Page 39 of Holiday Interference
I take a sip.
Cold water. Hot blood. It doesn’t even out.
His scent lingers in the air—an amber and woodsy smell that settles low in my stomach. It’s in the fabric of the shirt I’m wearing, in the space between us, in the pulse under my skin that won’t quiet down.
I set the glass down too hard. The sound cracks the quiet.
He shifts, barely a movement. Shoulders rolling once, tension visible even in the small motion.
“You okay?” His voice is quiet, low. It skims across my spine.
I nod, though I’m not sure what that even means. “Fine.”
It’s a lie.
Nothing about this is fine. Not the way he’s looking at me. Not the way I’m reacting to it.
Not the way my body still remembers the press of his hands, the scrape of stubble against my chin, the exact way his mouth broke against mine like he’d been holding back too long.
I should say something, set a line. Make it clear that this was a mistake. That I don’t cross professional boundaries or blur lines I can’t redraw.
But the words won’t come.
Because I don’t regret it.
Not one second of it.
He blinks first, breaking eye contact, and that tiny shift feels like gravity releasing. He takes a slow step back, rubbing the back of his neck like the motion might shake something loose.
The air rushes in where he stood, colder now, and I have to steady myself with another long sip of water.
The glass clinks softly against my teeth. My hand shakes.
“Guess I should…finish this,” I say, gesturing vaguely to the glass before setting it in the sink. The excuse is weak, but it gives me somewhere to look that isn’t him.
His reply comes low, even. “Yeah.”
No push. No follow-up. Just that quiet understanding that feels heavier than any touch.
I need to get out of this room that suddenly feels too small for the two of us.
“I think I’ll go take a shower if you don’t mind.”
His eyes hold mine, and I see the flare of something I don’t dare name.
“Of course. Towels are in the closet.”
“Thank you.”
Forcing my legs to move, I turn away from him, every step deliberate.
Each one a lie that saysI’m fine. I’m unaffected. I can handle this.
But I feel his eyes follow me anyway.
Every inch of air I walk through feels like him—heat and gravity and something that pulls without permission.
I make it to the doorway before my composure starts to crack. My pulse is still wild. My lips still sting.
