“It was so nice to meet you guys,” she says, closing the binder and rising from her chair. “Here’s my card, and my number is on the back if you need it. For anything.”
She says it provocatively, as she’s staring directly at Jackson with clear interest, and I honestly don’t know what’s come over me today. I step closer to him, my fingers lacing into his as I smile at her. “Of course. I’ll reach out if I have any questions. Thank you so much, Avery.”
For a second, she can’t hide the soured expression on her face, but as quickly as it came, it’s gone, and her cheery smile is replaced. “You bet! Thanks!”
I notice in our exchange that Jackson doesn’t pull away. If anything, he tightens his fingers in mine and stands next to me with an amused expression on his face.
In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all as I drop his hand and walk out of the bakery onto the sidewalk out front. Only then does he speak.
“What was that, Emmie?”
Avoiding his gaze, I pick at the pink paint on my nails, which is looking far more appealing than admitting to him what that was back there. “Not sure what you mean, Jackson.”
He steps forward and grabs my hand, stilling my fingers before he tips my chin up so my eyes are on his. “Were you jealous?”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff, but my throat feels thick as I try to swallow down the foreign feeling. “As if.”
I focus on the smokey ring of his irises and not how much I love the way he smells, how his hard body is pressed against mine in the middle of a busy street, or how my body reacts to his with only his proximity.
“I think you were jealous, Snowflake. And you know what that tells me?”
“Mmm?”
He leans in an inch closer until his lips almost brush mine. “That you want me, and not just for my cock.”
As much as I try to stifle it, the shiver that runs down my spine is an involuntary reaction to the word cock in that deep, husky baritone of his.
I open my mouth to protest his silly accusation, but his thumb darts out, and the pad of it drags along my bottom lip. The protest dies on my tongue, and I swallow hard.
“I think that you’re not used to the feeling. And it terrifies you as much as thrills you.”
My gaze still fixed on his, I whisper, “I think you’re delusional, Jackson Pearce.”
Except he’s not, and I hate admitting that he’s right.
11
jackson
My favorite present
“Fine, you pick out an ugly Christmas sweater with me, and I’ll watch you ice-skate,” I say, my arms crossed over my chest.
Her eyes roll. “I’ll come with you to pick out a sweater if you come ice-skating with me.”
Damn woman.
One thing we agreed to disagree about for this party is the fact that she wanted cocktail attire, and I wanted something my family has been doing for decades. Ugly sweaters.
It’s a Pearce tradition. The uglier, the better.
And not only is it a tradition, but it’s fun, which I think Emma needs more of.
At one point last night, I got her to agree by eating her pussy until she was too spent to do any arguing. And now her answer stands.
The invitation that is going out on Monday will say cocktail or ugly sweater attire, and even though it seems like a frivolous thing, this includes something both of our families would want.
“Deal,” I say as we head in the direction of a department store. I pause and grab her hand, sliding it in mine. It feels… natural. Holding her hand and walking down the street together without everyone’s eyes on us. Here, we’re just two people holding hands, but at home… I think we might actually stop traffic if someone saw us walking down Main Street hand in hand.
It might not be anyone’s business, but that wouldn’t stop the gossip.
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” I glance over at her, my eyes raking over her cheeks, which are pink from the cold. She looks fucking adorable with her beanie on and flurries of snow clinging to her lashes. “I think we should spend the rest of the day enjoying the city. Having fun. Before we head back to Strawberry Hollow tomorrow.”
“There’s no way. We have so much to do for the part—” she starts, but I stop walking and turn to face her, cradling her jaw in my hand.
My thumb sweeps along her cheek. “You deserve a day of fun, Emma. Look, you’ve been working around the clock to make this party happen. You’ve gotten the decorations. We’ve booked the cake, found the bartender, booked a band. We’ve checked a lot off your list. A single evening off is not going to unravel all of the progress made. The rest of the day, you’re mine, okay?”
For a second, I think she may say no, that she’s not interested in being mine for any length of time, even if it is only for a day.
Until recently, I never realized that Emma carried so much pressure on her shoulders. I spent all my life thinking she was an uptight, pretentious princess who was too good for anyone else, but now that I’ve gotten the chance to actually know her, I realize that I was wrong. Sure, she’s a perfectionist. She wants everything to be organized and in order, but she’s also hardworking and passionate when she cares about something. She’s been open to compromise and finding a solution that would make both of our families happy. Not just hers. And when she lets loose, she’s a lot of fun too.
There’s more to Emma Worthington than meets the eye, and I want to know everything that she doesn’t show the world.
“You know, I don’t think we’re very good at the whole one time thing, Jackson,” she whispers, her eyes holding mine. “We’re two and oh right now.”
My shoulder dips. “Maybe we just need more practice, Snowflake. C’mon. Give me one day.”
She tilts her head to the side and scrunches her nose up, clearly pretending to consider my request when we both know she’ll agree.
“Okay. One day.”
I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips, and I sure as hell don’t even try. I’ve got one day to make her smile, to remind her that there’s more to Christmas than just this damn party, to do the things that make her happy. Things that don’t include a to-do list. If she wants to go ice-skating, then fuck it, I guess I’m going ice-skating.
Before I can stop myself, I press a chaste kiss to her lips, then grasp her hand in mine. “One day. Let’s do this.”
“Dear God, that is absolutely hideous,” Emma says when I walk out of the dressing room, her nose scrunched in distaste. “Please tell me you are not thinking about buying that.”
“Oh baby, it’s coming home with me.” I smirk, doing a full three-sixty so she can see the back, “And you’re getting one too.”
“I’m pretty sure my mother would burn it if I walked in wearing that.” She giggles, her whole face lighting up.
Fuck, I love that sound more than I ever thought I could.
Choosing the ugliest sweater in this place to make her laugh: mission accomplished.
She’s not wrong. It truly is fucking hideous, but then again, isn’t that the point? The uglier, the better.
It’s bright red and covered in sparkly gold tinsel adorned with large green bells that jingle every time I move.