“My grandmother loved them. I grew up in a huge family. Five brothers. I’m, I guess, the middle child, third born.”
“Five brothers. Oh my gosh, your poor mother. It must have been chaos.” Sloane chuckles.
“It was. And full of injuries.”
“I can imagine.”
“When it was the holidays, we went to my grandparents’ farm. And because I was sick of the sight of my brothers, when they went and did things with my grandfather, I chose to hang out with my grandmother. Have some peace and quiet, andshe loved Christmas movies. So, she’d bake gingerbread and we would sit by the fire and watch them.”
Sloane stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Wow. That is incredibly sweet.”
“And every holiday I still do it, especially since my grandfather has since passed.”
“My mom made me watch them with her every year growing up. I am pretty sure I have seen every single movie ever made.” She chuckles.
“Same.” I smile as I dry my hands on a towel.
“I’m a sucker for the small-town baker who falls for the big city executive. Or the single dad who rediscovers the magic of Christmas. Or the woman who gets amnesia and thinks she is married to the guy who finds her,” she says, listing them off excitedly. Then she laughs and it sounds uneasy, like she is embarrassed by what she just said.
“Love all of those. Did you want to set it up while I go have a shower?” I ask her.
“Are you able to have wine or are you still working?”
“I’m on call, so no wine for me,” I tell her.
She nods, understanding. “That must be hard. Being on call all the time.”
“It’s part of the job. You get used to it. Though, I will admit, watching a grown woman drink six bottles of wine over three days while I stay sober sounds like a special kind of torture.”
She laughs, that genuine sound again. “I’m not planning to drink all six bottles. I’m not that much of a disaster.”
“Could have fooled me. You did try to drive up a mountain in a blizzard,” I tease.
“Okay, fair point. But in my defense, I did not know it was going to be this bad.”
“The weather service has been warning about this storm for two days.”
“I may not have been paying attention to the weather service. I was a bit distracted by my imploding life.” She sighs.
There is something raw in her voice, vulnerable, and I want to know more. Want to understand what happened. Who hurt her? But I don’t push. “Well, you are safe now. That is what matters. Take your time setting up the movie. I will be quick.”
I head into the small bathroom, closing the door behind me. The space is tiny, barely room to turn around, but it’s functional. I strip off my thermal shirt and catch my reflection in the mirror. What are you doing, Reid? I know what I’m doing. I’m getting attached. I’m noticing things I should not notice. I’m looking forward to watching Christmas movies with a woman I just met, instead of maintaining professional distance. I’m screwed.
The shower is hot and feels amazing after being out in the cold. I let the water run over me, trying to wash away the tension, the awareness, the attraction I absolutely should not feel. It does not work. My dick comes alive beneath my fingers. Fuck. Three days. I just have to make it three days without doing something stupid. My dick isn’t listening. I should release my tension, it might help me not cross a line that I can’t uncross.
“Fuck.” I curse, banging my hand against the tiles. I can still smell vanilla and citrus. As I wrap my other hand around my cock, sliding up my hardened shaft, I tease the tip with my thumb and a moan falls from my lips. I can still see those eyes looking up at me. The image then shifts to those same eyes looking up at me from her knees. Fuck. Those cheeks flushed pink with arousal. Plump lips, open and ready for me. Shit. I shouldn’t be thinking this. This is wrong, Reid, so fucking wrong. But my cock and hand have minds of their own as they continue to torture me. I can still feel that electric spark from when our fingers touched earlier. Dammit. I wonder what it would feel like for those same fingers to be on me now. Images of her fingers running over my skin, appreciating the work I putinto maintaining my body in peak physical condition. Those long slender fingers running through my hair, gripping the threads as I bucked into her, filling her with my cock as she rides me, her breasts bouncing as I make her scream with my cock.
“Fuck.” I moan again.
The images swirling through my mind have me coming quickly. I hang my head in shame as I clean myself off. Three days, Reid. I towel off and pull on clean sweatpants and a T-shirt from my bag that I left in the bedroom. I give myself a pep talk in the mirror.
Be a fucking gentleman, Reid.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Sloane has transformed the couch area. She has pulled the coffee table closer, set up her laptop, and arranged blankets and pillows. There is a glass of wine on the table for her and a bottle of water for me. The fire crackles, the lights are low, and it looks cozy. Intimate. Dangerous.
“Ready? she asks, excitedly patting the couch beside her.
No fucking way am I ready. But I suck in a deep breath and settle onto the couch, maintaining a respectable distance between us. She hits play, and a familiar movie starts. Small town, big city executive, inevitable romance. Except I can’t focus on the movie. Cannot focus on anything except the woman beside me, slowly relaxing as the wine kicks in, her walls coming down bit by bit. And I have a feeling, when it is over, nothing is going to be the same.
