Page 18 of Her Christmas Fix
MONIKA
The driveback is quiet except for the persistent buzzing of my phone. After the fifth notification in two minutes, I switch it to silent and shove it in my purse.
Griffin glances over as he navigates the dark coastal road. “You’ve been getting calls all day. Is Riva alright?”
“She’s fine. It’s my agent.” I lean my head against the window, watching the darkness fly by. “A director wants to meet about his next project, which is already getting Oscar buzz.”
“The Oscars?” His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s huge.”
“I guess.” I try to inject enthusiasm into my voice but fail miserably. “My agent thinks I’m insane for not jumping on a plane immediately.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because I’m taking a break from being ‘on’ all the time, performing, and pretending everything’s perfect when it’s not.”
“I’m sure he’ll wait, and you’ll be back soon enough.” His voice is carefully neutral. “Christmas is a week away.”
“Yeah.” The thought sits like lead in my stomach. Going back to LA, to the meetings and scrutiny and fake smiles. The only bright spot is having Riva visit for the New Year. “Back to real life.”
“What do you want, Monika?”
The question hangs between us as he pulls into his driveway. More and more, what I want is to stay here indefinitely, working on the house, eating terrible pasta, and arguing about tortilla chips. But that’s not real life, and the fantasy of normal ends in seven days.
I don’t answer as we get out of the truck, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below filling the silence. I stop halfway to the door and tilt my head back, taking in the blanket of stars spread across the sky.
“Look at them.” The frigid air stings my cheeks, but I don’t want this night to end. “We don’t see stars like this in LA.”
“Beautiful,” Griffin agrees, but when I glance over, he’s looking at me.
The intensity in his eyes makes my pulse skip a beat. I move toward him until we’re close enough that I can see his breath in the cold air between us.
“Griffin—”
He cuts me off with a kiss that’s wild and demanding. His hands tangle in my hair, and I grab his jacket to ground myself, gasping when he nips at my bottom lip.
We stumble toward the house, unable to stop kissing long enough to walk properly. He fumbles with his keys while I press open-mouth kisses to his jaw, and we practically fall through the door when it finally opens.
Then he stops.
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheek as we both breathe hard. “Monika, I want you so much I can’t think straight. But this is your choice. I won’t pressure you or ask for more than you can give.”
Something in my chest cracks open at his words, just enough for him to slide past every one of my defenses. A secret part of me wants him to ask for more. To demand that I give himeverything and give me an excuse to stay. But he doesn’t because we both know how this will end.
I glance at the couch where I’ve been sleeping for a week, then back at him. His dark gaze is patient, waiting for me to decide.
“I don’t want to think about next week,” I whisper. “I want this right now with you.”
I lean in and he kisses me again, gentler this time but no less urgent. He peels off my jacket and shucks out of his before leading me down the hall to his bedroom.
I’ve peeked into Griffin’s bedroom once or twice—or maybe every day—but this is the first time I’ve been inside the wholly masculine space.
The room isn’t large, and the bed fills most of it. It’s a bed built for a big man, with a solid pine frame and a thick duvet in a muted floral pattern.
“What are you thinking?” he asks as he watches me stare at the bed.
“I wouldn’t have expected flowers,” I say quietly, which is the most innocuous of the thoughts circling through my head. He chuckles, and the way he looks at me, I swear he knows everything going through my mind.
“I like pretty things,” he says, without a bit of self-consciousness. Then he adds, “You’re going to ruin me for regular pretty.”
