Page 18 of Jingle Bell Flock
Harry.
A name he hadn’t called me in years. One that belonged to a boy with skinned knees, secret hideouts, and summer nights that stretched forever.
Something fragile bloomed in my heart. I’d been so certain this was an ending, our final chapter. But maybe, just maybe, we were turning to a new page instead.
six
. . .
JEREMY
I woke to a foreign sensation:warmth. Not the sputtering, half-hearted heat my cabin’s ancient furnace managed before giving up the ghost, but actual, enveloping warmth.
From a body pressed against mine.
My eyes flew open. Cream walls, not rough logs. Eastern light, not western. Sheets carrying notes of clove, vanilla, and the unmistakable scent of sex.
Last night came crashing back to me in vivid, technicolor detail.
I was in bed with Harrison Prescott, a man I swore I hated.
His arm lay heavy across my waist, his breath tickling the back of my neck in a slow, steady rhythm. Beyond the window, silence had replaced the howling wind. Snowflakes still drifted down, but gently now—the blizzard that had “stranded” me herehad passed, leaving behind this strange pocket of peace and tranquility.
Common sense screamed at me to leave. My clothes lay scattered across his bedroom. I could dress in ninety seconds. Sneak out and be back at my place before he even stirred.
Instead, I sank deeper into that warmth.
Last night, I’d told myself this was it. After this, I’d be free.
But if anything, I wanted himmorenow.
Wanted mornings that started like this instead of alone in my cold cabin with nothing but regret for company.
I closed my eyes and stifled a groan.
I was so fucking fucked.
Behind me, Harrison stirred, his foot sliding along my calf, and he made a low, contented humming sound that rumbled through his chest and into my back.
“You awake?” I asked, my voice rough with sleep.
Harrison’s arm tightened around my waist, and he pulled me in tighter. “Yeah. You okay?”
Physically, I was somewhat sore—I hadn’t bottomed for a couple of years—but it was a good kind of ache. The type that made sure you knew you’d been well fucked.
Emotionally, though? The jury was still out.
“Yeah,” I answered.
He didn’t respond right away, and as we lay there in silence, I became hyperaware of every point where our bodies touched. The intimacy of it made my skin prickle with something between want and panic.
The want won out.
My hand drifted to the forearm pressed against my stomach, and I traced the line of muscle absently, feeling the fine hairs beneath my fingertips.
When I felt calm enough to speak, I said, “I think we need to talk about what happened.” Harrison went rigid behind me, every muscle in his body seeming to lock up at once.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, his voice careful. Guarded. Very much like he was bracing for me to tell him this had been a mistake.
