“No.” She backs toward the door, clutching the towel tighter. “That was just... temporary insanity. Storm-induced madness. Too much proximity and—”
“Bullshit.”
She freezes at my harsh tone. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I stand, not bothering to hide how affected I am. Her eyes drop to my erection, then snap back up. “That was six years of unfinished business demanding attention.”
“We have no unfinished business.”
“We have a whole dissertation’s worth of unfinished business.” I step out of the hot tub, and she takes another step back. “But if you want to keep running, go ahead. I’ll be waiting at the finish line when you’re ready to stop.”
She glares at me, then spins on her heel and practically runs inside. I sink onto the edge of the hot tub, letting the cold air shock some sense back into me.
What the hell am I doing? I promised myself I’d take this slow, give her time to trust me. Instead, I’m pushing her, challenging her, daring her to give in to what’s between us.
Holy hell, I can’t stop replaying the way she kissed me. Like she was drowning, and I was air. Like she’d been starving for it as long as I have.
“Uncle?” Penny pokes her head out. “You coming? The boys are about to set something on fire. Like, literally. Asher found matches.”
“Jesus.” I grab my towel and follow her inside, mentally shifting gears. “Where’s your dad?”
“He and Mom are doing their taxes in their bedroom.”
Right. Taxes in December.
There’s no way they’re doing taxes. They’re probably doing what I want to do with Desiree.
The rest of the evening is an exercise in torture. Desiree reappears in fleece pajama pants covered in candy canes and an oversized sweater with a bedazzled reindeer on it. She sits as far from me as possible, near the s’mores station next to the Christmas tree.
The colored lights reflect in her eyes when she laughs at Bella’s marshmallow catching fire.
“It’s supposed to be golden!” Bella wails.
“I like mine crispy,” Asher announces, waving his flaming marshmallow like a torch.
“That’s called burned, buddy,” Desiree says, but she’s smiling as she helps Bella try again.
She won’t meet my eyes, focusing all her attention on helping Bella roast the perfect marshmallow. When I shift closer under the pretense of getting graham crackers, she immediately stands to refill the hot chocolate pot. When I compliment Bella’s perfectly toasted marshmallow, Desiree suddenly needs to help Gina in the kitchen.
By the time the s’mores supplies are demolished and Gina herds the sugar-high children toward their bedrooms, I haven’t managed to exchange a single word with Desiree.
“Mommy, will you tuck me in?” Bella asks sleepily, chocolate still smeared on her cheek.
“Of course, baby.” Desiree guides her toward the bathroom. A minute later, Bella returns, face washed and teeth brushed.
“I want you too, Daddy. Both of you together!”
Desiree’s smile becomes strained. “I’m sure Daddy has—”
“Lead the way, princess,” I say, cutting off whatever excuse Desiree was about to make.
Bella’s room is pure princess—canopy bed, pink walls, and a miniature Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, draped with ornaments she’d hung earlier.
She climbs into the canopy bed and slides on her pink bonnet before patting both sides. “Mommy here, Daddy there.”
We sandwich our daughter between us. This is what I want. Not just the heat and passion—though God knows I want that too—but this kind of intimacy. Reading stories together. Kissing our baby goodnight. Being partners in all the small moments that make up a life.
“Tell me a princess story,” Bella demands.
