How can I be falling for someone who doesn’t even trust me enough to share her last name with me?
Falling?
What the fuck?
I pause, catching my breath, my heart thumping erratically in my ribcage.
The permanent grin on my face anytime she’s near. The stolen glances. The surge of protective adrenaline anytime Max, or any other man, looks at her. The morning snuggles. The trillions of butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in my stomach since I first laid eyes on her.
Shit. It’s less than ideal. But it’s undeniable.
‘Nate.’ Her hand clutches her chest. ‘You scared the shit out of me. Again.’ She glances at the tiny silver watch on her wrist.
She’s scaring the shit out of me too, just for very different reasons.
‘Sorry. Is it weird that I love watching you?’ I step forward and brush my lips against her cheek.
I can’t kiss her mouth. If I do, we’ll never leave this bedroom and, for some reason, I have this mad urge to take her out on a proper date. A woman like Holly shouldn’t be cooped up here every night, even if it’s a fabulous prison.
‘I love watching you too, but most of the time you’re on my TV.’ She motions over her undressed state. ‘Sorry, this is becoming a regular occurrence.’
‘Sweetheart, don’t apologise to me for being half naked. I fucking love it.’ My dick stands to attention in agreement.
Her gaze lingers over my chest before dropping lower. Longing lights up her eyes. ‘I’m not that hungry, you know.’
‘I am. But don’t worry, princess, I always have room for dessert.’
‘Well, I suppose we should get the appetiser over with, then.’ She smirks and sashays across the room to the bed, her ass swinging so seductively I could sink my teeth into it.
Picking out a black dress from an assortment of clothes strewn across the sheets, she pulls it over her head.
I cross the room to help her zip up the back. ‘We’re doing things all wrong. I should be undoing this, not helping you put it on.’
‘Dessert, remember?’ Those hips shimmy in a playful promise.
Fifteen minutes later, we reach the only restaurant in Ballybowen, nestled right at the far end of the pier. The humble wooden décor is modest, but utterly charming. Fairy lights hang from the ceiling and around huge windows which I can only imagine offer stunning views of the ocean in the daylight. Michael Bublé sounds through the thoughtfully positioned speakers.
There are only fifteen tables in total and none of them are taken. Hospitality is a tough industry to be in, but tonight it suits me down to the ground.
The wide-eyed waiter’s chartreuse-coloured eyes flit from Holly, to me, and back to Holly again. On her breasts in particular.
Irritation burns through me. My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth in disgust. She might not technically be my girlfriend, but he doesn’t know that. ‘We’ll take the booth behind the Christmas tree, away from prying eyes.’
His cheeks flame red as my dig registers. ‘Sure.’ He leads the way. I follow, with my palm pressed firmly against the small of Holly’s back, marking her like a dog, even though theoretically I have no right.
The scent of fresh herbs and zesty lemon assaults my nostrils. I wasn’t lying when I said I was hungry.
Or that I always have room for dessert.
But she’s going to have a real dessert first. Christmas pudding, to be precise.
After seeing the sad look in her eyes when she saw that Christmas tree earlier, it’s time to start ticking off Holly’s Christmas bucket list.
ChapterTwenty-One
HOLLY
The waiter brings us menus, and Nate orders a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
