Page 35 of Mistletoe Meet Cute
I don’t breathe.
Not when she moves within arm’s reach.
Not when her fingers twitch like she wants to touch me but doesn’t.
“They popped it back in.” My voice comes out rough and raw. “It’ll be sore for a few days.”
“Can I get you something, Camden?”
My name on her lips frays another strand of restraint I’m fighting to hold on to.
It’s soft and tempting and fucking dangerous.
I shake my head but don’t step back.
I should.
I can smell her skin. Feel the heat radiating off her. The air shifts between us. It thickens and hums with a pulse of its own. Alive and feeding off this... whatever this is.
She tilts her head, crystal-blue eyes searching mine. “You should sit. Let me get you an ice pack or an Advil.”
“Holly . . .”
She doesn’t listen. She never does. Her hand lifts, and featherlight fingertips brush down my arm. I flinch, more from the jolt of her touch than from the actual pain.
“Sorry.” Her eyes snap up, worry lacing them. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s fine.”
It’s not though.
Nothing about this is fine.
Fucked up maybe. But not fine.
Because I’m standing in my living room, broken and exhausted, and this woman... this maddeningly mouthy, sweet, sarcastic, stunningly beautiful vixen is looking at me like sheactuallycares.
And for the first time in a long damn time, I don’t want to be strong.
I don’t want to push someone away.
I just want her.
She studies me for a long minute, and I wonder if she’s feeling it too.
“Sit down, Camden.” Her words are soft, but the order is strong.
And damn, but I listen.
I drop onto the couch with a low groan, the weight of the day pressing down on me. My shoulder throbs, my ribs ache, and my fucking head is screaming at me to walk away. Yet all I manage to focus on is the way Holly kneels in front of me. Her bare legs on the rug. The hem of her sweater teasing the tops of her thighs.
“This isn’t necessary,” I rasp, and there’s no way she misses the thickness in my voice.
“Humor me.” She smiles seductively. Her voice is soft and sure and steady, and I’m pretty sure I’d follow her anywhere right now if she said it in that tone.
She reaches for the buttons of my dress shirt and hesitates. “May I?”
The word lodges in my throat as my pulse picks up, but I nod and swallow as she unbuttons my shirt and gently pushes it over my shoulders, then tugs it down my arms, careful of my shoulder. She tosses it aside and looks at me, her breath catching in her throat. And I hear it.Feelit.
