My eyes widen, anger flooding hot through my veins.“He what?How dare he?—”
Alexander’s expression shifts, and for a moment, he actually looks hurt.“He seemed pretty certain about it.”The look on his face makes something twist painfully in my chest.I forget, just for a moment, that this relationship started as pretend.
I walk over to him without thinking.“That’s not true.”
Before I can say anything else, his hands shoot out and grab my waist, pulling me down onto his lap.I land with a soft gasp, and when I look down at him, he’s grinning.
“Well,” he says, satisfaction dripping from his voice.“If you say so.I believe you.”
My face turns nuclear.“You jerk!”I try to squirm off his lap, but his arms tighten around me, holding me in place.
“Stop squirming,” he warns, his voice dropping to that dangerous register, “unless you want a repeat of what happened in your bedroom.”
I freeze, my face burning.“You wouldn’t.”
His hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his.His eyes are dark, intense, focused on me with that same consuming attention.
“I told you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my lower lip.“There’s no going back.”
The words settle over me like a weight, and I feel something shift inside—a resistance crumbling that I didn’t even know I was holding onto.My breath catches, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch, the feel of his palm against my jaw, the way his eyes have darkened with want.
“Alexander,” I whisper, and it comes out breathy, almost pleading.My hands rest on his chest, not pushing away but not pulling closer either, caught in this impossible moment.“What are you doing?”
His thumb traces along my lower lip slowly, deliberately.“What do you think I’m doing?”
I can’t answer.Can’t think.My mind has gone hazy, my body responding to him in ways that bypass all logic and reason.I’m caught in his orbit, unable to break free, unsure if I even want to.
Then he’s kissing me, and it’s dark and possessive, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my toes curl.His hand tightens on my jaw, angling my head exactly how he wants it, and I melt against him with a soft sound.
His other hand slides under my sweater, palm hot against my spine, pulling me closer.I can feel him hardening beneath me, and heat pools low in my belly.
His hand moves higher, fingers finding the clasp of my bra.He flicks it open with practiced ease, and then his palm is cupping my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple through the thin fabric.
I gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his kiss turning more demanding.His fingers roll my nipple, sending sparks of pleasure straight through me, and I arch into his touch without thinking.
“Alexander,” I breathe against his lips, my hands fisting in his sweater.His response is to pinch my nipple gently, making me whimper.His other hand tangles in my damp hair, holding me exactly where he wants me while his mouth claims mine with an intensity that makes my head spin.
I can feel myself getting wet, my body responding to him with embarrassing eagerness.His hand on my breast is possessive, claiming, like he owns every inch of me.
Maybe he does.
The sound of the front door opening crashes through the haze of desire.I jerk back from Alexander so fast I nearly fall off his lap.He catches me, steadying me, but I’m already scrambling to my feet, my heart pounding.
Dad’s voice carries from the foyer.“Livie?You home?”
“Kitchen!”I call back, my voice only slightly strangled.I press my hands to my burning cheeks, then fumble behind my back to refasten my bra.
Alexander looks completely unruffled.He takes another sip of his hot chocolate like we weren’t just seconds away from something that would have traumatized my father.
I want to kill him.
Or kiss him again.
Possibly both.
The cold mountain air bites at my face as I follow Bob through the rows of Christmas trees at Miller’s lot.Snow crunches under our boots, and the scent of fresh pine fills my lungs.It’s barely nine in the morning, but Bob insisted we get here early.“Before all the good ones are picked over," he’d said with the seriousness of a general planning a military operation.
I’ve been researching Christmas trees ever since Bob suggested we do this together.Height-to-room ratios.Needle retention rates.The difference between Fraser firs and Douglas firs.But standing here among hundreds of trees, all of them looking more or less identical to my untrained eye, I realize that reading about something and actually doing it are entirely different things.
