Page 15 of One-Click Christmas
The chatter of women outside the door is loud and obnoxious, but his lips are on mine before I can say much more and I don’t have the strength to stop him.
“I thought about you all night long,” he manages between kisses. “Every word I wrote.”
I swallow hard, my spine against the cool brick wall at the back of the small room. “Glad I could help.”
His mouth finds mine again, harder this time, like he’s trying to erase the hours we spent apart or maybe that’s wishful thinking. I have no idea at this point. All I know for sure is thathis hands are on my waist, then my hips, then tangled in my hair. “I couldn’t stop,” he says. “Every scene, every line, I wrote you. Not a character. You.”
My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure the women outside can hear it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, not moving a muscle.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and wild. “Then tell me to stop.”
I don’t…because I don’t want him to.I want to know what it feels like to be written by him, not just on the page, but here, in this moment, with his breath on my skin and his body pressed against mine.
His hand slides down my thigh like he’s memorizing the shape of me, like he’s taking more of me for his story, and I’ve never felt more important in my life.
I never want it to stop. I want to lose myself in the now, and never return to reality ever again, but fate has other plans. My phone buzzes in my pocket, the screen bright and loud. It’s the tone I set for my mom, and I know she wouldn’t text me at work if it weren’t important.
I love her like crazy, and I want to care for her,butright now, Mom? Pulling away from his touch, I glance down at the screen, desperate for the noise to have been a fluke.
Mom: Sweetheart, it’s your Aunt Beth. I wanted to get through to you urgently so I’m using your mom’s phone. I’m taking her to the hospital. She’s having some difficulty walking this morning.
I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I stare up at the giant before me. “Sorry. My mom is on her way to the hospital. I have to—”
“I’ll go with you.” He kisses my forehead gently again in the same way he did last night after all the filthy things he did. I want to love it, but it’s confusing.
“No, that’s okay. This happens all the time. I’m sure she’s fine. It’s just… it’s important for me to be there.”
His hand meets the side of my face like sandpaper. “If you want me to stand outside, I will, but I’m going with you.”
I nod, unsure of what to say or how to react.
Last night was heat and hunger. This is… different. This is him choosing the messy parts. The parts I usually hide.
His thumb brushes my cheek, and I don’t flinch. I lean in, and for a second, I let myself wonder what would happen if he really cared, if last night wasn’t a one-night thing, and if what’s happening is the start of happily-ever-after.
Lord knows I could use one.
Chapter Eight
Hunter Black
The gravel crunches under our tires as we pull into the lot. Three cars, one flickering porch light, and a crooked sign that says‘urgent care.’This isn’t a hospital. It’s a converted house in the middle of nowhere, though I’m not sure what I expected from these mountain towns.
“Should I stay in the truck?” I glance toward her as I shift into park.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I don’t know what’s happening here. One second, you’re telling me how awful you are at relationships. The next, I’m with another man, it’s driving you crazy, and then you’re fingering me in the alley.” Her blue eyes widen. “I’m okay with all that. It makes some twisted bit of sense, but soft forehead kisses and coming with me to the hospital to see my mom?” She shrugs. “What is this?”
Lana looks at me like I’m supposed to have the answer, like I planned all this. I didn’t. I didn’t plan a damn thing. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.
I thought I’d come into this town and blow out like I have all the others, but that didn’t happen. It didn’t happen and now I’m sitting here lost.
Lost, despite the fact that I’ve written sixty-two books with heroes who know the right thing to say and when to say it. Lost,even though I know what I want. Lost and sitting here like a fucking idiot, completely unsure of what to say next.
The paradox is painfully poetic.I write stories for a living but can’t even speak in my own.
“You should go.” Lana nods and slides from the truck as though the opportunity to make sense of things has passed.
