Page 52 of Sexted By Santa
I still wasn’t sure he didn’t. He was a tough man to get a read on.
It wasn’t so much that he ran hot and cold—though he was decidedly hot during our online sexting session—and shut me down cold when I implied we could have more than a couple of fake dates. It was more that he seemed conflicted, like a man who didn’t know what he wanted.
And hell, it wasn’t as if I had it all figured out. Christian wasn’t some hookup who could scratch an itch and disappear. He was my neighbor. He would be right next door, no matter how this ended.
Perhaps it was better to let Christian keep his guard up, to let the spark of possibility between us fade away. Because if it ended badly…
There was no one it wouldn’t touch. Not me, not Tori—not Christian.
I might not have an exact read on him, but I could see the vulnerability he tried to keep under wraps. The way he’d tensed up when anyone mentioned his divorce. He wasn’t immune to heartbreak.
That vulnerability brought out my protective instincts and made me want to shield him. But how did I shield him from me?
Christian parked in front a two-story Victorian, its windows glowing brightly, even while it lacked the twinkling holiday lights of its neighbors.
“Did you get the bah-humbug gene from your aunt?” I teased.
Christian sounded affronted. “Certainly not. She’s just subdued with her seasonal decorations…”
“Ah, well, not everyone wants to light up the block, I suppose.”
Christian didn’t answer, instead opening his door and stepping out. A cold wind gusted through, making me shiver. A good metaphor for the rapport between us just now. Playing the doting boyfriend had been easy on our first date. But I wasn’t sure we’d so easily convince his family and friends if we carried on this way.
I followed him up the sidewalk to the covered porch, jogging a couple of steps to catch up with him. As we reached the door, I took hold of his hand.
He flinched a little when I made contact.
Resolutely, I folded his hand into mine. “We need to look like a couple,” I said, staring straight ahead at the door, which shone a cheery yellow beneath the porch light.
“Right. Sorry.”
“You wanted a fake date,” I said gruffly. “So we’ll fake it.”
Christian drew in a breath, as if he might say something in response, but the door opened. An elegant older woman with silvery purple hair and immaculate makeup drew Christian into a hug. She wore a floor-length gown in a deep maroon that made me wonder if I was severely underdressed. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you were playing hooky.”
“Sorry we’re late,” Christian said.
“It’s my fault,” I volunteered. “I wasn’t quite ready when he arrived.”
“Aunt Henry, this is my date, Jaxson Hicks.”
Henry turned a smile on me, eyes glittering. “Well, aren’t you a tasty morsel? Tall, dark, and handsome. Christian, your taste is improving.”
“Dear god,” Christian muttered.
I laughed. “Thank you. I worry I might be underdressed?”
Aunt Henry looked me over. “Not possible, darling,” she said with a wink. “You could waltz in here naked, and you’d be just the right amount of dressed.”
Before I could respond to that—and really, what was there to say?—Henry stepped back, waving us inside.
“Come in. I can’t wait until Fynn gets an eyeful,” she said gleefully. “There’s an open bottle of wine and hors d’oeuvres on the credenza, so help yourselves. I must run and check that everything is set for dinner. People are mingling, so…mingle. Make sure they all see the eye candy.”
She smiled impishly before withdrawing.
“I’m sorry,” Christian said as we crossed an elegant, tiled entryway to a warm living room with glossy wooden floors, delicate furniture that looked antique, and gorgeous paintings on the walls: watercolors, oils, even some mixed media. “Aunt Henry is…Well, she doesn’t censor herself.”
“I did get that impression.”
