Page 45 of Catching the Mistletoe

“No, you don’t.”

“Then tell me.”

He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you knew what was inside me, you’d run.”

It took all my self-restraint not to roll my eyes as I sat up and pushed my hair back from my forehead.

“And because of that, I’m not going to get into this with you. I’m not the guy for this.”

Jesus fuck, he couldn’t be more wrong. The way my body still hummed let me know he was exactly the guy for this. I tried to keep my voice even, to stop the hurt from spilling over into it. “So that’s it, I guess.”

“I guess.”

I ass shuffled over to the other side of the bed without looking at him, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest.

“Little dove—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He huffed out a breath. That was it. I snapped. Pushing to my feet, I turned to him, my face a thundercloud. “Don’t take that fucking tone with me!” He didn’t say anything but as I stepped closer, his gaze tracked me. “You’re treating me like a child, like I don’t know my own mind. Like I don’t know YOU! And you can get fucked! I’m going to have a shower.” I pushed by him, taking great satisfaction in the way the sliding door rattled on its rails when I slammed it shut.

In the bathroom, I pulled my clothes off, trying to ignore the way they were damp with sweat. Jesus, I was still so turned on, the ache in my core making me feel restless. But there was no way in hell I was going to take care of it myself, not with Mack right there, all broody and sexy and untouchable. Fuck.

I stepped into the shower, turning the water on hot, feeling a wave of relief as it poured over my skin. I washed my hair, closing my eyes and letting my thoughts drift.

It was strange. For someone who didn’t want to get into this with me, Mack had seemed pretty damn into it just a few minutes ago. I still felt the ghost of his touch, the heat of his mouth on my neck. Christ, why did he have to be such a good kisser?

I leaned against the tiled wall, closing my eyes as I let the water run over me, taking some deep, calming breaths until I felt the tension draining away. And as it did, I started to think. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was me. Maybe I was too inexperienced, too naïve, too... too... everything. It was humiliating, thinking back on it. I’d practically begged him to fuck me. God.

Okay, get a grip. He hadn’t exactly been a statue, had he? And one part of him sure had been rock hard. Lol. Maybe it was just the shock of it. Yeah, that could totally be it. I mean, how often did you meet a twenty-six-year-old virgin? What I needed to do was be an adult and discuss it with him. Sure, I’d rather poke a burnt stick in my eye, but if we were going to get through the next few weeks, it was the only possible course of action.

Flicking the water off, I grabbed a towel and dried off. Oh, fuck. I’d been in such a rage when I’d left the bedroom that I’d forgotten to grab my day clothes. I stepped out of the bathroom and stopped short. Mack was at the kitchen counter, cooking breakfast. Such a mundane task, but he somehow still looked hot as fuck doing it.

“Hey.” I felt strangely shy, standing there in just a towel, my hair dripping down my back.

He flicked me a glance, his eyes lingering a fraction longer than normal. That might have been a flare of heat, but it was smothered so quickly that I could have just imagined it. “Hi.”

“I, um... I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.”

Well, that wasn’t very enthusiastic. Not a great start. “I’ll just get dressed.”

“Okay.”

“Great. Thanks.”

When I emerged a few minutes later, Mack was still cooking, his focus on the eggs in the frying pan.

“Um, so...”

He flipped the omelette onto a plate and set it on the table. “Have a seat.”

“Right.” I slid onto the bench seat and picked up my fork. “First, I’m sorry for losing my shit before.”

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