She forced herself to tear her gaze away, rolling her eyes as she did.
Mr. Grumpy Lumberjack was clearly working on his display for the Christmas Countdown, and the irony was infuriating. He didn’t even like Christmas. What right did he have to win a competition that was all about community, joy, and actual festive cheer?
That first-place prize should be hers based on her energy alone.
And itwouldbe hers if she could just keep her focus in this year of no men.
Because that man was clearly a big distraction wrapped in flannel.
And she couldn’t afford to lose herself for a man, especially not a grinch. No matter how good he looked holding a measuring tape.
TEN
LIAM
Tuesday, December 2nd
So far, so good. He’d stayed away all day. So, Liam tried—and failed—not to give himself too much shit for stopping by the chocolate shop yesterday.
“You couldn’t even hold out one day,” he muttered, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
He’d told himself maybe it had been a fluke. That what Cassidy did to him—the way she’d looked in the snow on Sunday night, barefoot, braided hair, smiling like magic had dropped straight from the sky—was some kind of sleep-deprived moment of madness. A temporary spell conjured from the scent of cocoa and cold air.
Yeah. No.
He’d been dead wrong.
The image of her yesterday, flushed and flustered, trying to impress him with chocolates, had been playing on loop in his head ever since. The way she’d lit up when he’d bitten into that truffle and deflated when he hadn’t given her the reaction she’d wanted.
How she’d insisted they had a crazed vandal running among them.
God, she was so damn fierce about it. Like everything she did had to mean something. Like she couldn’t not care. He hadn’t seen that kind of fire in a long time. He wanted to feed it. Push her buttons. Watch her unravel.
He couldn’t stop wondering how her passion would translate when she wasn’t pouring it into cocoa or trying to win a light-up contest. What would she sound like when she wasn’t trying to impress anyone? When she let go completely?
He imagined her mouth on his, hot and demanding. But this time, it wasn’t on the counter in his shop. No, this time, it was his truck.
The image hit him like a snowstorm. Cassidy, waiting for him on the backseat of his truck after closing, wrapped in one of his old flannel blankets. The kind that smelled faintly like pine and woodsmoke. She’d be sipping cocoa, cheeks flushed, her breath fogging up in the cold night air. Her braid would be undone, golden waves spilling over her shoulders, and when he climbed in beside her, she’d look at him with that fire in her eyes—the one that made him forget how to think.
“You took your time,” she’d whisper, voice low and full of intent.
She’d pull him down by the collar, lips crashing into his. Her hands would slide beneath his coat, finding the edge of his thermal shirt, slipping underneath to touch bare skin.
And then she’d straddle him.
Right there, in the backseat of the truck, hips rolling in slow circles against his lap, grinding down just enough to drive him insane but not enough to give him what he needed. Her hands tangled in his hair, her mouth tracing the shell of his ear.
“You want me?” she’d breathe. “Prove it.”
And he would. God, he would.
His hands would slide up her thighs beneath that extra Christmas skirt she wore. He’d tug it higher, revealing lace-trimmed stockings—or maybe nothing at all. Her body would be hot against the cold night, her moans fogging up the truck windows as he made her come apart beneath the winter sky.
It would be all breath and steam and the creak of the suspension as they moved, as he pushed into her, slow and deep, her back arching beneath him. The town silent. Just the two of them and the heat they couldn’t outrun anymore.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he shifted in his seat, the steering wheel gripped too tight in his hands.
He was not going to think about Cassidy St. Clair riding him in the back of his truck.
