Page 56 of Pining for Christmas

But it’s too late—he’s already gone eerily still, already withdrawn behind his walls. It’s not Reid-the-hot-lover lying on top of me anymore, it’s Reid Merryweather, cranky boss.

When he rolls off me to one side, I’ve never been less glad for a lungful of air.

“Please come back.” My arms are wobbly, my body going haywire from our kiss, but I reach for him. “Please don’t stop.”

Reid stands by the bed, breathing hard, his dark hair all rucked up. He shakes his head slowly, takes one long look down my boneless body, then turns and marches into the en suite.

The door slams. The shower stutters to life.

I gape at the ceiling, so turned on and so, so disappointed.

Reid

Even on its lowest temperature, this shower is not cold enough. Nothingcouldbe. I could sprint out into the blizzard and roll around naked in the snow, and I’d still be burning up in my own personal inferno.

“Fucking mistletoe.” My palms are spread over the tiles, head hanging low, while the icy cold shower beats against the back of my neck. Like a thousand freezing needles stabbing my skin. I deserve this. “Fucking Christmas.”

But it’s no use. I’m still viciously hard, my shaft flushed and veined and pointing at the shower wall. Like it’s pointingthroughthe tiles, zoning in on Noelle like a heat-seeking missile.

She must hate me right now. For kissing her like I did, or for stopping so abruptly. Either way, the result is the same.

As soon as the blizzard is over, I’ll hire a plane to display it in sky-writing:Reid Merryweather is not fit for love.

“Christ.” There’s nothing else for it. No way I’m leaving this bathroom this century otherwise. I take myself in hand, loathing my own weakness, and squeeze my shaft hard.

I jerk myself roughly. Crudely. Like I want it to hurt; like I’m punishing myself. God knows I shouldn’t actually enjoy this, not when I left Noelle out there in a baffled little heap.

She looked so flushed and dazed. So lost, stretched out on the mattress alone.Come back, she said, but did she mean that? Or was she caught up in the moment, caught off guard when she offered me an inch and I took a mile?

And what a goddamn mile. Kissing Noelle is better than I ever dreamed, and I’ve pictured it alot. Her heat, her eager whimpers, her fingernails scratching at my scalp, her body bowing against mine…

“Reid?” Noelle’s voice is soft, muffled by the wall and the shower spray, and I squeeze my eyes closed and try to blot her out. My fist moves faster, my grip merciless. “Are you okay in there?”

Okay?

Am Iokay?

I ran away from the woman of my dreams like my shirt was on fire, and now I’m trying to bring myself off quietly so I can go back out there with an ounce of dignity intact. My body is pebbled with goosebumps, and the cold of this shower is squeezing my skull.

Of course I’m not okay. This is rock bottom.

“Give me a minute,” I call, and at least my voice sounds normal. Measured. You’d never guess I was in complete and utter turmoil right now.

“Are you sure?” The bathroom door handle jiggles, and I huff and lean my forehead on the slippery tiles. Why is she trying to get in? What would she do if the door was unlocked?

Come to me in the shower? Touch me? Kiss me again? Drop to her knees, the cold water soaking through her pajama pants, and open her mouth for me, those trusting brown eyes gazing up at me with love?

That last image is what does it. My gut clenches and twists; sparks crackle down my spine. My heartbeat fills my ears, banging like a war drum as my cock pulses, shooting rope after rope at the shower tiles, painting the wall with my shame.

I wait until I can breathe again. Until I’m shuddering under the freezing spray, my fingers and toes going numb.

Then I rinse down the wall, slap the shower off, and get ready to walk to my doom.

* * *

Noelle is watching another Christmas movie when I emerge from the bathroom, dressed again in the same clothes. My feet are bare and my shirt is half buttoned, the sleeves rolled to my elbows, but I can’t bring myself to wear those matching pajamas. That way madness lies.

“What’s this?” My footsteps are muffled by the thick carpet. The mattress plinks quietly as I settle my weight back on the bed, propped against the headboard once more. A safe distance is restored between us, with my arms folded over my chest.

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