42
CANDY CANE LANE
ISLA
I’m just settling into bed with a book after seeing the women’s hockey game with my friends when my phone buzzes. It’s late—close to midnight. My heart shimmies more than I want it to when I see the preview pane.
Rowan: Are you decent?
I glance down at my red cami and matching mint green pajama pants.
Isla: Depends what you mean by decent.
Rowan: Are you decent enough to come to the door?
I sit up in bed, my pulse spiking, then swing my legs out. My chest is achy already with the desire to see him—especially since I wasn’t expecting amidnight visitor. At the door, I peer through the peephole, and excitement soars inside me. There he is, looking all beardy and sexy andhere.
I yank open the door. He’s leaning against the frame, resting on one arm. His green eyes flicker with heat as they travel up and down me. In his other hand, he holds a canvas bag, like he’s stopped at a store.
“The whole time,” he begins, stepping inside, toeing off his shoes, “the whole time I saw you at that hockey game, I was thinking about you. I was thinking about candy canes. And I was hoping I could find a way to sneak over here.”
I’m buzzy. Intoxicated. His ocean scent swirls around me, and my brain feels foggy already. It’s ridiculous how I react to this man.
“I thought you were with Mia?”
He cups my cheek, strokes it. A rumble seems to work its way up his chest as he threads his fingers through my hair. It’s like he can’t hold back. He presses a hot kiss to my neck.
“My parents came over afterward. We were all hanging out playing board games, and then they fell asleep on the couch. Mia did too. I carried her to bed.” He stops his kisses. His smile is electric and wicked. “So I sneaked out.”
My eyes pop. “This is so high school.”
“Like the way you were grinding against me outside your parents’ home.”
“Pretty sure you were grinding against me. If memory serves, you lifted me up. I remember you rubbing that big dick against me.”
He dips his face back to mine, and his kisses turn hotter, needier. “Details, details.”
“You really sneaked over here?” I ask, breathless and aroused.
“I left a note.” He says it a little defensively but playfully at the same time. “I’ll be back in the morning before anyone wakes up over there.”
“And what did you bring?” I ask, breaking the kiss again.
His lips curve into a cocky grin. “Don’t you want to know?”
“Yes. That’s why I asked.”
“But I think you’d rather be surprised.”
He’s so right. He knows me so well.
“Maybe I do.”
“Why don’t you go get in bed,” he says, plucking at my red cami. “Take this off. And just put on a pair of red-and-white-striped panties.”
I blink. “How do you know I have red-and-white-striped panties?”
He arches a brow. “Do you, Isla?” It comes out rough, gravelly, and full of certainty. Like he’s a lawyer in a courtroom, following that golden rule of attorneys—don’t ask a question you don’t know the answer to.
