Page 27 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

A gasp escapes her lips as her knee buckles underneath her.

“Gia!” I’m out of the car, slipping through the snow like a madman.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, wincing as she touches her knee.

I crouch down beside her, my hands hovering over her, unsure of where to touch. “You’re not fine.”

“It’s just a little slip,” she insists. But her face is pale, and I can see the pain etched into her features.

“Let me help you.”

“I don’t need…”

But before she can finish, I scoop her up in my arms. She gasps, her hands instinctively grabbing onto my shoulders.

The feel of her body pressed against mine sends a lightning bolt of awareness through me.Ignore it, I command myself.

“Dante, put me down.”

“Not a chance.” I carry her back to the car, cradling her close. She’s light, her warmth seeping through my jacket.

It’s too much.

It’s all too familiar, and I don’t want to let go.

I set her down on the passenger seat, gently closing the door behind her. She’s glaring at me, but there’s something else in her eyes.

Something she’s trying to hide.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she mutters as I slide into the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t have to,” I agree, starting the car, “but I wanted to.”

She doesn’t respond, just rubs her knee, wincing slightly. My chest tightens at the sight of her in pain.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, softer this time.

She shrugs. “I’ll live.”

We sit in silence for a moment. The engine and the snow hitting the windshield the only sounds filling the space between us.

The tension is palpable and heavy like we’re both on the edge of something we’re not ready to admit.

“Were you always this stubborn?” I ask, breaking the silence.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m sure you can answer that question.”

Yeah, I can.

It’s one of the things I loved about her. Still love about her—though I’ll never admit it.

I steal another glance at her. The way she’s sitting there, rubbing her knee, her lip caught between her teeth...it’s doing things to me. I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling.

“Gia.” My voice is low, rough.

“Drive the car, Dante.”

For a moment, neither of us says anything. The air between us is charged with something electric. Something dangerous.

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