Page 17 of Take Me Home for Christmas

“Only if you’re mean to my mom or do anything out of line.”

“Anything?” He raised a brow and sent me a look that sent another ball of heat barreling through me, clear down to my toes.

I wasn’t going to react to double entendres that might or might not be purposeful.

I wasn’t going to fall for him again, especially after trying so hard to un-fall.

Iwasgoing to be a freaking wall of self-discipline. I knew I could do it—after all, I’d had the cojones to survive four years of med school and a hair short of three more of residency. I would not let a man of all things get under my skin. No sirree.

I tried to focus on my excitement at going home and finally, finally seeing my family instead of my rogue feelings for Brax. Or the fact that I’d spent the past two hours trying to stop my heart from racing every time he smiled or said—well, anything, even something simple like “great coffee” in that low, deep voice of his. As a result, I felt a little shaky. My throat was dry and my nerves were jumping. Maybe it was from the giant coffee I’d consumed on the drive.

Or worry. Because once a person sees you with your family, it changes things. Makes them understand things. Makes them get to know you in the truest sense. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to keep hiding the intimate details of my past from him.

Not that I had secrets, but honestly, Brax had broken up with me. You don’t confess your deepest wounds, your deepest feelings, to someone who’s rejected you.

What was I worried about? He couldn’t stay charming and affable forever. This weekend, I would see his true colors. And his imperfections. Like maybe he had stinky feet. Or didn’t floss regularly. Or picked his nose.

“So, is Oak Bluff a small town?” he asked as he surveyed the view out the window, miles of farms and rolling countryside. As he drove, I took the opportunity to scrutinize his profile—strong—a nice forehead, a defined nose, a good chin, and a square, stubborn jaw. He sat straight but didn’t tend to hold tension in his neck or shoulders like I did. The thick layers of his dark hair curled a little over his coat collar, his open coat revealing a gray crewneck that matched well with his faded jeans.

I could’ve chosen worse.

My heart sank. Because I realized that Ihadseen him when he wasn’t charming and affable—I’d often seen him when he was exhausted and yet focused beyond belief trying to save a child from dying. And you know what? That Brax was pretty amazing too.

But who knew? Even the most affable, laid-back person could go bonkers when trapped with someone else’s family for a long weekend.

“Yes, a very small town,” I said. I felt that same little kick of excitement in my stomach whenever I thought about home. This was a region of water and forests, of sleepy little lake towns with Victorian summer getaways from a century ago, of forests and cherry trees and big blue skies. I almost said something likeYou’ll have to come back in the springtime when everything’s in bloom. We can go out on the lake. We can hike and bike and pick cherries at the cherry farms. Visit the farmers’ market and buy fresh veggies and bouquets of flowers bursting with rainbows of color.

I stopped myself from getting caught up in my own fantasy. The part where I found someone to love, who loved me back. That someone, I reminded myself sternly, wasn’t Brax.

Maybe he was the one who’d broken it off, and that had stung, but honestly, I didn’t want someone who’d straight-out told me he didn’t do serious. So there.

“Your family’s got a little farm?” he asked. If it were anyone but Brax, I’d say I detected a little waver in his voice, a bit of nerves.

“Okay, so it’s actually a big farm,” I began.

“Like, with crops and stuff?”

“Yes, city boy, a real farm. Five hundred acres,” I said proudly. I counted on my fingers. “Corn, soybeans, wheat. And we have cherry trees.”

“Cool.” He seemed to be mulling that over.

“You’ve been to a farm before, right?” I didn’t think I was prodding too much by asking.

“Does a petting zoo count?” he shot back with a slow, charming grin. “And of course I pass a lot of farmland when I drive from Philly to Milwaukee.”

I saw what I was dealing with. But I tried to be nice. “Okay, that counts—a little. But seeing our farm is going to knock your socks off. It’s…beautiful. All rolling hills and fresh air and…” How could I describe what a great place it was to grow up? “You’re going to love it.”

“All right, then, farm girl,” he said, still grinning as he turned to me. “I’ll take your word for it.”

From the passenger’s seat, I could feel the familiar heat spread low in my abdomen, straight through my body, and flare out as a burn in my cheeks.

I hated that heat. It reminded me of our third date, when we’d brought pizza back to my apartment, sat on my couch, and turned on the Packers. When our hands grazed, he tookmy hand and held it. My breath caught, and suddenly the game commentary might as well have been in another language, punctuated by whistles and cheers in the background.

It all faded into nothingness as our lips met.

The way we came together wasn’t tame, and it wasn’t slow, but rather wild from the beginning, our mouths greedy, our tongues tangling. We clutched at each other until we ended up horizontal on my couch, his mouth devouring me, me sinking my fingers into the wavy thickness of his hair and pulling him over me.

He smelled like shaving cream and simple bar soap, his bristle pleasantly rough on my cheek, his hands sure as he wrapped his arms around me.

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