Page 28 of Knot what I want for Christmas
Hidden behind the snowman, they’re finding it a lot harder to hit us – but that doesn’t last long, because soon Tucker’s calling for a charge and they’re sprinting toward us.
Annie’s pulled from behind the snowman by Tucker, who drags her down into the snow, as her brother holds a snowball in his hand ready to smush it straight into her face.
“Surrender, little sister,” he says.
“Hey!” I shout at him. “This is cheating!”
“The rules of snowball fights are:” Tucker tells me, “there are no rules.”
“Do you surrender?” Clay asks his little sister once again.
She glares up at him.
“Never!” I scream, and then I’m running toward him and leaping straight up onto his back, shoving ice-cold snow right down the neck of his shirt.
He jolts in surprise, loses his balance, and then the two of us are tumbling down into the snow together. Somehow, in the confusion, the great big Alpha lands right down on top of me.
We’re staring at each other, nose to nose.
It’s the closest I’ve been to a man while vertical in longer than a year.
It’s the closest I’ve been to an Alpha while vertical in forever.
Chapter Nine
Clay
I don’t know how I find myself lying on top of Hollie Bright, but I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it at all. Up close, her scent is even sweeter. Her eyes a formidable turquoise color and her breath warm against my skin. Our mouths are only inches apart, and it would be exceptionally easy to lower my head and press my lips to her soft pink ones, glossy with some kind of balm.
However, not only do we have an audience, not only has Hollie Bright made no indication whatsoever that she’d like me to kiss her, she’s also my little sister’s best friend, a best friend who has come for a week of recuperation and not a week of frolicking. A fact I seem to have to be constantly reminding myself of over the last 24 hours.
“Jeez, Hollie, are you okay?” my little sister calls out.
“Oh,” Hollie says, those mesmerizing eyes gazing straight into mine as she bites on her bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“But,” I say, “I seem to have the upper hand now, Omega.”
I don’t mean to say that word; it just slips out of my mouth, and I notice the way it causes her pupils to blossom.
Just an innate, pre-programmed reaction she can’t control. And yet, a reaction that calls to all my own innate, pre-programmed reactions.
“Upper hand how?” she says, with a hint of defiance.
I scoop up a load of snow and hold it above her face.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, although I can tell by the wobble in her voice that she’s not so sure about that.
“I wouldn’t?” I say.
“I’d like to remind you, Clay Jackson,” she says, “that I’m a guest in your house, that I’ve only been in the neighborhood for a day, and it wouldn’t be very polite to shove snow in my face.”
“Even though you just shoved snow down my shirt?” I ask.
“Hmm,” she manages a little shrug.
“Even though you vomited on my boots last night?”
“I missed your boots,” she says.
