Page 17 of The Santa Situation
I’d been thinking in bigger terms all day—about the way I used to love this woman, about how much of her I still carried in my heart—but I couldn’t fault her for her honesty.
Because wedidlike each other. I respected the hell out of Jemma Price, and she respected me right back.
I admired everything about her.
Fuck. Iadoredher.
“No,” I said, the words barely carrying over the hum of the heater. “It’s not wrong.”
My hand twitched on my knee, instinct telling me to reach for her, but I stopped myself. If she really wanted this, Jemma had to be the one to close the distance between us. To take us from friends to … wherever this would take us.
She watched me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine in the glow from the dash. “But?” she said at last, sensing my hesitation.
I dragged a hand over my jaw, feeling the stubble I’d grown since morning scraping against my palm. “But I don’t want to do something we might regret,” I said finally, my voice rough with everything Iwasn’tsaying.
Her gaze flicked down to my mouth before lifting to meet my eyes again. It was such a small movement, but it nearly stripped every ounce of resolve I had left.
I’d spent years telling myself that what we had was enough, and here she was now, asking for something that felt like every wish I’d ever had.
“Jemma,” I warned in a low growl. “This will change everything.”
She looked away, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “What if Iwantit to change?”
“Look at me, honey.” The endearment slipped out before I could stop it, but I didn’t want to take it back.
Slowly, she dragged her gaze back to mine. I felt my hands shaking as I reached out and brushed my fingers over the soft skin on her cheek, then down her jaw. “I need to know what this could mean for us. What doyoumean when you say you want things to change?”
She tilted her face into my touch, her eyes fluttering shut for half a second before opening again, clearer this time and filled with resolve. With want.
With the kind of quiet bravery that comes from deciding you’re done being afraid of what happens next.
I’d loved my ex-wife, but what Jemma and I had was different—raw and consuming in a way nothing since had ever come close to touching.
But her answer still didn’t tell me what I needed to know.
Was this about filling an empty, lonely night next to a warm body? Because if it was, I didn’t know if I’d be able to walk away afterward.
I wasn’t sure I could go back to being just her friend.
“You mean physically?” I asked, my thumb still tracing the curve of her jaw. “You want to see if the spark’s still there, that’s all?”
Her eyes softened, and I watched a dozen things flicker behind them—hesitation, fear, something that looked a hell of a lot like hope.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe that’s how it starts. But I can’t pretend it’sonlythat, Charlie. Not with you. Not anymore.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and crossed the console, her movements deliberate and sure, until her knees framed my hips, she lowered herself onto my lap, and everything else fell away.
six
. . .
Jemma
I couldn’t believethis was happening. I was straddling Charlie Emerson, my wool skirt hiked up around my waist, his Santa costume bunched between us.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his stubble rough against my neck as he kissed me there.
“God, yes.” The words escaped before I could second-guess them—before I could remember all the reasons this was complicated.
