Page 21 of One Night, Two Holidays

“Okay,” I say. “Tell me your idea.”

My face is flushed from a combination of the fire in the fireplace, the two sweaters I’m wearing, and the man beside me, his leg pressed against mine. I slip my last extra sweater off and toss it on the floor—I don’t want to add any additional barriers to getting what I think we both want tonight.

“What’s the letter where you get all the coins again?” Jack asks.

“Gimmel.”

“Okay, so when you get Gimmel, you win the coins, and the other person loses a piece of clothing.”

“And the winner gets to take it off the loser,” I add, upping the stakes. He agrees, and I’m not sure if I’m more excited about the idea of taking off his clothes or having him take off mine.

“Let the game begin,” Jack says, his eyes locking with mine. The flicker of candlelight dances between us, the fire crackles softly, casting shadows that make his face look angular. A little dangerous. He nudges the dreidel toward me. “Ladies first.”

His voice—a little raspy—scrapes something deep inside me. My first spin, I get a Gimmel and take all the coins from the pot, then look up to see Jack watching me, a speculative gleam in his eyes.

“You get to choose what I take off,” I remind him.Please pick your shirt.

He quirks an eyebrow, fingers sliding up to graze the collar of his flannel. I bite my lip, anticipation thrumming in my veins—but then he scoots back on the couch and lifts his left leg on my lap. “You can de-sock me.”

“Such a tease.” I slip my hands up the leg of his jeans, my fingers brushing his skin, calling to mind all the times I stared athis calves. Slowly, I slide my fingers under the top edge of the sock and pull it off, tossing it in the pile along with my discarded sweaters. “Your turn.”

It takes Jack three attempts to get the dreidel to spin, and when it does, it lands on Shin.

“Put a coin in,” I tell him, just a little smug.

I land on another Gimmel, take the pot, and slip off Jack’s left sock.

We hit an unlucky streak: Hey. Hey. Nun. Shin. And then Jack finally lands on a Gimmel. He looks up, smirking as he takes the coins. “What do you want me to take off?”

I could pick a sock, too. Or I could up the ante. Heart pounding, I lick my lips before saying, “My sweater.”

His eyes flash with heat. “Gladly.”

I shift my torso toward him, giving him better access. Holding my gaze, he slowly lifts the sweater up, maintaining eye contact until I disappear beneath it. His fingers brush a sliver of exposed skin near my waist, and my skin prickles into goosebumps.

When I reappear, Jack tosses my sweater on the pile, looking a tiny bit disappointed that I have a tank top underneath. His eyes linger on my neckline, drifting down my body as his lips part, and I’m about to suggest we forget the rest of the game and get moving.

Then he sits back, running his hands through his hair like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Your spin.”

We each land on Shin, throwing a coin into the pot. Then he gets a Hey, taking half the coins, before I finally land on another Gimmel.

“Well, that’s a shame.” He flashes me a devious grin. “I guess you better take this off.”

He motions to his flannel shirt. I take my time undoing each button, and now I’m the one who’s disappointed when I realize he’s wearing an undershirt. Damn these winter layers! It’s beenmonths since I first saw him coming back from a run, and I want to see if his chest is as glorious as I remember it.

As luck would have it, my next spin is a Gimmel. “Sorry for your loss,” I say, smiling.

His eyes darken as he looks at me. “I’m not.”

I take my time, lifting his cotton undershirt inch by inch, my hands skimming his warm, soft skin as I go. He releases a shaky breath.

“Wow,” I breathe as he comes into view. He’s beautiful, broad and lean, his skin flickering as the candlelight dances across it. I bring a hand to his chest, then hesitate. He nods permission.

I exhale a sigh and lay my palm flat on his chest, running it over his smooth skin, the firm muscles of his chest and down his belly. His breathing quickens, his body tensing under my touch. Heat rushes through me, settling low between my legs. My hand has a mind of its own and drifts down to the bulge in his pants, my fingers tracing the shape of him, then reach for the fly of his jeans.

“You need a Gimmel first,” Jack says, his voice low and husky. “And it’s my spin.”

I let out a tiny growl of frustration, but nod and put my hand back in my own lap.

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