Page 77 of Lotus

Oliver takes a slow sip of his beverage, his stare still hot and unwavering. The alcohol is making him bolder—this much is obvious. He’s never held my gaze so long; so unabashed. So unapologetic.

Fuck, I need a breather.

Pulling a small smile onto my lips, I quickly turn away and head up the stairs to hide out in my old bedroom while I collect my bearings. Confusion and alarms are fusing with a potent attraction I can’t seem to ignore any longer, and I’m being torn in two different directions. Logic and reason beg me to retreat, terrified to taint our friendship and turn it into something we can never come back from.

Casual sex is one thing, but my relationship with Oliver is anything but casual.

It’severything.

The risk of permanent damage is too great, and I refuse to cross that line.

Closing the door behind me, I pace over to the dresser and lean forward, palms down, trying to slow my heartbeats to a more manageable rate. I press one hand to my chest and close my eyes, centering my breathing until it settles and a calm washes over me.

The click of a door latch pops my head up, causing my heart to dance erratically once again when I spot Oliver standing in the doorway with those same flame-filled eyes I saw downstairs. “Hi,” I croak out, clearing the hitch in my throat.

He shuts the door behind him and moves toward me, his steps heavy with purpose. “Hello.”

Turning to fully face him, hip propped against the dresser, I slick my tongue across my lips. “Sorry to abandon you. I just needed a minute.”

“Are you all right?”

Concern twists at his features, melting me. “I’m fine. The crowd was getting to me.”

“I haven’t upset you, have I?”

My tender smile and quick shake of my head has Oliver softening with relief, his proximity closing in on me. “Of course not.”

“Good.” He returns the smile, just as tender, maybe even a little timid. But the eggnog pushes him closer until we’re toe to toe, the lip of the dresser digging into my lower back. His hands twitch at his sides, as if he’s aching to touch me. “I brought something,” he says in a low voice.

His scent wafts around me, pine needles and cedarwood, enveloping me in a thick cloud that blurs every line I’ve ever drawn. My fingers curl around the dresser as I lean against it. “What did you bring?” I give myself an internal slap for the tremble in my tone, then follow with a joke to make up for it. “Hopefully, no stories from Uncle Rory.”

Oliver slips a chuckle as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a tiny bouquet of green leaves tied at the stems with a red bow.

Fucking mistletoe.

My eyes trail slowly from the greenery up to his face, chest heaving, grip tightening on the edge of the dresser. His expression is a deep, penetrative stare, laced with a singular question that has rendered me silent.

Oliver takes my silence as an invitation and places the mistletoe right above my head, on top of the bookshelf beside us. When his arm draws back down, his hand lands on my jaw, cupping it in his palm, his thumb grazing my cheek with gentle strokes. “You hypnotize me,” he whispers in a ragged, fervent breath, the words touching my lips like a prelude to the kiss I crave.

“Oliver…”

A pathetic attempt at restraint that evenhecan see right through.

Oliver moves in until our noses touch, and I wet my lips, noting how they quiver with anticipation.

God, I shouldn’t.

God, I really fucking want to.

Memories of our last kiss sweep through me like a carnal typhoon, and I tilt my chin up on instinct—the final permission he needs.

The gap between us dissolves to ash as his lips find mine, and I’m not sure who’s moan filters through my ears, or who’s hands reach out first, but in a flash, I’m lifted onto the dresser, my legs wrapping around his middle. His tongue is in my mouth, tasting every dip and divot, tangling with mine until we can’t breathe. But I don’t care about breathing when I’m wrapped around him like a spider monkey, one hand clawing at his scalp, the other fisting the front of his sweater to keep him close.

Oliver’s hands cradle my face, his fingers threading through my hair as he devours me, teeth clacking together, breaths intertwined. He groans when I pull back, his bottom lip caught in a love bite. I release him, and his forehead falls to mine with a heavy gasp, his hands trailing down my body and cinching around my waist. His mouth moves to my neck, my favorite place to be kissed, and I arch into him, the back of my head colliding with the dresser mirror. I hold him in place as he kisses and nicks my throat, sending shockwaves through my system.

“Sydney…” he exhales against my sensitive skin, then inhales deep. “God, you smell like peonies and peppermint.”

Smiling through a moan when he nips my earlobe, I reply, “That’s because I ate my weight in candy canes tonight.”

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