Page 50 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“No?” The wicked curl of Theo’s smirk douses me in heat from head to toe.
“If my outfit is an issue, that’s totally on you,” I snap once I regain my voice. “Mrs. Claus is in the laundry, and someone”—I level him with a look—“kidnapped Sexy Santa.”
“Found anything to trade me for it yet?” he challenges.
“What do you want, Theo?”
His gaze drops to my lips. “What are you offering, Isla?” The question tunnels through me, landing low in my core.
I grind against his thigh. It’s an unintentional move, but no less damning.
“Isla…” His fingers flex at my waist.Release. Grip. Repeat. “I—”
“I’m dating Asher!” The words burst out on a breathless pant.
“Try again.” His palm slides higher, fingers splaying across my ribs, and I bite down on my lip to stop another incriminating sound from getting out. “The truth, this time.”
“The truth is that you made it clear I wasn’t enough for you!”
Theo’s expression softens. “You were more than enough, Isla. But you were also—”
“Yeah, I know!” I cut him off, the flush in my face now mingling with a sharp sting of humiliation. “Too young. Too vulnerable. Too…whatever.”
“Can you blame me for wanting us on equal footing before asking you to get on your knees for me?”
The words slam into me, flattening my lungs. I scramble for a retort—something sharp, clever—but my mind is full of static.
With a rough groan, Theo pulls away, guiding me off his lap. “Whenever you’re ready, come get your shirt from my room.”
I gaze up at him. “What do you want in return?”
“One too many things, Sunshine,” he says darkly.
Seventeen
Theo
Iwillnotjerkoffto thoughts of my brother’s fake girlfriend.
Frigid water lashes my skin as I stand under the showerhead, willing my mind into submission. The icy spray bites into my chest, but it’s not enough. If anything, it hones my senses and fuels the tension burning through me.
I tip my head back and exhale a broken curse into the chill.
This morning’s run was supposed to fix me. Charging down the slopes of Starlight Mountain, carving through the snow with reckless speed—that’s always been my reset.
Not today. Not when every turn led back to her.
Isla Greene is branded into my soul.
She’s in my thoughts. In my blood. In every damn heartbeat.
I slam my fist into the wall. Cold tile meets my knuckles.
Quit thinking about her.
The command is useless.
My mind snaps to the memory of Isla’s trembling fingers as she hung the ornaments. The shine of tears in her honey-colored eyes. The quiet strength in her smile as she wrestled grief into grace.
