Page 205 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I pause for a moment, practically feeling the presence of the vibrator in my nightstand drawer, and then say, “Yes. Several times.”

I’m proud that my voice doesn’t waver, because it feels like every part of me is blowing in the wind. Or at least the parts that aren’t suddenly on fire.

“Were you thinking of me when you did?”

From the way he says it, I can tell that he’s not sure he should be asking me. He can’t help himself, just like I couldn’t stop myself from making this call.

“I was,” I admit. “The first time, I put on those black panties and the matching bra. I saw the way you were looking at them the other day.”

His groan reverberates through the line. “I regret asking.”

Feeling an unexpected surge of feminine power, I say, “No, you don’t.”

“No. I don’t.”

There’s a pause over the line, and I wonder if maybe he’s stroking himself. If maybe that beautiful, sculpture-worthy dick of his is hard because of me, and he’s naked in bed, just waiting for me to come over and climb on top of him, and I’m so turned on that I know I’ll be pulling the vibrator out after this call. He does this to me. Am I really willing to give that up? To give up the chance to be happy in that way?

I don’t know. There are still so many unknowns.

“Jace,” I say, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he says, his voice slightly strained.

“I need time. I mean, assuming that you’re still…”

“Oh, I’m still interested. I’ll always be interested.”

I feel like I’m dancing in a spotlight. I feel like a Christmas song someone is humming. I feel like that star on top of the tree.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Because I have a very strange invitation to issue.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

JACE

“You look so handsome,” Mrs. Rosa gushes as I emerge from my bedroom.

I tug at my shirt collar. The last time I wore a suit was—God, I can’t remember…probably to my father’s funeral, but when Mary asked me to go to this wedding, I headed to a men’s store after work the next day, then paid the rush alteration fee so it would be done in time. I picked it up a couple of hours ago.

“She’s right,” Roger says from a chair at my kitchen table. “But we need to redo your tie. Come over here. Let me have a go at it.”

I walk over to the table, and he gets up, motioning for me to take his seat.

“I need to stand behind you. Never tied one head-on,” he says.

“Whatever you do will be better than what I managed,” I say, grateful for his help. I sit down and unfasten the tie I just spent five minutes on.

“Didn’t your dad ever teach you how to tie a tie?” Mrs. Rosa asks, standing next to the sofa.

“My dad wasn’t exactly a suit kind of guy. More the salt of the earth type.” He didn’t own a suit when he died, so we buried himin one of his Hagan Construction polos and a pair of jeans. Mom said, quite rightly, it’s what he would have wanted.

“No worries,” Roger says as he reaches around my neck. His hands are shaking, but they seem better than they have for the past few days. It takes him a minute or so to tie it, and I take a video with my phone for future reference. Just in case Mary invites me as her plus-one to any future events.

When Roger finishes, he walks around to look at me and smiles. “You clean up good.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’s the wedding?” Mrs. Rosa asks.

---