Page 33 of Holly Ever After

“For some reason, it feels like it should be.”

“Why? Because you've appointed yourself my guardian angel?”

“Someone has to look out for you.”

“I can look out for myself.”

“Could've fooled me.”

She glares at me, her eyes flickering like flames. But then something shifts. I notice a heat in those eyes that isn't entirely anger. My own blood runs hot in response. God, why does she have to get under my skin like this? Why does she have to find that last nerve and grate against it so damn much?

“Maybe I want to get under your skin,” she says, her voice a notch softer now. “Ever think of that?”

“You're doing a hell of a good job, then.” The heat in my voice has turned from frustration to something else entirely. “But that doesn't mean you should go back in there and—”

“And what? Be myself? Live my life? You don't get to control that.”

“I'm not trying to control you,” I snap, more harshly than I intend. “I'm trying to protect you.”

“From what?” she challenges, her eyes searching mine. “The big bad world?”

“From getting hurt again.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with a meaning neither of us wants to dissect here and now.

For a long moment, we simply look at each other, the snow falling gently around us. The world, for this brief moment, feels impossibly still.

Then she breaks the silence. “I don't need protecting. Not from you, not from anyone.”

“Maybe I need it,” I find myself saying, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Her eyes widen, and her quick pants send little clouds of cold air swirling around that maddeningly tempting mouth. A mouth that, right now, I want nothing more than to silence with my own.

Jesus Christ, what is she doing to me?

“I don't need a babysitter. I'm notyoursister, remember?”

“I've never been more aware of that in my life.”

I let my arm drop from her waist, taking a step back to put some much-needed space between us. She shivers slightly, whether from cold or the absence of my touch, I don't know.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not going home. I came to the bar to blow off some steam. I’m still feeling pretty steamy, so I’m staying.”

“You’re really a writer?”

She almost stomps her foot.

And did she just growl at me?

This fucking woman.

“Fine, stay.”

She brushes snow off her sweater, looking anywhere but at me. Taking a deep breath to muster whatever control I have left, I make a split-second decision. In one quick movement, I swoop down and hoist her over my shoulder in a fireman's hold.

“What the hell are you doing? Put. Me. Down!” She screams, kicking her legs and pounding my back with her fists.

I tighten my grip, making sure she can't squirm her way free. “I’ve been working on your house all day. The least you can do is buy me a damn drink.”

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