Page 15 of Silent Night Temptation

I move closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. “Let me help,” I offer softly, though he’s already halfway through preparing breakfast. Maybe it’s because I can’t bear the silence anymore, or maybe it’s the awkwardness lingering between us after last night. I don’t know. I just know that standing there, doing nothing, would only make everything worse.

He glances at me, his expression unreadable, but he nods, handing me a bottle of syrup. My hands tremble slightly as I take it from him. It’s not the cold—it’s him. The memory of the kiss and the heat from the way his lips claimed mine with such intensity is still fresh, seared into my mind. I can still feel the imprint on my skin, the way my body had reacted souncontrollably to his touch. And now here we are, pretending like it never happened, like we’re still two people who barely know each other.

We work in silence, side by side. My hands move mechanically as I focus intently on the task, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest every time his arm brushes against mine. The accidental touches may be fleeting, but they are electric. They happen so often that they send little jolts through me, causing my heart rate to increase.

Each time, I feel my breath hitch, and I hate it. I hate how bashful I’ve become, how every little thing between us feels like a spark waiting to ignite into something more. And I hate that it’s him—Coco’s dad.

I can’t believe this is happening. This… attraction. This pull. It’s wrong, isn’t it? It’s inappropriate, surely. Yet, I can’t help it. When I’m near him, I feel something in me unravel, something that wants more, something that craves what we had last night—the wildness, the passion, the way our bodies moved as if they belonged together.

We reached for the plate at the same moment, my fingers grazing his. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make me glance up at him. He’s looking down at the plate, his jaw tight, but I can see it in his eyes—the same tension, the same confusion that I’m feeling.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s thinking about the kiss, too. About the way our bodies fit together in the dark last night. But he says nothing, just picks up another plate. I swallow hard, trying to think about anything other than his touches, but it’s impossible. Every touch feels like a promise, like a whisper of what could be if we let ourselves fall into this madness again.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know if I want to say anything. Maybe it’s better to just leave it, to let the silencespeak for us, because I’m terrified of what might come out if we actually talk about it.

But my heart won’t stop pounding. And I know, deep down, that this silence can’t last forever.

We sit down to eat in near silence. The sound of forks scraping against plates fills the space between us, each bite a reminder of how far apart we are despite being only a few feet from one another. Every time our hands brush or our legs shift beneath the table, it feels like an accidental trespass, a violation of the invisible line we’ve drawn between us.

I glance at him, but he’s staring intently at his plate as if the very act of looking at me might set the world on fire. And maybe it would. Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.

After breakfast, I make an excuse about needing to get some writing done. It’s easier to disappear into my work than face the feelings swirling inside me. Marcus doesn’t question it, just nods with a soft smile that is such a turn on. I quickly head to my room, hoping some space will help clear my mind.

Once inside, I close the door and let out a long breath. My laptop is on the desk, waiting for me. It’s been weeks since I’ve written anything, the holidays always bring back memories I don’t want to relive, and that blocks my creativity. But now, something feels different. I sit down, unsure if I’ll get anywhere, but I feel a small spark, enough to get me typing.

Words flow faster than I expected. I dive into the world I’m creating, pouring out the scenes and thoughts I’ve held inside. Time slips by as I write. The characters I’m building feel so real. I don’t even notice how many hours have passed until I stop to reread what I’ve written.

As I look back over my words, I realize something. The longing, the desire… they aren’t just my characters’ emotions on the page. They’re mine. I want Marcus. More than I’ve let myselfadmit. The kiss we shared last night is all I can think about, and now it’s pouring into my writing like a confession.

I pause, leaning back in my chair, feeling the weight of my realization. My feelings for him are everywhere in these words. I want him, more than just that kiss, I want to feel his touch again. I can’t stop thinking about it, about him.

Suddenly, the light from my laptop goes dim. The power charging it goes out. I stand up, unsure of what to do next. The house is silent except for the sound of the wind outside.

I step out into the hallway, moving toward the living room. The only light is from the fireplace, casting shadows on the walls. The house feels eerie; it’s too quiet. I pause at the doorway, nerves making my neck itch slightly.

Then I hear him moving downstairs. I head toward the stairs, my heart inexplicably racing. I know what this means.The generator.

I find him near the front door, pulling on his coat. His face is set in that same calm, focused expression, though his brow furrows slightly when he notices me watching him.

“The generator’s out,” he says simply, as if I hadn’t already guessed. “I need to refill it. Won’t take long.”

“But the storm…” The words slip out before I can catch them, my worry plain in my voice. “It’s dangerous out there. Can’t it wait?”

He shakes his head, pulling on his gloves. “No, it can’t. The generator’s in the outhouse. I’ll be quick.”

I bite my lip, feeling that same mix of protectiveness and fear stir inside me. The storm outside is unforgiving, and the thought of him trudging through it alone makes my stomach twist. But there’s no stopping him. He’s determined.

“Just…be careful,” my voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t reply, just gives me a nod before heading out into the storm.

I stand by the window, watching him as he makes his way through the snow. His figure slowly disappears into the swirling white. My heart clenches as the wind picks up, battering the side of the house. I feel helpless, stuck inside while he’s out there braving the elements.

Minutes pass. Then more. My anxiety grows with each passing second, but finally, I see him emerge from the outhouse. Relief floods through me as I watch him make his way back.

But then, out of nowhere, it happens.

A massive chunk of snow, dislodged by the wind, falls from the roof of the outhouse, and with it, a tangle of heavy branches. I see it all happen in slow motion, my breath catching in my throat as the weight of it crashes down on him. He’s knocked to the ground, buried under the snow and debris. My heart stops.

I don’t even think. I bolt for the door, yanking it open, and plunging into the storm without a second thought. The cold hits me like a wall, searing through my thin sweater, but I don’t care. All I can think about is him…getting to him.

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