Page 2 of Unholy Nights

“The snow,” I clarify, gesturing with a slight nod toward the window, though I think we both know that’s not what I’m talking about. “It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

She hesitates, her gaze flicking back to the window as if she needs to remind herself not to look at me too long. Not to let her curiosity show. “It is,” she replies after a moment. “It’s… quiet.”

I move to stand beside her, my shoulder brushing against hers, the contact deliberate. If I don’t steal these little moments, push the boundaries between us, I’m afraid I’ll snap before she’s ready.

Emerald stiffens, her gaze still on the snow-covered grounds stretching out beyond the window. The estate is a winter wonderland, covered in untouched white, framed by towering evergreens heavy with snow. It’s picturesque. I’m surprised Madeline doesn’t have her photographers out there already, forcing me into a holiday-themed suit and dragging me out onto the lawn.

I’m all too happy to be here now, though.

Forgotten for the moment and hidden away with her daughter.

The tension between us is a living thing, buzzing in the tiny space where we’re connected, where her shoulder leans against my arm. She sucks in a breath like if she moves even to exhale, it’ll push us closer together or further apart and she’s not ready to face either.

The silence sits heavy, almost vibrating against my skin, something that pushes and pulls between us like a current. It’s always been this way, even if she won’t acknowledge it. From the first time she turned those big, innocent eyes on me and changed the entire course of my life with a single look.

This feeling… It makes my skin prickle, my fingers curl into fists against the urge to reach for her, to close the distance until nothing stands between us. Not even air. Her body pressed against mine, skin to skin. Even my cock gives an enthusiastic twitch.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to peel her clothes off and unwrap her like the gift she is.

We’re even here beside the Christmas tree. It could be perfect.

“You seem distracted, Emerald.” I let her name roll off my tongue slowly, savoring the sound of it. The feel of it. She finally blows out the breath she sucked in a dozen seconds ago, and out of my peripheral vision, I look down and notice her dress with the wide collar gives me an exquisite view of her perky little tits in a lacy white bra.

Fuck. Me.

That enthusiastic twitch from before explodes into a raging hard on in less than the blink of an eye. Goddamnit. I shift to the side to try to adjust so I don’t scare her away. “Like you’re daydreaming of something.”

“I’m not,” she lies, her voice too high, her words too quick to be convincing.

I chuckle, low in my throat, and shift my gaze back up to her face. “Liar.”

Her eyes snap up to mine, wide and startled, and for a moment, I see it. The fire. That spark of defiance she tries so hard to keep buried. It’s there, just beneath the surface, begging to be set free.

I love it.

I fuckingcraveit.

She presses her lips together, biting down on that bottom lip again, and I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to it. I wonder if she knows what she’s doing to me. What she’s been doing to me for two fucking years. I wonder if she has any idea how much I want to ruin the image she’s been forced to maintain her whole life.

She hesitates, like she’s weighing her words carefully. “I was just thinking…” she trails off, her eyes flicking back to the snowoutside, her voice softening. “About how I used to love the snow when I was a kid.”

I raise an eyebrow, not expecting her to share anything so personal. Usually, she does everything she can to shut me out. To keep distance between us. Maybe she thinks if she pretends I don’t exist, she can pretend she’s not attracted to me, too. "Used to?"

She gives a small shrug, her gaze still distant. “It used to mean freedom. Snow days, getting to escape the rules for a little while. Now, it just feels… like I’m trapped.” She bites her lip, as if regretting the admission, and I watch as her eyes shutter, the wistfulness there quickly replaced by the practiced composure she always wears.

It’s too much like her mother and I fucking hate it.

I lean in closer, close enough that she must feel my breath on her neck, and I lower my voice, letting it brush against her ear. “Trapped by who?” I feel her shiver more than I see it. “By your mother?” Tension ripples through her, her posture stiffening. She’s always been too afraid to admit the truth out loud.

That she hates Madeline as much as I do. Maybe more.

She swallows hard, the vulnerability plain on her face before she glances at me, her expression hardening, a glimmer of resistance flickering in those green eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

A smile tugs at my lips. There it is—that spark I crave, the fire that hides beneath her fragile exterior. I can’t help myself. I reach out, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face, my thumb grazing her cheek. Her skin is unbelievably soft, and I never want to stop touching her. “Oh, but it does, little one,” I murmur. “It matters more than you think.”

She flinches, her eyes locking on mine, and I watch as her breath catches, that same restless energy burning up the oxygen between us. Consuming it. I lean in, my lips just a whisper awayfrom her ear, and she tilts her head closer. I’m not sure she knows she’s doing it. “One day,” I promise, “you’ll be free.”

Before I can make any more promises she’s not ready for, Madeline’s voice snaps through the room like a whip. “Emerald! Cohen! Dinner is ready.”

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