Page 36 of Mistletoe Meet Cute
Those icy-blue eyes linger on the bruising spreading across my chest and along my shoulder. “God, Camden.” Her voice trembles as her fingers hover. “That looks awful.”
“I’ve had worse.”
She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe me. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“It’s part of the job, Holly.”
Her eyes fill with sadness and anger, and something in me shifts. An ache deeper than physical pain. The kind that comes from too many nights like this. Empty houses. Pain. Old injuries. Silence that feels louder than any stadium ever could.
And she’s just . . . here.
Warm and soft and too damn close.
Tempting me every day with her smile and crazy chaos. With the way she holds my baby. With the way she makes me laugh. The way she is with her family.
Her hand hovers above my shoulder, fingers trembling slightly before she makes contact. The gentle pressure of her palm sends a shock straight through me, and I have to grit my teeth not to react.
Holly doesn’t miss it.
“Does that hurt?” she whispers.
“No,” I answer, and she cocks her head like she doesn’t believe me. “It feels good.”
Pleasure doused in pain.
Her thumb moves in slow circles, kneading into tight muscles. Her touch is cautious, and I close my eyes and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
The scent of her—vanilla and peppermint—wraps around me, and my mouth fucking waters. Wanting more. Wanting her.
When I open my eyes, she’s watching me. Lips parted and pupils blown wide.
Fuck.
“This is a bad idea, Holly.” I say the words, but I don’t move.
Don’t stop her.
“Probably,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “But here’s the thing, Camden. I can’t seem to make myself stop.”
She presses a little harder, and my control fractures.
I catch her wrist in my hand before she can pull away.
“Camden...” Her breath catches, and something inside me breaks.
“Say it again. Say my name just like that,” I fucking growl.
Her gorgeous eyes flash, torn somewhere between want and warning. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” The words are ripped from my throat.
“You’re not thinking straight,” she argues, and I huff out a dark laugh.
“You have no idea how clearly I’m thinking right now, little vixen.”
Her mouth curves in a nervous, breathless smile, and everything slows.
My thumb traces the inside of her soft wrist, her pulse pounding against my skin.
