Page 67 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“Whatever I want?” she echoes.
I nod. “Yes.”
Always.
Twenty-Two
Isla
Whateveryouwant.
Theo’s words vibrate through me, sparking reckless excitement in all the wrong places. Or perhaps…very,veryright ones.
As the evening progresses, his presence engulfs me from across the room.
So, I lean into it.
Play with him.
I let Willow introduce me to her friend’s cousin. Fueled by alcohol, the guy is all loud laughter and wandering hands.
Shutting him down is easy. Automatic.
But, first, I revel in the snap of tension betweenTheo and me.
It’s impossible to deny I lust after the crack in his composure. Why else would I continue to chase the storm in his eyes? A small, wicked part of me gets off on taunting him.
As I said—reckless.
When I indulge a glance in Theo’s direction, I’m met by twin green flames. The intensity burning in them makes it clear he’s contemplating scorching the space between us. Or maybe reducing the man beside me to ashes.
Yet, despite his glare, he holds back.
This moment is mine to shape. Mine to control.
Whatever you want.
What the helldoI want?
By the time I realize I’m moving, the buzz of the party has faded. Without a destination in mind, I weave through the building, heels clicking on floors that shift from polished marble to weathered wood as I enter the unrenovated wing.
A slightly ajar door invites me into a vast space that once served as a gallery. The scent of aged canvas, linseed oil, and dust hangs in the air as I take in my surroundings.
Paintings are scattered throughout the room, suspended on thin wires from the ceiling. Some capture Sugarpine Springs’ familiar spots—snow-dusted streets, dawn-kissed peaks, and mist-wrapped springs. Others, like the oil portraits of the town’s most prominent families, focus on the people.
I’m surrounded by glass and silence. Endless windows stretch from floor to cathedral arches, offering a view of the night sky. The velvety darkness is fractured by snowflakes glittering in the moonlight. The view is magneticandmajestic.
No wonder this place holds the record for love declarations.
The creak of the door opening shatters the spell, jolting me out of my trance. I don’t have to look behind me to know who has entered.
Theo’s footsteps are measured. Purposeful. When they stop, I turn, pulse quickening with anticipation.
He's right in front of me, tux jacket is gone, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, bow tie undone and hanging loose around his neck. The disarray of his clothes contrasts sharply with the power emanating from him. Rigid posture, tight muscles, flexed jaw—every part of him exudes control.
“Decide what you want yet, Sunshine?” In his gaze is the same brutal focus he uses to dominate at work.
Equal parts terrifying and electrifying, the look is a shot of adrenaline to my nervous system. And though I teeter between fearing it and embracing it, one thing is certain: I like it.
