He doesn’t even weave in and out of the crowd, he walks straight toward me, eyes on me, and everyone else gets out of his way.
It’s a little bit terrifying and also kind of baller.
I wouldn’t be able to move even if I wanted to.
I wouldn’t be able to look away even if I wanted to.
I have never seen a pair of nostrils flare so sexily.
“Oh, also!” Paxton tugs at my arm, so I lower myself, and he holds his hand up to whisper into my ear. “My dad still believes in Santa, so you have to go along with it, okay?”
“Roger that!” I rise to find ElijahChristmas-hating theatre-loathing millionaire hot-as-fuck single daddyAbrams standing five feet away from me, staring at my boots. The ones I bought eight years ago to bewitch him.
Now he’s looking back and forth between me and Paxton.
Then he takes a few steps with his long, evil legs toward me, his magnetic blue eyes wide, like he’s trying to determine if I’m a hologram or not. He reaches out to squeeze my arms. Staring at my mouth now, he says, “What the fuck is happening, Curly? How are you here?”
6
ELIJAH
Ican’t tell if the entire party has gone silent or if I just can’t hear anything over the sound of blood rushing from my head to my dick, because this holly jolly nightmare in a sexy elf costume is Cleo. Curly Jones. CleoChristmas-loving talent-wasting award-stealing thought-hijacking boot-wearing hot-as-fuckJones. The one that got away. The one who ran away. The one who wasn’t meant to be. The beguiling five-foot-two affliction I torture my mind with while choking my erection when I’m home alone, hating myself. The one I almost got through yesterday without thinking about. The one I almost got through today without thinking about, and now I’m squeezing her arms and inhaling her intoxicating, psychotically sensual melted-chocolate-candy-cane scent.
Paxton reaches up to tug on my arm until I lower it. He grabs my hand. “Hahahaha! Dad!” He’s talking so loud, I can tell there must be a lot of people watching us. “She’s your plus-person—why wouldn’t she be here?! I know you thought it would be weird to bring a date tonight, but I told her it would be nice if she was here with us.” He grabs Cleo’s hand. “Right, Miss Cleo?”
“Just Cleo.”
Paxton brings my hand together with Cleo’s.
“No.” I say the wordno, but I take her hand in mine. And then I let go of her other arm and take her other hand in mine. Like we’re standing under an altar, about to exchange vows. Why the fuck am I doing this? I must be drunker than I thought I was. “No.”
“Dad… She’s your date, remember?”
“Why are you here?” I ask her again. Did I ask her that already? Am I saying words out loud? I have so many questions. Why is she so fucking pretty? Why is she wearing her hair in braids? Does she want me to hold on to them while I ride her? Because I will fucking do that. I want to lick her eyebrows. I don’t want to lick anyone else’s eyebrows ever, but I worship those thick brown arches above her sad green eyes. How can anyone be so cheerful and have such sad eyes? Those sad eyes and that provocative smile have haunted me for eight years. It’s like listening to theCharlie Brown Christmastheme while getting a hand job.
“Your son asked me to be here,” she says slowly. I am mesmerized by her mouth, those full lips, but I hear the words. I hear them. I want her mouth on my cock, but I hear those words. Those words…yeah, those are not boner-inducing words.
I grunt. “Why are you wearing this?”
“I…came from another job.”
“Please tell me you aren’t working with Santa at the mall.”
She rolls her eyes and then exchanges a look with Paxton, winks at him, and says, “No, Elijah. Santa lives at the North Pole.” She smirks at me.
I need everyone to leave so I can make sweet, angry holiday love to that red mouth.
Nope.
I squeeze her hands and then let them go. “No.” I have to let her go. “This won’t work.” I place my hands on her shoulders. Idon’t know why, and I wish I didn’t do that. “I mean, I have to work. I have to go to the office. I have a deadline.” This is my mantra. This is my lifeline.
She shrugs. “Okay, honey. Whatever you need.”
Honey.
You know exactly what I need, you sassy little minx, and you know I don’t want to need it and I really don’t want to want it.
I wonder if she’s wearing a bra under that velvet dress. She never used to wear bras because her saucy little tits are so perky, and it drove me out of my mind. I look back up into her mischievous eyes. Now she winks at me, like she knows what I’m thinking. Like the answer isno. She is not wearing a bra.
