Jonathan looks at me like a haze has cleared for him, too. Like he’s just processed what he’s done, and can’t believe he did it. Before either of us can speak—though what the hell could we even say?—I stagger backward, hurrying up the steps to my building’s entrance. But for some inexplicable reason, as I reach the top, I turn back and face him.
Jonathan stares up at me, still breathing roughly.
I’m still breathing like that too, like there’s not enough air, like the only air I want is each jagged breath stolen between kisses that unravel and tangle us together.
What an absolute disaster.
Frantic, I rush inside, then sprint upstairs to our second-floor apartment. Shutting the door, I slump against it and sink to the floor.
“What the fuck?” I whisper into the silence.
From where I sit, I can see straight down the hall to my bedroom and my desk, the laptop perched on its surface. I think of Mr. Reddit, and my stomach sinks. He’s the one who I’ve been waiting for, the one I was supposed to kiss someday as snow fell from the sky.
No, we’re not together, but we both more or less admitted we hoped for it, once we met and got to know each other in person. How did I lose sight of that? How did I let Jonathan’s sultry wintry scent and his romance-novel spiel and his cozy car and his cache of mint chocolate M&Ms sway me so easily?
Sickening fear washes over me. What if I’ve waded into dangerously familiar territory with Jonathan?
I’ve been seduced for ulterior motives before, and while Trey was as different personality-wise from Jonathan as day from night—all sunshine charm and flirtation, compared to my cold, surly coworker—their aims are much too similar, aren’t they?
Trey’s ultimate goal was for his family’s business to own Bailey’s Bookshop, and in an attempt to secure that, he took advantage of my trust, my romanticism, my belief in the best of people. Jonathan wants the bookshop for himself, too, and he’s proven himself ambitiously strategic and calculating. I’m not sure how this seductive campaign, this nice-guy routine and kissing me breathless, plays into his scheme, but what reason do I have to believe it’s anything other than just that—a scheme?
Whatever Jonathan’s motive for exploiting this sexual attraction that I can’t deny any more than I can deny the curls on my head or the color of my eyes, I have to stop this. Right now. Not one more moment mulling over the longing in his gaze, that sexy almost-smile as he walked out of the locker room and saw me there. No more thinking about my perfect peppermint hot cocoa or his mint chocolate candy stash, or his appreciation for romance or his heartfelt apology…
Or those kisses. God, those kisses.
Then again…maybe every sweet, sensual thing that man squeezed into one small hour is exactly what I should be thinking about. Maybe it’s time to use Jonathan Frost’s weapons against him.
Stumbling upright, I run to my room and wrench open my closet door to search for the dress to beat all dresses. I unearth it, then hang it on the closet door, inspecting it with a tilt of my head. Gingerbread takes one look at the dress, then lets out a long meow.
“Agreed, Ginge. It’s pretty va-va-voom for work, but you know what they say: desperate times call for desperate measures.”
If Jonathan Frost thinks he’s going to Lothario me right out of a job, he’s got another thing coming.
I pump myself up as I steam-press the wrinkles out of every crimson panel of my dress and pick out the perfect pair of superbly festive earrings. I remember the fire in Jonathan’s eyes as he told me, I’m not walking away without fighting for this, Gabriella.
I loathe myself for falling prey to his nice-guy act in the car.
I loathe myself for kissing him as much as he kissed me, for letting him hold me to his body, fierce and hot and hard, when he’s not supposed to be the one I want.
I loathe that as I watch snow falling outside my window, all I see is snowflakes crowning his dark hair, and when I lick my lips, all I taste is that first intoxicating brush of his mouth and mine.
Flopping onto the bed, red dress pressed and waiting like a suit of armor, poised for battle tomorrow, I wrap Gingerbread in my arms and bury my face in her velvet-soft fur. She meows, peering up at me inquisitively.
“What’s my plan, you ask?” I kiss her perfect pink nose. “I’m going to work tomorrow, and I’m bringing Jonathan Frost to his knees.”
I caved last night and listened to my romance audiobook because I was desperately under-slept and I needed to be rested for my plan of attack. Unfortunately that led to another erotic aristocrats-in-the-library dream that put its predecessor to shame.