Page 27 of The Best You've Ever Had

Flinging another freshly made snowball at him, I huff out, “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

My next two snowballs miss their mark, flying past and crashing into the trees behind him. But my last throw couldn’t be better—it nails him right between the eyes.

I freeze in shock, not intending to hit him in the face, but feeling a twinge of pride nonetheless. He did bring this upon himself, after all. As he blinks through the specks of powder clinging to his face, I keel over in laughter. My stomach aches from laughing so hard at the sight of him, his eyelashes dusted with fine snow and shock written all over his expression.

As suddenly as this all began, he scoops me off the ground and throws me over his shoulder. “You think that’s funny, huh?”

I punch him in the back. “Let me down. I need to get back to work.”

“You’re stuck here now. Sorry.” He walks into the garage, holding me by the knees with one hand, using his other to hang his shovel back up.

“Don’t make me choose violence today.”

He releases my knees, and I slowly slide down the front of his body. His eyes lock onto my lips, lingering there as if he can’t help himself. “Pretty sure you wake up and choose violence every day.”

His hands remain anchored on my hips, our bodies pressed together as if the snowstorm has frozen us in place. His large hands splay across almost my entire back, and his thumb traces the curve of my hip, making me arch into him without a second thought. We stand there, two warm bodies tangled together,chests rising and falling as if we’re fighting for our last breaths. Challenging, unyielding, and charged with needing more.

I can finally admit it to myself—I want him. And I want him a damn lot.

That’s why I don’t push him away when I feel the tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt. One hand trails up the arch of my back, skin against skin, sending goosebumps rising—a mix of the frigid air and his touch. Bowing his head to my level, his mouth brushes against the curve of my neck, dragging a lazy path to my ear as he breathes me in. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

I’m silent. To some, it might seem strange to be quiet when the world’s most attractive man has his hands all over you, confessing he’s been thinking about that time he ate you out. But my mind is in overdrive, caught in a battle over the right course of action. The problem is, I’m starting to care less about what my brain thinks and more about what my heart wants. And my heart, inconveniently, is really damn horny for him.

Opting out of replying, I reach down, my fingers tracing the thick outline of his erection before I cup him, stroking him up and down through his pants. Air hisses between his teeth as he pushes into my palm, encouraging me to go on. When I squeeze him again, his hand grabs my wrist, stopping me from moving.

“You’re either going to make me come all over myself, or I’m going to bend you over out here in the freezing cold.”

I glance up, meeting his eye with a smirk on my lips, as my hand goes right back to work.Challenge accepted.I didn’t get to touch him like this last night. No wonder the man is cocky, he has a dick the size of Florida.

And despite his warning, he doesn’t back down. We’re playing a dangerous game, toeing this line of having fun and going too far. The temptation is so great that for once in my life I don’t have the willpower to stop it. I crave his touch asinstinctively as I crave oxygen, his hands becoming the very air I need to breathe every second longer they’re on me.

Still tucked into his body, he takes several large steps forward while I travel back, until my back is pressed up against the tall tool cabinet in the corner of the immaculate garage. The red metal is ice cold against my skin, but I don’t care. I want to see what he’ll do next. He’s unpredictable in a world full of predictability.

Right on cue, his other hand slips under the cream knit fabric of my shirt, as he shoves down the cup of my bra and takes a rough handful of my breast. Squeezing my pebbled nipple between his two fingers, I bury my face into his chest with a muffled exhale.

Tweaking my nipple again as I arch against the wall, his pelvis pins me against him and the cabinet. He drops his forehead to mine as he watches how I react to his touch. “God, I love seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” I breathe.

“Like you don’t want me to stop touching you.”

I’m currently incapacitated from forming an intelligible response, as he continues to play with each breast, giving each nipple ample attention. It sparks a want so deep that it sits heavy and bright.

He lowers his head, lips grazing my neck, teasing the sensitive skin with the warmth of his breath and stubble. Reaching for the waistband of his pants, my finger traces the top of the material before sliding down. His skin is warm, seemingly burning against my freezing hands. The muscles of his abs flex as I reach in, ready to finally wrap my hand around him for the first time, and feel the weight of how much he really wants me. Which is a fucking lot considering how aggressively his dick is straining against his pants right now.

The sound of the brass garage door knob jiggling startles us, causing him to jump off me and slam into a lawn mower nearby. I quickly adjust my shirt and raise my hands as if I’m under arrest, caught red-handed for nearly hooking up with my frenemytwicenow.

Dante walks in, mid-whistle, and stops short when he sees us. As if Ben and I share a brain, we both lean back against the nearby tool chests, trying to look calm and casual, like hanging out in this glacial garage with a half-shoveled driveway is perfectly normal.

Taking a look at us, to the driveway, and back, Dante lets out an amused laugh. “And here we thought you two were faking it.”

Ben and I glance at each other with wide eyes, silently signaling what the hell we’re supposed to say back to a comment like that.

“Faking it?” Ben asks, closing the distance between us and wrapping his arm around my shivering shoulders. The heat of his body is like a warm, safe cocoon. Breathing in the clean pine scent of him, it hits me that the line between reality and faking is quickly becoming so blurred that it’s imperceptible.

“Yeah, you know, you two have always fought like cats and dogs, so it was a little hard to believe. But clearly you two have something going on. Guess we were all wrong.” He pats the wallet in his back pocket. “Shit, guess I owe Mom twenty bucks now.”

“You all placedbetson if we were legit or not?” I ask, smiling with a mixture of shock and amusement.

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