He presses a soft kiss on my lips. “I know. But I’m glad you did.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I know it hasn’t been all that long, but I’m madly in love with you, Jessica Carrington.”
“Madly, huh? That’s a big word.” I pinch his butt cheek because I’m a child.
He reaches around, grabbing my hand and lacing our fingers together. He brings our joined hands over my head, trapping me in place. “I thought I was supposed to be the one who sucked at talking about my feelings.”
I know he’s joking, but I also can see the hints of trepidation in his eyes. “I’m madly in love with you too.”
He grins and swoops down with another searing kiss.
“Best Christmas ever?” I ask when our lips part and our eyes meet.
“Best Christmas ever,” he agrees.
Chapter Seven
Jess
Leave it to Nick fucking Matthews to look like Mr. December at the exact moment I need my body to feel zero attraction toward him.
Nick doesn’t wear suits often—he’s a jeans and a T-shirt guy, even more casual at home. But damn if he doesn’t clean up well. The man looks like he should be gracing the covers of romance novels, not writing them.
Not that any of that matters. Looks are not that important, and so what if my nipples got hard as he scanned me from head to toe? I could hear the catch in his breath as he took in my outfit, and that alone was worth the exorbitant cost of this dress that I will inevitably need to return because I can’t actually afford it.
It’s my first time seeing him in five years, and after the sparring in our DMs, it should come as no surprise that my body has a reaction to his.
But I’m not going to let it affect me. I’m here to do one thing, and one thing only, and that’s make sure my publisher knows how dedicated I am. I’m here to secure mynext book deal, and if Nick Matthews is the only way to do that, then I will suck it up.
Oof. Probably should not be thinking about sucking anything right at this moment.
Damn. Could the backstage wings of this stage be any smaller? Every time I so much as shift my weight, I brush up against him, the sleeves of his suit jacket on my bare arm causing goose bumps to explode over my skin.
If Nick notices, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything at all, actually. He’s probably just hoping to escape this whole situation without me completely losing my shit and blowing up at him.
I haven’t ruled it out yet, but so far, cooler heads are prevailing.
Luckily, we’re saved by the VP of SVP. He steps out onto the stage, leaning so close into the microphone that a screech of feedback echoes across the quieting room. He welcomes everyone to the holiday ball, expounding on the “family” that is SVP, smothering us all in the bullshit that is supposed to make up for seven-percent royalties.
He’s good, though. Very convincing. I wonder how many of SVP’s books he’s read this year. I can almost guarantee none of mine have crossed his desk.
He’s probably read all of Nick’s.
And speaking of Nick, his elbow nudges me, just slightly, right in the ribs.
I turn to face him for the first time, a Medusa-level glare in place.
But he doesn’t say anything, only gestures to the stage, where the VP has clearly already introduced me and is waiting for me to come take the mic.
Shit. Not exactly off to the best start, but I hurry across the stage as fast as the heels I wear maybe once a year will let me.
The VP shakes my hand before exiting the stage, and I turn to the mic and the audience. After some readings and author events over the years, I’ve gotten over a lot of the stage fright that used to plague me as an introvert. Tonight, it’s going to be easier than usual to get through my planned speech, because I don’t mean a single word of it. It’ll be like acting, playing a character.
A character who thinks Nick Matthews is the best thing to happen to romance since Nora Roberts.
And so I open my mouth and the words come pouring out. Nice words, all about Nick. I don’t mention how he broke my heart or ditched me as soon as he found something more important. I don’t talk about how I used to have to help him write his female characters because he was as clueless as most men are to the inner workings of the female mind. I don’t talk about how we used to act out his sex scenes so he could find those moments, the moments when it becomes something more than a physical joining of two bodies.
