Page 29 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
It, um, doesn’t do much. But it also doesn’t bounce off and hit his face or go wildly for left field into his femur, so that’s something.
His next swing is more confident. It goes further into the log, making an enormous crack. Then he doesn’t quite hit it right. But finally, the fourth swing splits the log in half and the force of Charlie wrenching the axe out causes the two halves to fall to the side.
He resets one and chops it. Then the other. Then he grabs a new log and starts over.
This is ridiculous. “I know what you’re doing. You’re jealous of Kit.”
He doesn’t answer.
“You know I’ve been with other people since you, right? Can your macho ego take that?”
After the next log is split, Charlie grunts. “I know you have. And I have too. But you aren’t sleeping with Kit.”
I cross my arms and glare at him. He doesn’t know that while I thought Kit was hot, I was much more distracted by Charlie.
If he knew that, he might stop chopping wood,some cavewoman part of my brain whispers.
“Why am I not sleeping with Kit? Afraid of a little competition? Worried he’ll do a better job than you did?”
Now that Charlie’s gotten the hang of it, he talks between swings.
“He would.”Grunt.“He’s probably got—”Grunt.“—better bedroom skills than I did at twenty.”Grunt.Charlie pauses, axe dug into a log, to stare at me. “But I’ve gotten better, and he won’t have the connection with you and you know it.”
My mouth gapes open. Charlie turns back to his work, wrenching the axe out.
That cavewoman part of my brain is stupefied too. We both watch Charlie chop another log, then—because there is a god and she enjoys the view—Charlie takes off his hoodie. He’s wearing a white T-shirt underneath that’s already damp from his sweat.
This went from ridiculous to hot too fast. My brain is still tripping on “the connection” as Charlie chops more wood.
I should turn around and go back inside. I should shut my mouth. Or, you know...even blinking my eyes would be good.
Finally, with a great crack, a log splits and Charlie leaves the axe buried in the stump.
His gaze meets mine. My unblinking eyes follow him as he walks toward me, and the smell of him hits me first. Clean sweat, snow, and freshly chopped wood, which I didn’t even know had a smell. His skin is sheened with perspiration, a drip of liquid runs down his cheek and he’s got chips of wood and splinters all over his body.
He stops so close to me that if I take a deep breath, my breasts would brush against his chest.
Holding my gaze, Charlie’s finger comes up and touches my chin, pushing my mouth closed with an audible click. But it doesn’t stop there. He keeps pressing, tilting my chin until we are breath to breath.
And there, under those smells of work and man and nature, there’s the smell of Charlie. A smell that finally makes my eyes flutter as fast as my heart, the rest of my body catching up to the realization that the years haven’t made me any less attracted to him than I was when we were together.
A beat passes, and then Charlie’s mouth comes crashing down on mine.
15
Charlie
I’m a sweating,filthy mess but Bea doesn’t seem to care. I know that look in her eyes—eight years later it’s still the same.
Or...it’s been longer than eight years since I’ve seen her look at me with such desire and need. Too long.
How could I not kiss her?
Bea’s mouth opens under mine and her flavor floods me. I want to drink her in, memorize the differences from what I remember.
My finger is still at her chin, feeling the movement of muscles and the shift of her jaw as she kisses me back, that soft spot flexing as her tongue tangles with mine. I let my hand slide down, my fingers brushing over her pulse point and cradling her closer to me. My thumb wanders to the front of her throat and she shivers when I fully grip her.
Bea’s wearing black leggings and I bend slightly, gripping the back of her knee and lifting it up. Her leg wraps around my hip, keeping the weight off her injured ankle. Our centers are closer together now, and Bea’s hips shift. I need more pressure.
