Page 15 of Booked for the Holidays
Damn. She’s a sight for sore eyes.
I’ve seen her photos online. Followed her updates. Watched from afar as she built Blush & Binding from scratch and documented every milestone.
Her copper hair is pinned back with one of those silky bows I find fascinating, loose tendrils framing her face. Her fuzzy pink sweater makes her look like a valentine. Soft and warm. The look she gives me over her shoulder is not.
“Just so you know, you’re not my first guest,” she says as she jiggles the key in the lock. “I’ve had other guests. Male ones. Lots of them.”
Bloody hell.
My jaw tenses at the thought of Juniper with another man.
She seems overly excited to share that information so it could be a bluff. But from the sight of her, the way she carries herself as a woman and business owner, there’s no doubt in my mind she could have any guy she wanted.
Last year, she wanted me, but I fucked it up. Too shocked by the discovery that I was having feelings for my best friend’s sister to properly react to her advances.
She doesn’t owe me anything, but that doesn’t stop the pang in my chest.
If she’s no longer a virgin, I hope it was with someone who saw her properly. Not some tosser who didn’t know how lucky he was.
“Noted,” I respond, in an effort to calm the jealous rage inside of me.
She gets the door open and steps into the flat. But then she turns suddenly, and now we’re wedged together in the tight hallway.
Our breath mingles.
Her eyes find my lips.
My restraint thins.
I debate kissing her right now and telling her all my regrets. But one wrong move and I could ruin everything I came here to fix.
She steps away first, putting space between us.
“Don’t worry, Hargrove,” she says coolly, “the crush is long gone. You’re just a houseguest now.”
Her words slice clean through my ribs.
“Oh, and you were right last year. That kiss was a mistake.”
I study her, head to toe. Taking note of the way her chest rises and falls unevenly. She’s lying. Maybe to herself more than to me.
“Was it?” I counter.
She hesitates, like she’s forgotten her line in a rehearsed script. “Uh, yeah.”
A hard swallow makes its way down her slender neck. My fingers twitch at the vivid memory of her pulse beneath them. It feels like no time has passed. Like that kiss lives under my skin, waiting.
I want to lay it all out for her now, every reason I’m here, what I want from her, from us. But she’s not ready. I can see it in her stiff shoulders, the tight line of her mouth. If I push too hard now, I’ll lose any ground I’ve got.
Patience. Stick to the plan.
She spins away, releasing the tension between us.
“This is my apartment. Oh, I mean myflat,” she says, sweetly acidic.
My brows tick up. “I see we’re mocking the accent now.”
“Just helping you translate.” She flashes me a feisty smirk.
