Faking Christmas(62)
He brushed at a strand of my hair that had come loose in our tangle.
“Are you going to freak out about this tomorrow?” he whispered, a hint of a smile on his face.
“It’s starting now, actually.”
The smile turned into a grin. “Better throw all my chips on the table, then.” Before I could resist, he balled the sweater at my waist and pulled me to him again. His hands found my face, drawing me close as he kissed me once more. Where the first kiss had been soft, almost achingly so, this kiss was all heat. A heart-pounding passion licked at the air igniting sparks between us. It was disconcerting the way he so quickly rendered me incapable of doing anything but come alive the moment his lips touched mine. Though I couldn’t help but think I would regret my actions in the morning, my arms wound tight around his neck as he did a very thorough job convincing me of the blurring line between us. He drew back, his brown eyes blazing into mine. He pressed one more satisfying kiss to my lips before he turned and bounded down the stairs. The darkness swallowed him up the farther he moved from the soft, yellow glow of the porch light.
“Goodnight, Olive Wilson.”
TWENTY ONE
“Love? I’m not in love. You’re crazy. And if I ever did fall in love, it sure wouldn’t be with a vampire—even if he is rich beyond my wildest dreams, with gleaming white teeth and the most piercing blue eyes that send chills down my spine. Nope. Not me. You’ve got the wrong girl.”
Velda Stark - My Vampire Billionaire Baby’s Daddy
My new plan to treat Miles as though he had an infectious disease was quickly waylaid the next morning by a knock at my door. It was 8 am on Christmas Eve. I had hardly slept a wink the night before because my mind was too busy replaying the kisses—that should never have happened. The early morning hours did wonders for re-strengthening a person’s resolve. I quickly shimmied out of my unattractive flannel pajamas into a pair of black joggers and a sweatshirt before yanking open the door. To my surprise, I found not Miles, but a small basket filled with cereal, a blueberry muffin, a carton of milk, a pack of my favorite coffee blend, and an orange. Leaning against the house was a stack of freshly cut wood.
A note stuck out of the side of the basket. Glancing all around, knowing Miles was most likely watching me, I couldn’t help but pluck the note and read it.
Spanks,
I have to take all the kids in the lodge sledding at 10 this morning. I’d love for you to come with me if you’re interested. (i.e. You HAVE to say yes. It’s for the blackout). I’ll pick you up in a horse-powered sleigh at 9:45. Please dress like you will be going sledding and having fun.
Love,
Your man with the fine pair of hams (as you well know)
I yelled out to the snow-covered forest, “I don’t like sledding!”
The forest yelled back, “Everybody likes sledding!”
“I don’t like being cold!”
“I’ll take care of that!” This time, the forest voice had a flirtatious edge to it, which I didn’t appreciate. However, my traitorous heart still skipped a beat as I picked up the basket and retreated back into the cabin.
Then, I yanked the door back open and yelled, “Thank you!” I slammed the door before the forest could reply.
Once inside, I paced the floors, snacking on bites of cereal and the most delicious blueberry muffin as I tried to find a way to get out of going sledding. The last time I remembered going sledding, I was probably eleven or twelve. I was the youngest child, and we lived in the country. My sister had outgrown sledding, so I quickly followed suit. And I never really missed it much. I remember my gloves always soaking through, leaving my hands red and chapped. My coat never seemed warm enough. And deep down, I just wasn’t a thrill-seeker. Leave the cold and snow to the heroines in my books.
That being said…even if I wanted to go, I had no clothes to wear. The best I could do was my thermal underwear underneath my black joggers and a sweatshirt underneath my parka. But the joggers would get soaked through. Miles would take one look at me and hopefully have some pity.
Miles did take one look at me when I stepped out onto the porch at the sound of his snowmobile, but I didn’t find any pity. Immediately, he killed the engine, climbed off the machine, and moved toward me, a determined look on his face.
“You can’t wear that. You’ll freeze.”
I sighed, as though the news devastated me. “I know. I’m as bummed about it as you are.”
He gave me an annoyed look before opening my door and motioning me inside. “Don’t worry. I’ve got just the thing for you.”
The fake in my voice dropped immediately. “What?”
He grinned as he passed by me, striding toward the kitchen. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of my woman?”
I stared after him. “The fake kind.”
He ignored me and walked past the kitchen and opened the door that led downstairs. “I’ll be right back.”
I paced the floor, sipping on my coffee, trying to achieve some sort of Zen with deep breaths and warm, caffeinated liquid gold warming my body from the inside. He returned all too soon up the creaky steps, holding a pair of tan, insulated coveralls hooked to suspenders.
My eyes widened as he held them out to me. “No, thank you.”