Page 58 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“I’d like to do it again,” she says.
Thank fuck.
“Same.” I need to do things right next time. Strip her down and worship every inch of her body. Take the time to make her feel like the only woman in the world. Show her what it would be like to be my entire universe.
“We can have that,” she says. “Weshouldhave that. As soon as you agree to no strings.”
“Isla, I—”
“Please, Theo.” Her voice breaks, but she recovers fast. “If you try to tie me to you in any way, this week will end in heartbreak. Mine. Not yours. And you’re not worth the risk. Not anymore.”
I nod slowly, pain stabbing through the pleasure still clinging to my flesh.
As much as her words wound, the part of me that’s watched Isla grow into herself despite tragedy lights up with pride.
She’s claiming her power. Setting her terms.
Another part, darker and more selfish, wants to challenge her reluctance. Demand a shot at redemption. But that would only drive her further away.
So, instead, I hold her gaze, steady my voice, and nod.
“No strings,” I promise.
Even though I’ve never been more tangled in someone.
Nineteen
Isla
Sienna’sweddingradiatesetherealglamour. It’s in a classabovehigh class.
Perched atop Starlight Mountain, the venue’s location places us squarely in the heart of a winter fairy tale. Framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, the building offers a panoramic sweep of the landscape. It’s as if nature itself received a VIP invitation to the celebration.
The room is packed with all of Sugarpine Springs. Our town is justthatkind of place. And the Sinclairs arethosepeople. Trusted. Respected. Loved.
Soft classical music winds through the air, layering over the animated chatter of guests. Asher and I slip into seats near the back, having barely made it on time—and in one piece—thanksto his bright idea to outrun a snowstorm in his worn-down relic of a car.
Theo sits across the aisle with the rest of the Thorne crew. The tux he’s wearing elevates his presence to a level that can only be labeled asobscene. It grinds my composure straight into the marble floor. I can’t even take all of him in without risking a full-body blush.
It doesn’t help that the kiss-shaped elephant in the forest stands between us. Or, more accurately, the entireorgasmingherd of them. The beasts stampeded through my self-control, trampled over common sense, and left my body reeling from shockwaves I still feel.
At least I was smart enough to underline theno stringsrule.
Since college, every hookup came with the same condition: no commitment.
No matter what.
Maybe it was losing my parents that triggered my need to protect myself from feelings. Or perhaps it was Theo turning me down that ignited my obsession with detachment.
Either way, I’d rather be untouchable than in pieces. No risk might mean no reward, but it also guarantees no heartbreak.
Peace over passion.
The plan is simple: get my fill of him—of us—until this ridiculous, impossible crush that’s haunted me for years burns itself out.
Then I’ll be free.
Finally.
