“Maybe some water?” Roman reaches for a bottle from the cooler. “Here, Bug. Hydrate.”
I take it with trembling hands. Sip. Try to breathe.
Everett's fingers trace lazy patterns on the inside of my thigh. High. So dangerously high. The water swirlsaround his movements, hiding everything, but I feel every millimeter of contact like a brand.
He's not even looking at me. He's nodding along to something Caleb's saying about merchandise opportunities, his expression engaged and professional, while his thumb draws slow circles against skin that hasn't been touched by anyone since?—
Nevermind.
Too long. Long enough that my body is staging a full rebellion against my brain's very reasonable objections.
“The key is authenticity,” Roman's saying. Somewhere. In a dimension where I'm not slowly losing my mind. “People can smell a cash grab from a mile away.”
“Agreed.” Everett's voice is steady. Calm. Meanwhile, his fingers inch higher, brushing the edge of my bikini bottoms with a touch so light I almost convince myself I imagined it.
I didn't.
He traces the elastic. Slow. Deliberate. Following the line of fabric where it meets my skin like he's mapping territory he intends to claim.
Never slipping under.
Just… reminding me he could.
My thighs clench involuntarily.
His lips twitch. Just barely. Just enough for me to catch.
Bastard.
“Sierra, you're being quiet.” Nolan again. Watching. Always watching. “You usually have opinions about themarketing stuff.”
“Just listening.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. Breathy. Wrecked. “Taking it all in.”
The conversation flows around us. Marketing strategies. Tara's angles. The Christmas special and how to manage it.
And Everett keeps touching me. Light strokes brushing the crease of my thigh. Never quite crossing the line. Never quite giving me what I'm starting to desperately want.
It's maddening.
It's torture.
It'sworking.
By the time Caleb starts pitching his “sexy Santa photoshoot” idea, I've almost convinced myself I can handle this. That I can sit here and endure his teasing and walk away with my dignity intact.
“Absolutely not,” Roman says to Caleb's Santa pitch.
“Why not? The Mountain Daddy thing worked.”
“The Mountain Daddy thing was accidental. And embarrassing.”
“Embarrassingly successful,” Caleb counters.
Under the water, Everett's finger hooks under the elastic.
Just barely. Just enough to make a point.
I can. And if I want to, I will.
