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)
With a lift of his brow, he takes another sip, perhaps considering my question, then sets down the mug on the counter. “I’d be a liar if I said I don’t enjoy besting my enemies. And he’s one of them. Mostly, though, it felt really fucking good to deliver our message, as subtle as it was…” He pauses and levels me with an intense stare as he says, “That he can’t fuck with you.”
I shiver.
That darkness? That mood? It’s his protective side rearing its head again. Wilder is a man of his word. A man who sticks to his guns. A man of pure passion. “You really like doing this to make a point?” I ask, kind of amazed.
His gaze holds mine, long and steady. The air between us is charged. Pulsing even. In the dim light of the kitchen, the world still and quiet, the mountains hugging these cabins, he says, “You have no idea how much I love delivering a message on behalf of the people I care about.”
Those words thrum through my body, a declaration, an anthem.
People he cares about…I’m one of those people. He cares about me. The thought is a little electrifying. I’m not sure what to do with it, so I take another swallow of the chocolaty drink. “As much as you love hot cocoa though?” I ask, feeling a little unmoored with him now. Wobbly even.
He takes another drink from the mug as if to test it, his eyes on me the whole time. “Hard to say. This is really good cocoa.”
He smiles, the easy, sexy kind. My pulse skips. I blink, trying to center myself. To figure out what’s going on tonight, why everything feels hazy, shimmery. “I won’t tell anyone the boss had hot cocoa in his Christmas cabins.”
“You’re going to have to keep all my secrets,” he says.
I can’t resist. Before I can think too long on it, I say, “What other secrets do you have?”
He eyes me up and down with longing in his gaze. “Lots of them, Fable. Lots of them.”
He takes one more drink, then spins around and sets the mug in the sink, his tone businesslike this time as he says, “I should go to bed.”
I—not we.
It’s like something inside him is pulling and tugging, maybe even in opposite directions. I don’t think it’s uncertainty. It’s more like he’s at war with himself. Understandable. I feel that battle too.
“Yes. I should too. Soon though. I’ll, um, give you space,” I add, in case he wants to get ready alone. “Since tomorrow is a big day in the competition.”
That didn’t come out nervous at all.
“Yes, it is.”
Oh! I spin around at the sound of my sister’s voice. I didn’t even hear footsteps, and I feel like I’ve been caught doing something naughty. But you’re allowed to drink hot cocoa in the kitchen at the cabin with your fake boyfriend, aren’t you?
With her blonde hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders, Charlotte’s standing in the doorway, wearing jammies covered in elves.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, all cool and casual, like I’m totally not thinking about banging my hot boss since I should not be thinking about banging my hot boss, even though Charlotte probably thinks I should, and why is my life so complicated right now?
“I was just looking for a midnight snack,” Charlotte says.
“Good evening, Charlotte,” Wilder says with a nod hello, always classy. “I’ll let you two have some time together.”
He retreats, and I watch him go till the scent of cashmere and cologne is gone with him and I miss it.
My heart pangs a little. I was enjoying that time with him.
I try to shake it off, these wants and wishes that have nowhere to go. I turn back to my sister—the reason I’m even here in the first place. I’m about to offer to make her a snack when she gazes at the remains of the hot cocoa on the stove. “That looks good.”
“Does this count as a midnight snack?”
“If it doesn’t, then I don’t know what does. Besides, you’ve always made the best hot cocoa in the world, so…gimme.” She makes grabby hands and I happily pour her some cocoa, then top off mine because why the hell not?
I nod toward the back porch. “Do you want to sit outside and look at the stars?”
She beams. “Like we did when we were kids? Let’s do it.”
A few minutes later we’re curled up in the corner of the outdoor couch, huddled under some blankets we grabbed from the linen closet. I’ve turned on the outdoor heaters and the electric fireplace. It crackles softly and warms us up in the December midnight air.
We reminisce about past holidays. Our favorite Christmas decorations. Some of our best Christmas moments. Some of them involve Mom. Hardly any of them involve Dad. Maybe because both of them were toxic in their own way, which is why I always tried to look out for my sister. To protect her from their warped notions of romance—my dad’s notion that it was okay to cheat and come back, marching into town, bestowing gifts to cover up his sins. My mom’s belief that it’s okay to just keep accepting…less than you deserve.