Page 70 of The Art of Being Merry
“Yep.” I say nothing else, and I step back, leaving her more flustered, my gaze trained on hers, watching how my one-word answer confuses her. This time, it’s because she wasn’t expecting it, and she’s aroused. Her erratic breathing gives her away.
As for me, I have to turn around and exit the aisle to get a handle on myself. If I thought I was in over my head before, it’s nothing compared to now.
Who knew a fiery, petite redhead could be my Achilles heel?
Clementine finds me a few minutes later, mostly calm and collected—both of us—neither of us mentioning what happened. It’s probably for the best until we’re alone.
Naked and alone.
In my bed.
And here I go again. Getting all worked up in the scrapbook aisle.
Clementine assesses the cart. “My list is almost done. Was there much else you needed?”
“Anything else you can think of for the North Pole decorations.” If she’s bothered by my giving her another task, she doesn’t let it show.
“We’ll need large pieces of cardboard, but I’m not sure they sell that here.”
“I’ll put out a call on social media. Someone in town will have some for free.”
“Perfect. Reusing materials is better for the environment. And cheaper on the wallet, too.”
Asking about her finances would be rude, but she’s made a few comments here and there, leading me to believe they’re a little variable. Not that I’m one to judge. I’ve had my fair share of money problems in the past.
“For sure. Why spend money on something someone will give you for free if you ask?”
She points a finger in my direction. “I love when you speak my language.”
I’m unsure what to make of her statement, but thankfully, she heads toward the back of the store to a fabric counter. She asks for two yards of the red fabric as well as smaller pieces she picked out for the boys’ elf hats, and the worker measures and cuts them, and hands them over, keeping the rolls behind the counter. Clementine tries to hide her smirk, but she’s not successful.
I follow her to the front of the store to checkout. We load everything on the belt, and she doesn’t balk when I remind her I’m paying for everything. Except for maybe one or two supplies she picked up for herself, I’m responsible for the rest. I like how she lets me pay for her two things. It makes me feel needed.
Having been a while since I’ve felt needed, I’d almost forgotten how much of a rise I get.
Outside, we load the supplies into the covered flatbed and then climb into the cab. “Let’s order dinner now so by the time we get back to Winterberry, we won’t be waiting on it.”
Clementine checks her phone. “I allotted more time for shopping. We were quick. Whatever shall we do with the bonus time?” Knowing exactly what she’s doing, she bats her eyes coyly.
Two can play this game. I waggle my brows. “First, we’ll feast on food. Then, perhaps, we’ll feast on something different.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes divert to my groin area. “Yeah, a meal of meat should satisfy the craving.”
If I continue to engage in this conversation, I won’t make it home without mauling her. “Did you decide what you want from the tavern?”
“Yep, I’ll have the buffalo wings and a small house salad.”
“Do you mind calling it in? I’ll have the angel hair with shrimp.”
While she does that, I start up the truck, getting us on our way to more pressing matters.
By the time we’re back at my house and scarf down dinner, I’m raring and ready to go. Forgoing the foreplay for now, I instruct, “Naked and on the bed. I want you wet and ready for me.”
Clementine stumbles on her way to the bed. “Fuck, Dax.” The way she pants out the words indicates I should keep at it.
My eyes never leave her as she obeys my command, shedding every layer of clothing, including her under layers. She hops up onto my bed, situating herself against the headboard on top of the covers.
Knowing she was coming here, I changed the sheets and made the bed before work. “Sheets are clean. If you’re cold. Not to cover up,” I amend. I don’t want her to think she can hide from me.
