Page 67 of Booked for the Holidays
A long beat passes between us. I can practically hear her thinking, weighing the words, the timing, the risk.
She tilts her head. “Still not subtle.”
I grin. “I’ll work on it.”
Juniper bites her lip, clearly trying to hold back a smile. “So, dragging me out of a chair, huh?”
“Still on the table.”
Her laugh escapes, soft and reluctant, but it’s real. And in that sound, in the way she’s still here—not running, not brushing me off—I feel the tension between us shift.
“We should go inside.”
I nod and follow her up the staircase.
Inside her flat, we slip off our shoes and hang up our coats.
Trying to calm down, I take a moment in the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth.
When I enter her room, Juniper’s sitting on the edge of her bed, still in that deep burgundy dress that’s been tormenting me all night. Her legs are crossed, hands braced behind her,watching me like she’s not sure what move I’ll make next, or if she wants to make the next move herself.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, drinking her in while her eyes stay locked on mine.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Hey.”
I move toward her, slow and steady. “If you want me on the couch?—”
“No,” she says immediately, voice firm. “I want you here.”
That’s all the invitation I need.
I climb onto the bed, pushing her backwards until she’s pinned beneath me, my hands braced on either side of her head.
The moment my pelvis drops against hers, we both groan. It feels so right to have her under me. To enjoy the feel of her soft curves reaching up to meet me without an ounce of guilt. I’m so fucking captivated by her, tonight only made it more apparent.
I brush a loose hair off her forehead, letting my fingers continue to trace over the shell of her ear then her jaw.
“I didn’t like seeing you and Beck flirting.”
“Is that what we were doing?” She lifts her brows, a small laugh escaping her throat. “It felt like a one man show I just happened to be sitting next to.”
“I don’t think you understand how possessive I can be,” I murmur, dipping my head closer, letting my fingers lightly squeeze at the base of her neck.
“So show me,” she says, voice low and daring.
I pause, just long enough for her to read the hunger in my eyes, then I release her. Stepping back, until I’m standing again and I can see her fully, I curl my finger. “Come here.”
She sits up, taking my hands when I offer them. No hesitation, just heat and trust and the same ache I’ve been feeling since the moment I saw her again.
I guide her over to the full-length mirror by her closet and position her in front of me.
“Ask me to help you with your zipper.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. She knows this scene. It’s chapter thirteen of her annotated book that I’ve been reading.
Turning her head to speak over her shoulder, she looks up at me from under her long lashes. “Will you unzip me?”
