Page 33 of Merry Christmas, Montana

Her breath hitched; her body shuddered. With a small smile, he slipped a hand into her top. Flesh on flesh, heat on heat.

Desire raced through her blood, crawled up her throat, and nearly frantic, she pulled down his head again. This time, their lips met in a desperate dance. But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. She had to get closer to him, touch him, become a part of him.

Tugging at his shirt, her hands found warm skin, toned muscles. Her heart sighed. This was what she’d wanted since forever.

The next moment, Mitch lifted his head, his breathing ragged. “Your phone…”

It took her another minute to hear her phone ringing over the roaring in her ears. Gulping in deep breaths, she tried to find her phone in the pocket of her jeans, but her hands were so unsteady, she couldn’t get to it.

Pushing her hands aside, Mitch took out her phone, his hand scraping against her over-sensitive breasts again.

With her eyes locked with his, she answered the phone. “It’s Riley…”

“Sweetie, I think you need to come back.” It was Aunt Janice’s voice.

A cold fist clutched around Riley’s throat, nearly cutting off her breath. “Dylan? Is he…?” Her breath got stuck somewhere in her throat, and she couldn’t utter another word.

“What’s the matter?” Mitch asked.

“I… I… On my way,” she got out.

Turning around, she stormed down the stairs. She had to get to Dylan. Right this minute.

Mitch reached the door before her. “Riley, what’s wrong?”

“Dylan,” she said, the first tear rolling down her cheek.

Mitch grabbed their jackets, gave Riley hers, and while pulling on his own, he opened the door, pushed her out, and locked it behind him. Taking her hand, he jogged down the steps. “Is he—”

“I don’t know.”

Without talking, they ran down the street toward Vivian and Aiden’s house.

She should’ve been with Dylan, not kissing and making out with Mitch Miller. She had a child; she wasn’t a hormone-filled teenager any longer.

Halfway back, she realized she was still clutching his hand and quickly dropped it. As she slowed down when they reached the house, Mitch took her arm.

“Let me…”

“Don’t…”

“You want everyone to see what we’ve been doing?” He reached out to pull her top into place.

Face flaming, Riley turned away and opened the door.

“That’s not… your hair.”

Combing her fingers through her hair, she opened the door. “Aunt Janice? Vivian? Where—”

“In here, sweetie,” Aunt Janice called.

Riley ran toward her voice. Dylan was sitting on Aunt Janice’s lap, Vivian was sitting next them, her statoscope on his chest.

Inhaling deeply, Riley tried to keep calm. She should’ve been here. What kind of mother left her child to go kissing someone she had no business kissing?

“What’s wrong?” Riley asked as she reached them.

“I’m not sure. He has a fever,” Vivian said. “It could be nothing, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m taking him to the hospital for tests.”

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