“That was amazing,” Atlanta says, her hazel eyes bright. “Did you see how grateful everyone was?”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” I slam the tailgate closed. “Seriously. You were perfect.”
She bites her lip, and I track the movement like my life depends on it.
“Want to grab lunch?” I ask. “Celebrate? I have sandwich stuff at my place.”
“Sounds great.”
We set our plates on the kitchen counter, and head to the living room. Atlanta settles onto my couch, kicking off her boots, and I pour us each two fingers of Woodford Reserve.
“To curse number two,” she says, raising her glass.
“To you,” I counter. “For making it actually work.”
We drink, and the warmth spreads through my chest. Or maybe that’s just from watching her curl up on my couch like she belongs there.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says. “You could expand this. Maybe offer it quarterly, or even monthly. You and the other architects could rotate.”
“You’ve enjoyed Operation Christmas Curse.”
“I’m into seeing you happy.” She sets down her glass. “You’ve been miserable lately, Holden. Pushing everyone away. Today you were… you.”
The honesty in her voice strips something away. I set my own glass down and shift closer to her on the couch.
“You are so beautiful, Atlanta.” I reach out, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Inside and out.”
“Holden.” My name comes out breathless.
“You’re amazing and work so hard and aren’t afraid of standing up for what’s right. Even if it makes me mad.” I lean close so that my lips are a breath away from hers, the December wind howling outside the window. “And I’m so tired of pretending I don’t want you.”
When my lips touch hers, something in my chest unlocks. She tastes like whiskey and something sweet, and when she opens for me, I’m lost.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. I shift, guiding her back against the couch cushions as the kiss deepens. My hand slides down her side, feeling every curve, and she arches into me with a sound that makes my brain short-circuit.
“God, Atlanta.” I kiss along her jaw, down her neck, and she tilts her head back to give me access. “Tell me to stop.” I pull back enough to look at her, my hand splayed across her ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Instead, she pulls me back down, kissing me hard enough that I forget my own name. I slide my hand under her sweater, feeling warm skin, and she makes a sexy mewl that’s going to haunt me forever as the firelight flickers a few feet away.
Her leg hooks around mine, the couch shifting beneath us as she pulls me closer. I press against her delicious curves, both of us breathing hard while the wind claws at the eaves outside. My hand moves higher, cupping her breast through her bra as my mouth devours hers.
Her hands slide to my shoulders, and I pull her onto my lap, shifting the throw blanket over, because there’s no universe where she isn’t exactly where she belongs. Her pussy settles against me, making my control detonate as she rubs against me, her breath hot on my neck.
My fingers lace through her hair, and she arches into me, her hands raking my back beneath my shirt. She gasps when I kiss a spot just below her ear, and the sound lights me up from the inside. I want to take it slow, to savor every second, but we’ve both spent too long holding back, and restraint isn’t even a rumor in the room.
Then I do something I’ll regret forever.
Between kisses, I say, “I’ll get HR started on your promotion paperwork Monday,” I murmur against her throat, because my brain is mush and I’m trying to show her I mean everything. “You’re going to make an incredible lead designer, Atlanta.”
The lights flicker on and off, and she goes still. Not sexy still. Not breathless still. Frozen. Like I just poured ice water over both of us.
Her body trembles once, barely, and then she slides off my lap, fast, like she’s escaping a fire. Her eyes won’t meet mine as she grabs her coat from the rack by the door.
“Atlanta—wait. I didn’t mean—“
“I know.”
“You deserve the promotion.”
