Page 43 of Flirting with the Scrooge

“I would have let Tamara and the rest of the gossiping socialites stew on that one for a while longer. It’s more fun to watch them squirm.” Ledger shakes his head before taking a sip of his whiskey.

Not that long ago, he was the center of the gossip mill, but mostly because he’s dating Olivia. The thing I admire about Ledger is he never once backed down. He stood toe to toe with all of them to fight for Olivia. She definitely got lucky with him.

The rest of the evening carries on as normal, or as normal as these events can go. There were only two proverbial fires we needed to put out. One involved a socialite who had one too many wine spritzers and rumors of a cheating spouse surfaced. The other was an argument between two men and their business deal that went wrong. Luckily, Olivia and I were on top of it and got security to escort them out with minimal damage. But the real entertainment was Connor’s escort debacle. He even ramped up his escorting duties by showering me with extra attention. Some women side eyed him while others slipped him their phone number. His whole I don’t give a shit demeanor about this situation made me realize I shouldn’t care about their perception of me either. Their minds are already made up regardless, including Adam.

From across the room I spot Adam talking with Mr. Findley, a local business owner. It’s now or never. With my shoulders squared, I stride across the room until I’m standing next to the two gentlemen.

“Excuse me.” I turn toward Mr. Findley. “Sorry for the interruption.” Then I face Adam. “I’m over you.”

His eyebrows pinch together but before he can respond, I spin around on my heel and strut away, feeling ten times lighter on my feet.

At the end of the night, after everyone has left, Connor dumped all the phone numbers given to him in the trash, stating there’s no way their cookies are better than mine.

As we drive through our neighborhood, we make small talk about the event and laugh at how ridiculous some adults can act. When the conversation stops, the cab of the truck goes silent except for the low hum of electric flows between us. Or perhaps, it’s all my imagination. Then he spares a quick glance my way and I know he feels it too. It’s like we both have a million things to say but neither of us want to be the first to say them. Turning away, I stare out the window as the street lights pass by, needing to distract myself from the tension that’s ready to snap like a rubber band that’s pulled too tight.

My foot nervously bounces on the floorboard. The street lights offering very little distraction, so I break the silence. “Thanks for being my fake date. It was one of the best times I’ve had at one of these events.” Not knowing what to do, I fidget with my purse in my lap.

For a brief second, he glances my way, then trains his eyes forward on the road. “It was my pleasure.”

His tone is stoic. I’m unsure if he actually means it or if it’s the polite thing to say. Even in the dim light from the dashboard I can see his jaw flex and tighten beneath his beard. I want to reach across the center console and run my hand over his cheek, soothing any of the tension. Instead, I stare out the window again as he pulls onto our road and then into my driveway. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you home.” His hands grip the steering wheel.

“You don’t have to do that. You're just across the street. I can walk home.”

“What kind of fake date would I be if I made you walk home? Plus, I picked you up. I can drop you off.” He turns to face me. “That’s what a proper date would do.”

“Yeah, like a whole fifty feet.” I smile.

“It’s the thought, not the distance, that counts.” He shrugs.

After he shifts his truck into park, kills the engine, and steps out. He rounds the hood and opens my door. I hop down and with his hands on my waist, he helps me. I loop my arm through his and we walk side by side up to my front door.

Before unlocking the door, I whirl around to face him. His heated gaze is locked on mine and I suck in the corner of my bottom lip. The seconds that tick by feel like minutes. My lips part before I say, “Thanks again for tonight.”

“Anytime you need a fake date, you know where to find me.”

“Are you sure? I might hold you to that.” Now I’m stalling because I don’t want this night to end. A gust of wind flutters past us and I pull my coat tighter around me.

“I better let you get inside before you freeze.”

I nod. But what I really want to do is grab him and kiss the hell out him. Invite him inside and show him exactly how much I appreciate him and what he did tonight. Confess he’s the only thing on my mind. And that he’s a big grumpy scrooge, but he’s the sweetest person toward me. Instead of doing all that, I fish my keys out of my clutch because being vulnerable sucks.

“Wait.” His cold fingers gently wrap around my wrist.

I glance over my shoulder and there’s a brief pause.

He drops my wrist and instead grabs my waist, spinning me around, then his lips are on mine. It’s soft and sweet but sends an electric jolt through my body. Forget being cold. His kiss just sent an inferno raging through me, awakening things I didn’t know were buried. And it’s entirely too short.

He pulls away a fraction, but he’s still close enough that his warm lips graze mine. “I’ve wanted to do that since I picked you up.”

A beat passes as I glance from his lips to meet his eyes. “But you kissed me earlier.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “That was for show. This one was for real.”

Everything screams I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t want him. He’s not the guy for me. But right now, he’s the only thing that makes sense. The only thing I want. And I’m exhausted from fighting it. Overthinking it. He’s here. I’m here. And I’m just going to go for it.

I tug on the lapels of his jacket, hauling him to me, and slam my lips to his. He wraps his arms around me. I relish the way his large frame presses against mine, almost like a cocoon. His forearm rests against my lower back, just above the curve of my ass. The impressive bulge in his slacks presses against my belly.

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