Page 105 of The Holiday Hate-Off
I force myself to look away.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. “You scared me.”
So she doesn’t remember. How much doesn’t she remember?
“I took you home from the lobster trap tree lighting,” I say, peering intently at the window shades, which thankfully don’t have the logo forCatspainted onto them. “Don’t you want a towel?”
“I didn’t think you’d stay.”
I detect no movement in my peripheral vision. She’s still standing there, naked. Looking at me.
“You asked me to, so I did.”
“I did?” she asks, sounding so surprised I almost laugh. I would if she weren’t the greatest temptation of my life, standing almost within reach.
“You did.”
“I sort of remember that, but you didn’t stayin here,” she points out. “I thought you were gone.”
“I couldn’t take the torment of feeling you pressed against me all night.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her take a step toward me. Her voice husky, she says, “Would it be that miserable to be close to me?”
I risk a direct glance at her. God, she’s beautiful. A few of her curls have sprung loose and are skimming over her breasts. Now, unclothed before me, she looks even more like one of the Italian masters’ paintings—the kind of woman who makes youwantto sink to your knees. I’d like to gather her hair in my fist, to run my hands and lips over her from head to toe. And I want, desperately, to sink into her.
“Yes,” I say.
Amusement passes over her face. “For all your big talk, you’re not very good at flirting.”
“It was an absolute torment because of how much I wantedto touch you. To kiss you. To explore every inch of you, Lucia. You make me crazy.”
“I was about to take a shower,” she says, her voice still low and breathy, the sound of it making my dick twitch. It’s already rock hard—and has been from the second I saw her.
“Are you inviting me to join you?” I ask.
She’s sober now, and if thisisan invitation, there’s no world in which I’d turn her down.
Her response is to reach for my hand. “Yes. But I’ll write it on your forehead in Sharpie if you need me to.”
“That won’t be required.”
“This is only about sex,” she says. “We would never work.”
“I understand.”
I remind myself of theCatsmemorabilia. The cabinet of horrors. Of my need to leave this place for good.
And I reach for her hand.
CHAPTER 22
LUCY
His hand is warm and strong as it takes mine, his eyes fixed on me. He’s staring at me as if I’m the most desirable woman in the universe.
My heart is beating so fast, I wouldn’t be surprised if it escaped the cage of my chest.
Enzo’s here. He stayed because I asked him. He wants me.
