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)
For a long time, I only ever believed there was one important reason to avoid romance—it’s nearly impossible to trust. But I never considered how many more reasons there are to swear off relationships. Till now. Because how does anyone live with this uncertainty? With the awfulness of wondering what’s next? With these ups and downs?
If I let my heart get involved over the holidays, I’m afraid there won’t be much left in the new year. Trouble is, for the first time in ages, I don’t know what chess piece to move in this fake romance game.
So I simply hug her, savoring the scent of snow in her hair before I think too hard on what will happen back at the cabins once we leave.
And before I know it, it’s time to go.
30
VISIONS OF BANGING MY HOT BOSS DANCE IN MY HEAD
Fable
The kitchen in the main cabin is quiet. The snow covering the foothills gleams through the windows, shimmering against the inky black sky and the mountains beyond. Everyone’s retreated to their cabins for the night, so it’s just Wilder and me several hours later.
Us and the twinkling lights strewn around the open-plan kitchen, flickering in purples, pinks, blues, and reds as they climb over windows, around doorframes, and along the sliding glass doors leading to the deck.
The snowball fight crew had dinner together at a cute diner on Main Street. I made sure my dad and his newest wife didn’t sit near my mom—or Charlotte. I don’t want my sister exposed to my father’s romance toxicity during this happy time for her. Or his bloviating. I can’t believe he thundered into the competition like a conquering hero.
Typical, though—the man has zero self-awareness—but I put him out of my mind.
With the space to ourselves at last, and the clock ticking close to ten-thirty, it’s time to celebrate the first naughty and nice list accomplishment.
As Wilder walks past me in the kitchen, I catch the faint hint of his cedar and snow cologne, and it makes my chest ache. He reaches into the cupboard for mugs, his cashmere sweater nice and snug on his stretched arm. Does he even own anything for lounging around? Maybe he doesn’t ever relax. I feel underdressed in my leggings and Renegades sweatshirt, but I can’t complain about his attire since that soft gray sweater hugs his strong chest and those jeans fit his toned legs so well.
He hands me a pair of matching Santa Claus mugs, and I thank him.
Even if he doesn’t lounge much, at least he’s indulging in hot cocoa, and I’m glad I can give him that chance since he probably wouldn’t take it otherwise. This man deserves a little treat especially after what he did for me this afternoon in the Evergreen Falls park.
That was simply hot.
After I pour the cocoa, I hand him a mug, then lift my cup high in a victory toast. Hours later, I’m still riding high on the way Wilder absolutely pummeled Brady with a snowball. Did I know that watching my protective pretend billionaire boyfriend pelt the world’s douchiest ex-boyfriend with a snowball would be so satisfying?
I did not, but it was perfection.
We clink ceramic Santa heads. “You earned this thanks to this afternoon’s takedown.” I sip the drink and lick my lips, savoring the sweetness.
He moans in appreciation, a rumbly sound that sends a little charge through me. “Tastes good,” he says in a low voice, and those words rattle my brain a little.
So simple, but so suggestive too. Tastes good.
I hear the echo of what he said this afternoon when he wiped the evidence of my orgasm off his lips—You taste fucking delicious. And I shudder all over again, but the tremble is chased with questions too—like how the hell are we going to handle sleeping in the bed we’re about to share?
Are we even sharing a bed? I don’t think we resolved our couch-bed issue. The only resolution we arrived at is that we both like fighting. Probably because it was foreplay. And I definitely need a distraction from my very naughty and not-at-all nice thoughts.
“Seriously? How awesome are we for that snowball fight?” I try to force my mind away from the sex at hand.
Wilder laughs. “You are shockingly ruthless.”
“I will take that as a compliment. Especially coming from you.”
“You’re a shark, Fable Calloway. And that’s the highest compliment.”
I preen but then turn the praise back on him as I lean against the kitchen counter. “The way you launched a missile at Brady and knocked him down? I didn’t know I needed that in my life, but I’m rating it a ten out of ten.”
For a second his expression shifts, his smile disappearing. Something dark passes over his eyes. A storm cloud? A mood? I’m not sure. Maybe mentioning Brady is the wrong thing. But Wilder seemed excited to wallop him. Rather than wonder, I decide to simply ask. “It seemed like you really enjoyed it too?”