Page 33 of Riding Dirty for Christmas

“Not much else to do in winter.” His thumbs brush over my knuckles. “Although watching you right now might be my new favorite winter activity.”

“I hate you,” I mutter, inching forward.

“No, you don't,” he murmurs as I wobble. “I've got you.”

His steady presence is reassuring, and for a moment, I forget to be nervous. We make slow circles around the rink, Jack's guidance keeping me upright.

We skate until my toes are numb and my cheeks hurt from laughing.

Just as I'm starting to feel confident, my overconfidence betrays me. My skates hit a rough patch of ice, and suddenly the world tilts.

My skates slip, and I crash into Jack with an undignified yelp.

Jack catches me against his chest, and suddenly we're pressed together, his arms around my waist, my hands fisted in his jacket. His breath fans warm against my cheek.

“See?” he says softly. “Told you I wouldn't let you fall.”

“Sorry!”

“Don't apologize.” His arms tighten around me. “I kind of like you right where you are.”

His face is inches from mine. Snowflakes dust his eyelashes and I can smell the chocolate and mint on his breath. His eyes are dark in the twilight, and I can see the moment his gaze drops to my lips.

The world narrows to this—the warmth of his breath, the strength of his hands, the way everything in me wants to close that tiny distance between us.

A group of teenagers whizzes past us, their laughter breaking through our bubble. But Jack doesn't let go.

“We should probably move,” I whisper, making no attempt to do so. “We're creating a traffic hazard.”

“In a minute.” His voice is rough. “I need to say something first.”

My stomach tightens with anticipation. “Jack?—”

“Please.” His thumb traces circles on my hip. “Let me get this out.”

“Eden,” he says softly. “I know this is complicated. I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't be doing this. But I can't ignore how I feel about you. And I don't think you can either.”

The way he's looking at me—like I'm both precious and thrilling—makes it hard to think straight.

All my carefully constructed arguments about why this can't happen seem to crumble under the weight of his honesty.

“Tell me I'm wrong,” he challenges quietly. “Tell me you don't feel this too.”

I should. I should laugh it off, make a joke about the romantic atmosphere going to his head. I should remind him that soon, we'll be step-siblings. I should do anything except stand here, clutching his jacket, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

Jack's right. I can't ignore the way my heart races every time he's near. Despite every logical reason not to, I'm falling for him.

And I'm tired of fighting this. Tired of pretending I don't watch him when he's not looking, that I don't dream about that night at the bar, that my heart doesn't skip every time he says my name.

Before I can overthink it, I lift up and plant a kiss on his startled mouth.

His lips are soft against mine, tasting of chocolate and promise. For a moment, the world stops spinning.

Then Jack pulls back, his eyes still holding that intense warmth. He glances at his watch, and I see the urgency flood his expression.

“As much as I'd love to stay here,” he says, his voice low and slightly breathless, “we need to go.”

Reality crashes back. Mom sent a message about wanting to see us again for something important. “Oh god, the dinner. I almost forgot. What time were we supposed to be there?”

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