Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
I give him a reassuring smile, telling him I’m okay.
A subtle nod comes from him.
Wilder does look seriously handsome as the prime minister—debonair and hot at the same time.
Smart, powerful, and fuckable.
And…where did that come from?
I’ve never thought of him, or anyone as smart, powerful, and fuckable, but now that I’m looking at Wilder, those adjectives go nicely together.
They make it genuinely easy to take my charcuterie board and walk away from Brady without a second thought. I want to sit next to the so very fuckable man who’s my Christmas boyfriend.
Wilder and I sit on the couch with the twenty-or-so guests gathered around. There’s Maeve and Josie, along with my sister. Everly’s here too, her blonde hair in braids since she’s dressed as Cindy-Lou Who. Her boyfriend, Max, is the Grinch. At least, I think he’s the Grinch. A green fluffy collar is his only nod to the costume theme. But that fits—he had a reputation as the league’s grumpiest goalie until Everly, as the team publicist, helped him rehab his image.
Mariah Carey belts out her holiday wishes on a state-of-the-art sound system while we play our wedding shower game—He Said, She Said, Who Did.
Wilder reads from a card. “Who made the first move?” With patient eyes, he looks to the guests.
Josie, Everly, and Maeve shout Leo.
The groom gives a can you blame me smile and then drops a kiss onto my sister’s cheek.
Josie takes the next card and reads, “Who said I love you first?”
We all shout, “Leo.”
Charlotte raises a finger, her candy-red polish shiny under the chandelier. “I said it a second later.” She kisses her groom’s forehead, and Leo smiles dopily.
Max goes next, clearing his throat and reading, “Who, after their first date, said, ‘I met the person I’m going to marry?’”
Everly adds, “Awww. So sweet.”
I snap my gaze toward Wilder, who grins as we shout in unison, “They both did.”
His shoulder slides against mine as we laugh, and a spark shimmies across my neck. I peek at his face and catch a glimpse of his green eyes. They flicker with something playful but soulful too, and then he wraps an arm around me, tugging me close. A tingle slides down my spine then spreads through my whole body, warm and bright.
Across from me, Brady’s chatting amiably with Leo and some of the other guys. Maybe the condescending Sure you moved on comments are finished and we can all have fun and celebrate our friends’ happiness.
I hope so. It’s nice right now with everyone getting along. It’s nice, too, to play pretend with Wilder, like when he held my hand. Like how he’s touching me now.
“We should refill drinks,” I say.
“Good idea.”
He stands, and I follow him, but a high-pitched squeak from my sister stops us before we leave the living room. It’s followed by an excited, “Mistletoe alert!”
She points at us, standing under the archway into the kitchen.
Wilder and I crane our necks in sync.
Directly above us is a sprig of mistletoe. Who hung it? Did Wilder put this here when he and his daughter decorated? Or was this the party planner’s doing?
Who cares? It’s showtime.
The rest of the guests are cheering now, too, chanting, Kiss her. Including my ex.
I suppose it’s a good thing we practiced that kiss in his office. But as I wait to be kissed once more by my smart, powerful, fuckable billionaire fake boyfriend, the run-through seems superfluous. Because my desire is no lie.
18
A FOOT POPPER
Fable
This kiss needs to seem like our twentieth or fiftieth—not our second. I don’t want to mess this up.
But when Wilder meets my gaze, my worries disintegrate and something else takes over—an insistent need that climbs the stairs of my heart. The need to be kissed…by him.
There’s not a second to choreograph this moment. This is a one-take situation. His eyes pin mine as he whispers, just for me, “Practice makes perfect.”
My chest flutters. I answer him with a tilt of my chin, even as questions flicker through my head. Will he wrap an arm around my waist? Drop a peck on my lips? Cup a cheek? The answer comes a second later when he lifts his hands to hold my face in a firmer grasp than the one in his office, and I tremble at that first touch. Tender and caring. Possessive and in control.
Music floats by, and I faintly register “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” At the chorus, Wilder inches closer, and time slows. Anticipation wraps around me like a magic spell. Our audience fades into the distant background as Wilder’s breath coasts over my jaw. A sound escapes my lips—a hungry murmur that surprises me.
That delights him, judging from the way his lips curve up. That little sign smooths out the last of my worries. I close my eyes, and his lips brush over mine. That scent of cedar is intoxicating. I melt like snow under the winter sun as Wilder kisses me under the mistletoe.