Page 99 of My Favorite Holidate

In a heartbeat, he’s out of bed. He prowls across the room over to me by the door, and in no time, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bed, dropping me on it. I’m too shocked to think or speak. He looks down at me with fiery eyes. “In case it’s not clear…you’re sleeping in the bed. And I’m going to sleep right next to you, behaving like a good boss.”

Hello, bossy Wilder!

I’ve been chastened and I’m loving it. But I also kind of want to tease him, too, so he’ll talk that way to me again. “But what if I don’t behave?”

He stares at me with wild eyes. Heat flickers across his green irises. He breathes out hard through tight lips. “I guess you’ll find out,” he says, cool and in control. He’s the man in charge, and that tone sends a charge through me. One I want to feel again. One I crave.

With our gazes locked, it seems like we could break once more. We could shatter any second now and lunge at each other. He could claim my lips, pin me down, fuck me into next year. But that’s so risky. Even if we were to give in, we’d still have to make it through this wedding, then we’d have to return to work as broken-up boss and employee. Ugh. The aftermath would be messy. I don’t need another mess in my life.

I breathe out hard, push up on my elbows, and say innocently, “I’ll be good.”

He nods toward me, resolute. “You do that.” Then he sits on the edge of the bed, shifting focus, concern in hiseyes. “Is everything okay with Charlotte?” He’s serious again. No more teasing in his voice.

“She figured it out,” I say with a frown. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

His brow furrows. “Why would I be mad at you for that?”

I shrug, feeling more emotional than I should be. It’s true—back when we were outlining the rules in his office, Wilder said that I could tell Charlotte if I wanted to. That he didn’t mind. But Wilder hasn’t told anyone besides his daughter. Yes, he told his mother, but I encouraged him to. I wanted him to. I’m the weak link in this situationship, the hot mess, the girl who couldn’t keep a guy. And Wilder? He’s so good at everything that he’d never blab about a fake romance, like I’m doing. “I know you said it was fine to tell her, but some people say things and don’t mean them.”

Wilder reaches for my arm, his thumb stroking my wrist. It’s tender, soothing, and it threatens to melt my bones. “Know this—I mean what I say.” He takes his time, perhaps weighing his words, sensing I need this reassurance. “I trust you. And I’ve gotten to know you. You adore your sister. You put all your focus on her. But you also don’t want to lie to someone you love that much. I understand.”

Words Brady never said. Not when I told him about my dream shop. He never really understood me, but I think Wilder does. “Thank you. I’m doing a terrible job keeping this a secret,” I say. “But you’re kind to be so supportive.”

“It’s easy with you,” he says gently. His thumb rises higher on my forearm. Stroking lightly. Pretty sure mywrist is a brand-new erogenous zone and his thumb is lighting me up. Flames lick under my skin.

Earlier in town, I wondered if his touching was for show. For Bibi. But it’s just us now, and he still can’t seem to stop. I feel a little mesmerized, and my voice is feathery as I tell him the details of the conversation, finishing with, “But the good news is she really hates Brady now and wants to beat him too—ideally with a pointy candy cane—and she promises she won’t tell Leo.”

Wilder smiles, anit’s all good herestyle one. “Good. Pointy candy cane or not, Leo doesn’t need to know. He looks out for Brady and frankly, he always has. It’ll be fine.” Another slide of his thumb down my wrist. Another hazy moment where I’m caught up in my boss’s touch. Where maybe he’s caught up in touching me.

There’s no show now—just him and me and this room that’s heating up even without the fireplace on.

Abruptly, he lets go of my wrist, but only so he can reach for my face and run his thumb along my jaw. I’m boneless with the tender way he’s touching me. “I don’t think I could be mad at you,” he says, with fondness but also…some angst. Like something is eating him up inside. Weighing on him.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yes.” He swallows it down, and whatever that weight was, it’s replaced by a delicious grin. “And we’re going to have so much fun destroying him.”

He sounds Machiavellian and powerful, and his confidence goes straight to my panties. I’m outrageously aroused. So much so that I leap away from him. “I need to shower.”

As I hustle to the en suite bathroom, I wonder how riskyor risqué it’d be to jill off while I’m showering. What a hedonist I am. He already made me come this afternoon and I want to go again. News flash: I restrain myself. But fifteen minutes later, I return to the bed, wearing a cami and fuzzy pajama pants. Wilder’s under the covers now, but he pats the pillows for me. A paperback sits next to him on the bed.

“That whole fight earlier over the couch and the bed? We’re going to share and that’s that, like I said earlier,” I say. “But I also liked fighting with you. I mean, obviously I liked your apology.A lot.”

His eyes sparkle with dirty delight, but something else, too—something I can’t quite name. “I loved saying I was sorry.”

I shiver, wanting to saydo it again, be a dick again, apologize all you like. But I’m a good girl, so I say, “But before the apology? When we were all…” I lift my hands, pretend I’m a cat scratching. “Going after each other? That was…kind of great.”

He nods tightly, an admission. “I liked it a lot too. It’s a little addictive.”

So are you.

But I’m sure now what I’m hearing in his voice. Right along with the desire, there’s restraint in there too. I flash back to what he said this afternoon when we arrived.I don’t want to get addicted. To practice.I need to respect that. Wilder’s thoughtful and caring, and even when he’s fiery and fighting, he never hits where it hurts. His remark earlier must have been his way of saying once was a slip-up, twice was understandable since it was an apology, but a third time would be nothing but deliberate.

“It is…addictive,” I say. But there’s nothing to be done about this addiction to him. I slide under the covers. It’s past midnight, so here goes this wild next step—sleeping next to my boss.

I try settling into the pillow. Paddling my feet under the covers. Getting comfortable. As if I can.

I’m wide awake, so I cycle back to something Wilder said in the car. Something that’s safer than all these rampant sex thoughts. I stack some pillows, then sit up a little higher. “You said it was your mom’s dream to go to art school?” I ask, prompting him.

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