Page 66 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

“We love you, Ethan Addicts! We hope you’re having just as much fun for the holidays,” Ethan says to the camera, wrapping up the livestream. “See you tomorrow.”

“What are you doing? The fans—”

“They’ve seen enough. This moment’s just for us,” Ethan says.

I don’t question his sincerity. Instead, I find myself yielding... trusting… free-falling. Because this isn’t the suave performerI’ve directed in countless scenes. This is Ethan, raw and real, showing me what’s behind the charm and easy smiles. His heart is in every spontaneous gesture, every vulnerable look. And for the first time, I’m not calling “cut” to stop myself from feeling too much.

He captures my wrist, and we start to dance. The cold barely registers, not with his arm wrapped around me, his touch searing through my wet shirt. I shift closer, drawn to him instinctively, my heart hammering louder than the storm.

We fall into an easy rhythm, and with every sway, every shared breath, the space between us crackles with invisible electricity. The spray, once an intruder, now feels like a cocoon, wrapping us in a world of our own making. Two people slow dancing in a downpour.

Ethan tilts my face to his, and then he kisses me so hard it nearly lifts me off the ground. I kiss him right back. The sensation vibrates through my whole body, electrifying every nerve ending. My hands fist in his shirt then slide under it, desperate for skin-on-skin contact.

His steady palms claim my hips, lifting me like I’m weightless. I wrap my legs around him possessively, and he transports me out of the rain—to our intimate sanctuary under the house. He pins me to one of the stilts. I yank off my sopping wet shirt and carelessly throw it to the ground.

Somehow, his mouth is already on my jaw, making his way to my ear. I’ve got one arm around his shoulders for balance, the other tugging at his shirt. It needs to come off… now. His shirt joins mine on the ground, landing in a puddle with a wet splat.

Our skin slides against each other, slick with precipitation and desire. Ethan shifts his hips, pressing me harder against the house stilt. I can feel the unmistakable firmness of his cock, hard and insistent against me, and I arch into him, craving more.

I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. But I can’t seem to keep this from happening.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Chase

Hang me like astocking on a stripper pole. I have got to be around people today. Ethan deserves that “ladies’ man” title—his hands have some kind of magic sex glue, because once they’re on you, you do not want them to come off.

I’m keeping my distance, and by “distance,” I mean just a pheromone’s waft away. Ethan’s loading box after box of decorations onto a double-decker pontoon boat. All the boats in the harbor share a similar decorative theme—half-working strings of lights, inflatable flamingos, and enough plastic palm leaf garlands to make a low-budget luau.

It’s gaudy as hell, but I can appreciate the commitment. The Cherish Channel would never fork over the funds to create a spectacle like this.

Ethan’s tight T-shirt and jeans hug his body like they’re afraid to let go(tell me about it), and there’s a Santa hat tucked into his back pocket. He looks like he’s starring in a XXX-Mas special, and my body is all,Santa, I’ve been very, very bad.

My face blushes.

My heart quickens.

I force myself to look away, but not before my tongue pays tribute, darting out to lick my lips.

“Chase, hun, you are in for such a treat tonight,” Darla chirps, breaking me from my Ethan-induced trance. “The holiday boat parade is my favorite every year. We start with a little Mardi Gras celebration, throw in some Christmas flair, and wa-lah! We got ourselves a party on the waves!”

“Then I’m bringing the eggnog margaritas, Darla!” I practically sing it, for fuck’s sake. Oh yeah, all the sex is definitely going to my brain.

“Do you enjoy yourself out on the water?” Doug asks, sporting an alligator-themed Christmas shirt that’s so hideous, even a thrift store would reject it.

Before I answer, Ethan chimes in. “Chase likes the ride if she’s at the helm.” He throws me a wink.

“You’re right, I do like to be on top… of things,” I reply. “Problem is, Ethan can’t keep up.” I wink back with a surge of satisfaction.

That’s right, buddy. This director can play dirty too.

Darla fans herself dramatically with a plastic flamingo. “I thought I was having a hot flash, honey, but nuh-uh. It’s the sparks flying between the both of you!” She dissolves into a fit of giggles. “You two get any hotter, and we won’t need these Christmas lights!”

“You know me,” Ethan says. “I’m always a big fan of fireworks. Especially when it comes to lighting Chase’s fuse.”

I’m locked and loaded, ready with a snappy retort involving bottle rockets and certain body parts, when Ethan grabs me, pulling me in for a kiss that makes my toes curl in my sandals.

He has lit my fuse.

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