Page 75 of Booked for the Holidays
“I know it’s terrible. Could you at least–”
“You don’t listen very well, do you, Bridget?” Theo asks. He picks the glass off the counter and drinks the rest of it down in four quick gulps. “I like it.”
“Pardon?” I sputter.
“See? Not a good listener. Have I rendered you speechless?”
“No. I just… I saw this going a dozen different ways, and you liking the drink was near the bottom of possibilities.”
He hums and leans forward. Getting closer, his thumb glides over my my bottom lip, cleaning away the remnants of whipped topping left behind. My mouth parts instinctively, desperately, and Theo grins.
“Do you want to taste, Bridget?”
“Yes,” I whimper. I don’t know what he’s offering me a taste of; the drink. The whipped cream.Him. I just know I want it, more than I’ve wanted anything else in my life. “Please.”
“That goddamn word is going to be the death of me,” he rasps as his thumb dips inside my mouth, hooking under my lip.
My teeth drag over the pad of his finger. My tongue licks up the length of the digit, and I hear a low groan rumble from him. It’s like thunder in the distance; soft at first, then building and building, a mighty storm brewing.
His knees nudge my legs wider to accommodate his frame. I don’t care if I'm wearing a skirt. I don’t care if I don't have on tights today. I don’t care if it’s 2 p.m. on a Tuesday and anyone walking down the sidewalk could see us or walk in. I feel theneedI have for him. The desire for his hand to drop to my thigh, to work its way up my skirt.
“Maybe you do listen,” he whispers. His thumb drags out of my mouth. I’m weak, truly pathetic, when I lean forward, not ready to give him up yet. “Look at you. That wasn’t enough, was it? You want more.”
My eyes flutter open. I find Theo’s cheeks flushed, a shade between pink and red. His jeans show the outline of a bulge, straining against the denim. There’s heat in his eyes. Murderous, scorching heat. His gaze drops to my legs and he sucks in a breath. His hand twitches, his fingers flex.
My own hand falls to my thigh. I open my legs wider. He makes a strangled sound, a mix of a groan and a grunt. “What if I do?” I ask softly, daringly. “What if I do want more?”
Theo is like a statue. Only his eyes move and they dart everywhere. My lips, my neck. My chest, my thighs. His mouth parts, and he’s about to say something else.
Tell me you want more too, Theo.
Tell me what to do next.
The door to the shop opens, a rush of cold air snuffing out the electric charge in the room. The bells jingle, announcing the entrance of a patron. My legs snap closed. Theo scoots back on his stool, nearly tumbling off the leather. He turns away from me, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Fuck,” he mumbles.
“Bridget. Theo.” Lucas joins us at the counter and grins. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“No,” we answer in unison.
I jump up, dashing behind the counter. I adjust the hem of my skirt and grab a mug, attempting to busy myself so I don’t turn around and show the blush creeping up my skin.
“Doesn’t look like it.” Lucas smirks.
“Shut up,” Theo says. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I’m here to decorate like we’ve been planning for weeks. You’re the one who sent out the email. What areyoudoing here?”
“I made him a drink,” I supply.
“Really? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Lucas asks. “Where’s the rest of the gang?”
“You’re early. By ten minutes,” I answer.
“Shame. Wonder what would have happened if I wasn’t.”
Theo glances up from his laptop. His eyes snare mine. Keeping his gaze steady, he licks his thumb–the same finger he had in my mouth moments ago. He chuckles and I canfeelthe rumble of his laughter from over here.
