Page 14 of Never Sleigh Never

Does he know I popped over with a booty call in mind? Can he see right through me right now? Is that why he’s here?

But the answers to those questions don’t matter one bit. All that matters is Thomas is standing on my doorstep asking if I need anything. And I do.

Him.

But I can’t say that.

“Oh, well, actually…,” I say instead, gesturing behind me. “I was just trying to start a fire. Maybe, you could help?”

Thomas cocks his head to one side, his eyes roaming over my outfit as my cheeks flare with heat. “You sure about that?”

As if he knows what I’m really asking.

I nod. “I thought maybe we could make the most of today, er…tonight.”

He raises a hand to grip the door jam. Tight. “Before we get ahead of ourselves, hmm?”

“Right, yeah.”

He blows out a long breath and then dips his chin and steps inside. And I’m hit with the realization I’ve just invited Thomas Crawford into my house while I’m in pajamas and slightly tipsy, fully intending to sleep with him when it was only a week ago I swore up and down he wasn’t my type.

I push aside the thought as I show him into the family room clicking off the TV thanks to a more desirable form of entertainment. Thomas kneels down by the brick fireplace, his jeans hugging thighs as thick as tree trunks and a shapely assI can’t tear my gaze from as he expertly rearranges the wood. I could watch him work all day.

“Here,” he says, his low voice snapping me out of my reverie. “Let me show you how to do this.”

I kneel next to him as he explains why he stacked the logs crisscross and then demonstrates how to tuck the starter log into the center of the pile to light it. We’re so close the heat radiating from his body has my blood pumping before a match is even struck. The smell of sawdust clinging to his clothes fills my lungs. Who would’ve thought it’d be headier than Bleu by Chanel? It’s been my favorite cologne for years, but there you have it.

He reaches for the matches, and within seconds, the lick of flames casts a warm glow over us. Thomas turns to me, our faces only inches apart, and suddenly, my family room feels like a sweltering summer night. The air between us is sticky with tension and possibility, and there’s a needy heat buzzing through my veins that even an iced sweet tea couldn’t cool.

“Thomas,” I whisper, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he must hear it.

And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I’m closing the distance between us. After all, if one thing was clear the other night, when I was in his arms, it’s that this man wanted to kiss me.

Sure, the fact he didn’t was like a cold plunge, but tonight, all bets are off. Mainly, because I can’t keep my hands from lifting to rest on his chest, the solid warmth of his rock-hard pecs flexing through his soft shirt under my fingertips. I rise on my knees, bringing my face close to his.

For a heartbeat, we’re suspended in this moment, our breaths mingling. But before I can press my lips to his, Thomas makes the move, capturing my mouth against his. The kiss is soft at first, tentative. But within seconds, his powerful armswrap around me, pulling me flush against him, and the kiss intensifies, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest.

The sound shoots straight to my core as my fingers twist in the flannel of his shirt, holding on for dear life. My thighs clench as the sensation of being kissed by this man commands every fiber of my being. Thomas tastes like peppermint and possibility. And the voice of reason that was already losing ground in the back of my mind flies out of my brain like Santa’s sleigh lifting off from a snow-covered rooftop to disappear into the night.

Thomas

The second I grazeher soft pink lips, the dozens of reasons not to kiss Cara Livingston that have rolled through my mind, again and again, for the past twenty-four hours wash away like a sandcastle on the beach when the tide comes in. The touch is at once like nothing I’ve ever experienced before but also a sensation I’ve been waiting my whole life for without even knowing it.

And the erection I’ve sported all day, despite thinking Cara wasn’t interested, hardens like granite. Because there’s a chance that assessment was wrong, even though she took off like a shot. Not that my dick cares either way. The second Cara hesitated at the door before asking if I could help her start a fire, I knew I was done for.

Even if it’s, as she said, “just for tonight.”

I tug her soft curves against me, hungry for more. As I drove over here tonight, I knew dropping by was likely the worst idea I’ve had in a decade. If there was something she really needed, Cara would have texted. But the second Brad mentioned the blonde across the street had stopped by, looking for me, I knew I’d be heading to her place, rather than going to my own dark, empty house, after I locked up at the store.

Because I’m a glutton for punishment, putting myself directly in the path of temptation and a guaranteed broken heart. I wouldn’t be here now, pulling her into my arms in front of a blazing fire if I didn’t have real feelings for her. That’s just not the kind of guy I am. And even if she doesn’t feel even a fraction of what I do, the sparks are undeniable. I can’t resist her anymore.

My fingers weave into her hair as her nails dig into my shoulders. Her lips are demanding, needy. Her teeth nibble my lower lip while my hands slide down her back to cup her ass and haul her onto my lap where she fits perfectly wedged against me. Her legs wrap around my waist and she settles in and wiggles like a loose screw in an old rocking chair as she seeks friction. And I’m happy to deliver.

My cock presses uncomfortably against the confines of my jeans, but I buck my hips, thrusting my tongue into her mouth when she gasps at the contact. She matches me stroke for stroke, griding against my length while I savor her taste. Our breathmingles as her fingers trail up my neck and tangle in my hair, tugging hard.

“Thomas,” she whispers against my lips, her voice husky, “I want…” She trails off, not finishing the thought, but it doesn’t matter. Her heaving chest, lowered lids, and peaked nipples, as hard as pebbles pressed against my chest, tell me everything I need to know.

“Lie down,” I command, shifting forward to lay her gently to the carpet, so I can replace the fire grate. Her legs may be wide open and straddling me, and I may have a one-track mind at the moment—learning every inch of this woman to discover exactly what makes her come undone—but safety first. Then I can get down to business.

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