Goose bumps pop out on my skin and my knees shake. Everything is too familiar, yet it sits inside a shallow grave.
Does he remember the parts of me he used to love?
Get away from him and stop thinking these thoughts.
"I'm going to turn in soon too," he declares.
Panic, longing, and the memories of all the times we did this song and dance, only to sneak away once we were supposed to be sleeping, haunt me. I avoid glancing at him. I perfected it years ago, but that was so I didn't give anyone any suspicions about us. Now, it's to send him a cold message.
He's not getting in my pants ever again.
My mom steps forward and hugs me. "Merry Christmas, sweetie."
"You too, Mom," I reply, hugging her back, then cursing myself for not stopping myself from acknowledging Wyatt's stare. And once I do, his lips curve, all lazy and lethal, as if all he has to do is ask me to return to how we were, and I would.
And it scares me. I stayed far away from him out of hurt but also fear. I don't know what he's doing in town. I don't know how long he's staying. My only hope is that he leaves soon because those looks have haunted me for the last seven years. They've appeared in my mind, and I've desperately held on to them as much as I've wanted to erase them.
My heart stammers. It takes Mom retreating to cut our gaze.
My cheeks heat. I quickly hug Dad, then jog up the staircase, needing to breathe normally.
It's pointless. His scent hangs around me, as if stuck in my hair or woven into my clothes. So I pull off my sweater and jeans, jump in the shower, and try to wash him away.
When I'm done, I wrap a towel around my head and another one around my body, staring into the mirror, needing answers to all my questions.
It's not fair. Wyatt had no right to interrupt my Christmas or get into a fight with my riders. All was awesome until he appeared on the scene.
Why is he here?
The anger, years of heartache, and questions I want answers to win out over my need to keep my distance from him. I grab my knee-length red silk robe, tighten the belt, and storm out of the bathroom, running right into Wyatt.
"Just who I wanted to see," he drawls, his gaze drifting lower and setting my thighs on fire.
I cross my arms. "Why are you up here?"
"I'm staying the night." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Actually, I might stay awhile," he taunts, sinking his warning deep under my skin.
My heart skips a beat, and I curse it. "Why aren't you staying at Jagger's?"
His lips twitch. "He's got overnight company already."
I roll my eyes.
So that's why my brother only had two beers all day.
"That's what I missed," Wyatt declares, his grin growing.
"What?"
He points at me. "What you just did."
"I didn't do anything."
He nods, insisting, "Yes, sugar, you did."
I press my thighs together, glaring at him. I glance past his shoulder and whisper, "Don't call me sugar."
His arrogant expression stays plastered on his face.
