Page 23 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Damn it,” I muttered, punching the pillow.

Then Clay popped into my mind.

His strong arms and that infuriating yet endearing smile. His protective presence offered comfort.

He'd asked if I remembered that summer when his truck broke down.

Of courseI remembered.

It was when we lost our virginity.

I turned on my side, shutting my eyes against the darkness. My mind drifted back to that day. The heat was unbearable.

We jumped into his old truck, escaping the heat. It rumbled, taking us far from the world. That truck, more hope than mechanics, reached a secret lake.

“Race ya!” I shouted, already shedding my sundress. The water called. I couldn't wait.

“Cheater!” he laughed, no anger in his voice. Just the thrill of freedom as he quickly shed his clothes.

We jumped into the water together. The cold took my breath away. It was icy, from melting snow. We didn't last long. Our teeth chattered, limbs numbed. Yet, the cold couldn't touch the warmth between us.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me close. Despite the sun, his skin was cold. His lips met mine urgently.

“Clay,” I breathed, laughter bubbling up as he kissed me deeper. His soft, short beard scratched my cheek. I clung to him, his strength a comfort in the cold water.

“Grace,” he murmured, his hands exploring my back, tracing my curves. It was playful yet tender. A moment I'll never forget—his blue eyes, the way they crinkled when he smiled, how he held me tightly.

“Too cold,” I finally said, but the chill was fading.

“Let's warm up then,” he suggested, his voice sending a different shiver through me.

We forgot our towels and climbed into his car, cold and wet. Then, the sound we dreaded. The engine coughed, sputtered, and died.

Silence hung heavy, broken only by my breathing.

“Seriously, Clay?” It felt more like an accusation. I wanted to scream, to let out my frustration.

“Hey, it's part of the adventure,” he said, raising his hands with that annoying grin. “It could be worse.”

“Could be worse?” I was incredulous. “How could it possibly be?—”

But Clay leaned in, close enough for me to see silver flecks in his blue eyes. Then he kissed me.

It was a confident, desperate kiss. His warm lips made me forget the cold, the broken truck, and being far from help.

In that moment, I realized I loved him. He was everything.

The kiss ignited our connection. I forgot the cold and the truck. His lips on mine made me feel alive. All our teasing led to this moment, just us and the wilderness.

“Clay,” I whispered, pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, his hands on my back, sending shivers through me.

In my dark bedroom, the memory jolted me.

I climbed onto his lap in the driver's seat, feeling his need. We hadn't gone all the way, just exploring, but I craved him.

“Grace,” he gasped, eyes full of desire.

“Shut up and kiss me,” I interrupted.

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