Page 2 of New Year in Kentbury
Instead, I’m stuck nursing a coffee I don’t even want, pretending to care about the pastries he brought, and trying like hell not to stare at his mouth for too long.
“Great,” I snap, slamming my mug onto the counter hard enough to make the coffee slosh over the rim. “Another fucking McFolley is coming to town. Just what this place needs—a fresh crop of them crawling out of the woodwork like weeds. Persistent, invasive, and impossible to get rid of.”
“McFolleys. We are the McFolleys,” Paul corrects from where he’s sitting across from me, his voice low and sharp like gravel underfoot. “Not McCay people, nor weeds.”
I whip my head toward him, caught off guard by the sudden edge in his tone. He leans back, arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing as tension ripples through his shoulders. He looks irritated as ruck—and it’s all directed at me.
“Same difference,” I shoot back. “You’re multiplying like rabbits and acting like you own the fucking town.My town.”
His laugh is short, humorless—a sound that twists something low in my stomach. “Maybe we wouldn’t bother you so much if you weren’t so goddamn uptight all the time,” he mutters, his gaze pinning me in place.
“You think I’m uptight?” I shoot back, my voice lowering instinctively, like the tension between us demands it.
I scoff, crossing my arms. “One moment, your little sister arrived, and the next, it seems like all of you decided to move in. When is the new one leaving? Or is he staying here for the rest of his natural life too?”
His jaw tight, and I swear there’s a flash of something feral in his eyes. “You’ve got a real way with words, don’t you? Always running that mouth.” He leans in, his voice dropping, rough and low. “Bet it’d be a whole lot quieter if I fucked the attitude out of you.”
My pulse races, because fuck, I do want him to fuck me right now. It’s been . . . well, long enough since the last time. And that’s exactly why I’m so goddamn irritated about another one of his siblings rolling into town. Fucking Barnaby McFolley—or Barny, as they call him, because he’s family.
Family. The word grates. Barny is staying at Paul’s place, which makes sneaking around harder and forces us to act cool, like we’re nothing more than acquaintances when all I want is for him to lose control. For once, I want him to forget how to keep it together and give in—right here, right now.
But no. Instead, I’m left nursing a cup of coffee filled with resentment while yet another McFolley invades my town, turning my life upside down.
That’s really my personality in a nutshell. I’m so fucking angry at the world because I can’t have what I want, not the way I want it. But I’ll be damned if I let him see me crack. Not here. Not now. Even as his words send a molten rush of heat straight to my core, I refuse to back down.
“Big talk, Paul,” I say, lifting my chin, my voice daring him to push back even as my body betrays me, heat coursing through my veins like a drug. “But we know it won’t happen, don’t we? He’ll stay here, fall in love and you’ll find excuses to . . .” I trail off because what’s the point of finishing the sentence. It’s not like I can give him much either.
He laughs, low and bitter, the sound rough enough to scrape against my already-frayed nerves. There’s no humor in it, just pure frustration, like the world’s been kicking him all day, and I’m the convenient target for his pent-up anger. Or worse, his outlet.
“Sweetheart,” he drawls, leaning in closer, his gaze dark and deliberate, “keep bitching if that helps you sleep at night. But the next time you’re in my bed, moaning my name, begging for more? I’m not letting you forget this little tantrum.”
The words land like a match to dry kindling, setting me ablaze. My heart slams against my ribcage, my teeth grinding together in a weak attempt to keep myself grounded. His need practically radiates off him, thick and all-consuming, making the air between us feel electric.
And then there’s the look in his eyes—raw, unfiltered hunger that’s so feral, it steals the air from my lungs. It’s not just desire. It’s primal, like he wants to consume me, mark me, and leave me wrecked in a way I’d never recover from. And fuck, I’d let him. I’d let him ruin me completely, if only life were fair.
But it’s not.
It never is.
Paul and I weren’t supposed to happen.
We will never happen.
He came to town on some soul-searching mission, trying to connect with his grandmother before it was too late and stepping up to help his little sister find some stability. He wasn’t the type to stick around—he said that much himself when we met—butthere was something about him. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d stay, yet he was the kind you couldn’t help but want to hold onto.
It started innocently enough. He signed up for ski lessons at the resort—partly to fill his time, partly because his sister begged him to. I was the one who ended up teaching him. At first, it was all business. He was polite, attentive, and focused on the slopes. But the more time we spent together, the more I noticed things.
The way his laugh rumbled low when he nailed a tricky run. The way his dark eyes lit up when he teased me about my form. The way my chest tightened whenever he leaned in close to adjust his gear, his hand brushing mine.
Yes, I noticed, but I didn’t touch him. He was happily divorced. A straight man who wouldn’t give a glance to a closeted forty-some-year-old man like me. And that’s fine.
After lessons, we started hanging out. A drink here, a late-night chat there. He was easy to talk to, despite how different we were. He’s from the city—a wealthy finance guy. I’m a man from a small town pretending to . . . fuck, if I’m honest with myself, everything about me is pretend.
Back in the early days, we’d sit in the lodge bar after the slopes cleared, trading stories about family, life, and all the ways we’d been let down by the people who were supposed to have our backs.
Then came the night that changed everything.
It was late, the lodge nearly empty except for a few lingering guests sitting quietly by the fire. One of them—a strikingly beautiful woman with golden hair and a smile that could make any man forget his own name—slipped into our conversation as if she belonged there. Her confidence was magnetic, pulling focus in a way that made it impossible not to notice her, even for a guy like me.
