” I whisper, reaching for the top button on his shirt. “You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever kissed.”

“Yeah?” he asks, holding my gaze as I work my way down the row of buttons, baring his lightly furred chest.

“Yeah. And I can’t wait to do more than kiss you,” I say, voice shaking with a mixture of nerves and excitement. “Will you do very bad, very good things to me in your bed, Mr. Fenton?”

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