Page 7 of A Crush at Christmas
This is what I wanted four years ago. This unbridled passion as we devour each other, a tad clumsy in our desperation as our noses bump because we can’t get enough.
I grab his butt as he palms mine, pulling me flush against him, and I can’t help but moan, an embarrassing needy sound that signals how much I want this. Want him.
I writhe against him, the friction exquisite, but before we can take this to the next level—me clambering on top of him on the bench top, naked—the door slams open again and a giant frondhurtles into the kitchen, the wind worse than it was ten minutes ago.
“Shit, the cyclone’s intensifying,” he mutters, and I miss his heat as he struggles to close the door.
I stare at the palm frond that’s landed at my feet and suppress an irrational giggle. It’s not mistletoe—not that we need it—but the thought alone reminds me of our impulsive make-out.
Weston Spade kissed me.
Just like I dreamed of for years and lucky for me, the reality far surpasses the fantasy. But as he finally re-latches the door and turns to look at me, his shellshocked expression mirrors mine.
“Emery, I… what happened…” He shakes his head and my heart sinks.
We’re not going to pick up where we left off. He’ll make an excuse or dismiss it like he did four years ago. Not that we got as far as lip-locking back then, but we got close, my lips grazing his, and it’s nice to know I haven’t imagined the heat. My tingling lips and flushed body are proof of that.
I don’t want to hear his excuses, so I pre-empt. “Looks like the cyclone’s messing with the island so we’ll definitely be hunkered down here until the worst of it passes.” I gesture at the fridge and force a laugh. “Lucky we’ve got loads of food.”
Before he can respond, the seriousness of the situation sinks in.
I grimace. “Damn. If the winds are worsening, there’s not going to be a wedding, is there?”
He shakes his head. “No boats or planes will leave the mainland as long as this cyclone is a threat.”
“Shit. Poor Tom.” I sigh. “He’s going to freak.”
“Hopefully it passes quickly, and they can reschedule for Christmas Day or Boxing Day.”
“Maybe. Though if a Christmas Eve wedding was bad enough, Christmas Day is over the top.”
Our gazes lock and I wonder if he remembers that fateful Christmas Day four years ago, when Tom hosted a drunken party that almost ended in me screwing his best mate.
“I did the right thing back then,” he says, reading my mind, and I’m stunned. Not only does he remember, but he’s bringing it up. “We were wasted, and I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Noble of you, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’m not a prick and you’re too special…” He trails off and looks away, reddening slightly.
I should admire his chivalry. Instead, all I can think about is getting him naked.
“What about now?”
“What about it?” he asks, deliberately obtuse, when he knows exactly what I’m asking.
“We have to ride out this storm.” I cock a hip, deliberately provocative. “So why don’t I ride you?”
His mouth drops open at my brazenness and I can’t help but laugh.
“That sounded better in my head. Guess I’m not cut out to be a seductress.”
“You don’t need to seduce me.”
He stalks towards me, crossing the kitchen in a few strides, setting my heart pounding so loud it almost drowns out the howling wind. “But for the record, I kissed you as a distraction because I hate cyclones, so I may not be thinking rationally.”
“Rationality is overrated,” I murmur, a second before I fling myself at him, and this time, I’m confident we’re taking this all the way.
8
