Page 77 of Her Holiday Arrangement
It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t the calculated seduction Elizabeth had always wielded like a weapon. It was messy, cold noses bumping, slightly chapped lips dragging together, teeth clacking once in the rush of it. Riley’s sweatshirt smelled faintly of laundry soap and cheap cocoa mix. Elizabeth was still shivering, her boots leaving a puddle on the floor.
But it was real. God, it was real.
Elizabeth kissed back, her hands finally finding Riley’s waist, clutching as if she could anchor herself to this one impossible, perfect person. Riley’s lips softened under hers, the kiss deepening, breaking apart for breath only to come together again—needier, hungrier, truer.
Elizabeth had kissed a hundred women. Maybe more. But none of those kisses had ever felt like this, like an undoing, like a beginning.
Her chest ached with it.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Elizabeth’s breath was ragged. Riley’s was, too. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, letting herself feel the warmth of Riley’s skin against hers, the sound of her heartbeat, the fragile, miraculous fact that she hadn’t been turned away.
When Riley finally whispered, her voice was thick. “I’ve never seen you not put together.”
Elizabeth let out a shaky laugh. “I didn’t want to wait.”
Riley leaned back just far enough to look at her, eyes searching. Whatever she found there, whatever naked, unpolished truth Elizabeth had finally managed to show, softened her expression.
Riley reached down, took Elizabeth’s cold hand in hers, and tugged her inside.
The door shut behind them.
And for the first time in Elizabeth’s life, she felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.
For a beat, Elizabeth simply stood in the tiny entryway, dripping snowmelt onto Riley’s worn rug, her chest heaving as if she’d run a marathon.
Riley still hadn’t let go of her hand. That was the only thing keeping Elizabeth tethered, the strong, warm grip around her fingers.
Riley looked at her, really looked at her, and Elizabeth braced for rejection. But Riley’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, and something in Elizabeth’s chest cracked open.
“You’re freezing,” Riley murmured.
Elizabeth’s laugh was shaky, almost wild. “I told you, I didn’t want to wait.”
Riley’s mouth twitched, softening. And then she tugged Elizabeth forward, through the narrow living room with its threadbare couch and twinkling half-broken string lights, toward the bedroom.
Elizabeth followed, every nerve alive, terrified and exhilarated.
The bedroom was small, the bed unmade, a pile of laundry in the corner. It was so far from the pristine, curated spaces Elizabeth was used to. And yet she had never felt safer in any place in her life.
Riley turned, standing just in front of her. For a moment, neither moved. Then Riley reached up, pushing back the stray strands of hair clinging to Elizabeth’s cheek.
“You look ridiculous,” Riley whispered.
Elizabeth let out a breathless laugh. “I probably do.”
“You’re dripping on my floor.”
“Then take this all off me.” Elizabeth’s voice was lower now, husky with want.
Something flickered in Riley’s eyes, hesitation, longing, a thousand questions, and then she obeyed. She slid Elizabeth’s heavy coat from her shoulders, the wool wet and cold. Underneath, Elizabeth’s turtleneck clung to her skin. Riley’s fingers brushed her ribs as she tugged at the hem, and Elizabeth shivered violently, but not from the cold.
Riley’s touch was tentative, reverent, as if she didn’t quite believe Elizabeth was real. Elizabeth had spent her life being admired, desired, claimed. But she had never been touched like this, like she was fragile, and precious, and terrifyingly human.
The sweater came off, and Elizabeth stood there in her silk camisole, her breath sharp, her skin goose-pimpled. Riley’s eyes moved over her, hungry but soft.
“I mean it,” Elizabeth whispered, surprising herself with how unsteady her voice was. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not with you.”
