When he turned fully toward me, the light caught those ice blue eyes, and suddenly, I was twelve again, sitting cross-legged on the back porch while my brothers and their friends played cards inside.
Trent Shepard.
Born into oil money and a ranching empire. The richest man in Texas other than his father, and the walking, talking legend of my preteen summers.
My oldest brother’s best friend.
My cousin Jameson’s best friend.
Everybody’s best friend.
Every single one of my girlfriends back in Chicago had lost their collective minds over him whenever he’d visited as we’d gotten older. His Texas drawl and dimples were the subject of too many giggles during our girly, teenage sleepovers.
Now here he was.
Under the mistletoe.
With me.
Perfect. Just freaking perfect.
I tried to laugh it off, but my cheeks were burning so hard I was pretty sure they could melt the snow off CC’s front lawn. Trent’s gaze flicked over my face, taking me in like he was sorting through memories of his own. Then his eyes narrowed just a touch and a wry, lopsided smile appeared.
He took a step closer and the crowd whooped. Someone shouted, “Do it for Christmas!”
He leaned in slightly, his cologne all spice and cedar, his voice low enough that only I could hear it.He’s going to do it. He’s totally going to kiss me.
I forgot how to breathe.
“Not gonna happen,” he drawled in that thick, slow, southern accent, a voice that could be poured over pancakes.
And then, just like that, he was gone. He slipped through the archway, vanishing into the glittering chaos of the dining room and leaving me standing there with a thousand eyes on me and approximately zero percent of my dignity intact.
Merry fucking Christmas to me, huh?
The room erupted in laughter and chatter again as soon as Trent disappeared. The chant dissolved into whispers and clinking glasses. I turned on my heel before anyone could catch my expression and ducked into the crowd with my head down and my cheeks still burning.
If Trent Shepard could disappear like smoke, the least I could do was vanish into sequins and cashmere. Or something like that. My brain was barely working.
I didn’t stop walking when I hit the staircase, seeking refuge in the quieter hallways upstairs. As I walked, I pulled my phone out and texted Oldest Brother.
Me: Time to leave soon?
I sent one message and then another. Then three more, none of which got an answer. The sounds of music and chatter drifted faintly after me as I kept walking, but the house was so big thatsoon they were only the merest of whispers. Yet my phone still hadn’t chimed with a response.
My heels sank softly into the plush carpet as I made my way to the one room I knew would be empty. The library had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and two leather armchairs that looked like they’d been stolen from a castle. Flames flickered in the hearth.
It was my favorite room in the house. I slipped inside, closed the door, and inhaled the scent of old books. This was more my speed. I would wait right there until Alex was ready to go, but when I checked my phone again, he still hadn’t even read my messages.
“Excellent,” I muttered. “Abandoned by my brother and humiliated by Texas royalty. I’m glad I showed up this year.”
I was halfway through deciding whether to sneak out the back when the door creaked open and voices filtered in, low, masculine, and familiar. I froze, sinking into the shadows before they could see me.
Jameson, my second oldest cousin, stepped in first, followed by Sterling, the oldest, and then, of course, because the universe just had to make my Christmas even more sucky, Trent brought up the rear. They moved with the ease of men who’d grown up together, pouring drinks from a decanter and loosening their ties.
Guess I’m not the only one who’s done with the party.
“Man, you could’ve just kissed her,” Jameson said dryly, swirling the liquid in his glass. “It would’ve saved her the embarrassment.”
