Page 16 of Dad Bod Snow Job

Holly’s smile could light up the whole damn mountain, hell, probably the entire valley too. She hugs that laptop against her chest like a kid on Christmas morning who just got everything they ever wanted, and the sight hits me right in the gut.

“Thank you,” I manage to get out, jerking my chin toward her laptop. I have to look anywhere but at her face, or I might do something stupid. “For everything you've done here. The shop runs better now.” That's the understatement of the year.

My chest aches at how right she looks here in my office, my coat still drowning her small frame. God help me, the way she looks at me… She's so beautiful. And way too young for me.

Holly's eyes burn into me, but I keep my attention locked on the bank notice in my hands, crumpling it tighter until the paper's nothing but a ball of stress between my fingers.

“I see you looking at me when you think I'm not watching,” she says quietly. “But you keep pulling away. Is it because you believe it isn't professional or because of your history with Sarah?”

My jaw clenches. Sarah's name on Holly's lips feels wrong, like oil on water. “I'm trying to protect you.” The words scrape my throat. “The age difference. The town gossip. Your family?—”

“I don't need protection.” Three steps bring her into my space. Her floral scent—jasmine and roses—wraps around me, making my head spin. “I've had feelings for you since I was twelve. And now that I'm back, watching you with your crew, with Bear?—”

I shove back from my desk, the chair scraping against the wooden floor as I put physical distance between us. My hands grip the back of the chair until my knuckles turn white. The need to touch her, to pull her close, to claim what every cell in my body screams is mine—it's torture.

“Holly.” Her name comes out rougher than I intended.

She steps toward me, and I circle behind my desk, keeping it between us like a shield. The December wind howls outside my office window, matching the storm raging inside me, rattling the glass in its frame.

“I'm not blind, Nico. I feel it too—this thing between us.” Her voice is soft but steady, each word a dangerous temptation.

Christ. The way she says my name is like honey and silk wrapped into sound. It takes everything I have—every ounce of self-control I've built over years of keeping people at arm's length—not to cross the room and show her exactly what she does to me.

Instead, I turn to face the window, bracing my hands on the sill until the wood bites into my palms. Through the frost-covered glass, I watch my crew loading trees onto trucks, trying to ground myself in the familiar sight of work and routine.

“You're too?—”

“Don't you dare say I'm too young.” The fierce determination in her voice makes me grip the windowsill harder, my knuckles turning white with the effort. “I'm not a kid anymore.”

No, she isn't. The curve of her hips when she bends to help customers, the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating, the soft brush of her fingers when she hands me paperwork—every little thing sets my blood on fire, awakening something primal I'm fighting to keep caged.

“You deserve better than this.” I gesture vaguely at myself, at the cramped office with the stack of bills burying me beneath their crushing weight. “Better than me.”

She moves closer, the subtle scent of her vanilla perfume making my mouth dry. My body tenses, every muscle coiled tight, fighting the magnetic pull drawing me toward her.

“Let me be the judge of what I deserve,” she whispers, her voice soft but determined in a way that makes my chest ache.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my racing heart to slow, trying to remember why this is a terrible idea. It would take one touch to shatter my carefully maintained control. One taste of those soft, tempting lips, and I'd be lost, drowning in everything she is.

Holly's fingers brush my jaw, feather-light but burning like a brand against my skin. I catch her wrist to stop her before I do something I'll regret.

Instead, my thumb betrays me, tracing circles on her pulse point, feeling it race beneath my touch like a trapped bird.

“You're sunshine and Christmas magic and everything I can't—” I cut myself off, breathing hard, the words threatening to choke me.

Her fingers brush my jaw again, more insistent this way. “Can't what?”

“Have.” My thumb continues its path across her delicate skin. “You deserve better than some grumpy bastard who can barely keep his business afloat.”

“You think you're not good enough? You're everything I've ever wanted.”

My control shatters.

I back her against the wall, one hand tangling in her soft hair, my callused fingers trembling against her scalp. “Holly...”

Her fingers curl into my shirt, twisting the fabric, holding on as if she's afraid I'll push her away. As if I could ever make myself let go now—her pulse hammers against my palm where it rests at her neck.

“I'm asking you to let me in,” she whispers, her breath warm against my jaw.

---