“Can you come again?” I choke out, only barely holding myself back.
She nods, clutching me closer to her. I slam into her, grinding how she likes, and she clenches around my cock. I pull my hand from her mouth just in time to kiss her as the orgasm rips through me.
I soften my kisses as she strokes her hands through my hair and down my bare back, as I realize there is no place on this earth I would rather be in this moment, and no one else I could ever be with.
“Best Christmas ever?” she whispers.
“Best Christmas ever,” I agree.
Chapter Thirteen
Jess
The bath is warm and nothing short of heavenly. I sink into the water, closing my eyes as if it’s going to block out everything that’s happened over the past twenty-four hours.
I hate to admit it, won’t ever admit it even if someone asks, but it was so easy to fall back into old patterns once I accepted the inevitable. Of course writing a book with Nick sounds like it would be tantamount to torture, but I would be a fool to ignore what this could do for my career. I vowed to make him hate working together, but I forgot that part of the mission after the first five minutes.
I didn’t expect the whole process to be fun.
Of course it’s only been one day. There’s still plenty of time for things to go downhill.
But I don’t think about those possibilities. I enjoy my bath, dressing in Nick’s shirt and sliding into bed, the pillow barrier between us still firmly in place, maybe more necessary now than ever.
I say good night and turn out the light, and the events of the past day catch up with me, allowing me to slip intoa blissful sleep where I definitely do not dream about Nick Matthews.
I wake the next morning before Nick, using the opportunity to sneak out of the room before he opens his eyes. I make my way down to the lobby, keeping my fingers crossed for some good news.
The grumpy-looking older man behind the counter of the reception desk does not look like he is going to be the bearer of good news. I’ve spoken with him before, and though I wouldn’t have described him as friendly, he certainly didn’t give the impression that I was the bane of his existence—the glare he greets me with this morning tells me things might have changed.
“Hi,” I say, flashing him the brightest smile I can manage after three days trapped in this inn. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of the roads reopening today, Stanley?” I throw in the name on his tag. I always like it when customers at the coffee shop take a moment to remember that I am a human being and not just a vessel delivering their drinks.
Rather than answering my question, he looks out the front windows of the lobby. Pointedly.
As I have yet to check the weather outside this morning, I glance over his shoulder and see nothing but white. “Right. Guess that’s a no. In that case, I don’t suppose there’s any rooms that have opened up since Saturday?”
Now that Nick and I are going to be working together for the foreseeable future—I wait for a wave of nausea to overtake me, but instead there’s just a warmth spreadingthrough my veins—I need some distance from him. It would be so easy, too easy, to fall back into our old habits, and if I’m going to survive this project and avoid any hint of reigniting the old flame that needs to stay dormant, space is going to be a necessity.
The man’s look can only be described as withering, even after I went through the trouble to learn his name. “Given that no one has been able to leave, that would be a no. Still a no, no matter how many times you all check.”
“Right. I figured it didn’t hurt to ask.” Though it did seem to pain him, greatly. “One last question.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Are there any appointments today for a massage? Assuming the spa staff are trapped here like the rest of us?” I try my charming smile one more time, but this man is unbreakable. Apparently the past few days have killed his holiday spirit.
“Room number?” he asks with nothing less than disdain.
I give him the number for what’s technically Nick’s room and low-key hope he’ll charge the massage to the room without my having to ask. Nick owes me a minimum of a massage and it’s not like I’maskingthem to put it on his tab. I would just be totally okay with it if it happened to shake out that way.
“All right, ma’am, you have a two o’clock massage.”
“Amazing.” I don’t bother to ask for pricing because something tells me he either doesn’t have the information, or isn’t willing to give it. So even though I know it’s probably out of my budget, I make the executive decision to put it on my credit card and make it a problem for future me. “Thank you.”
Spa session booked, I thank Stanley again for his oh-so-helpful assistance and head to the coffee counter for some sustenance and a quick breakfast. The pastry case is looking very sad compared to its offerings just a couple of days ago, but I manage to snag a bagel and a table in the corner of the lobby.
I open the Google doc, going back to the beginning so I can read through what we have so far. It’s hard to believe that between the two of us we have almost a complete book. There’s still no ending, and still no answer to the million-dollar question—is this book ending happily or not? I will fight for the HEA with everything I have, but something tells me if Nick wants this book to end in a split, he gets to be the deciding vote.
I avoid thinking about it for now. Instead, I spend my time today focusing on layering in the backstory, the reason our two characters broke up the first time around. It’s a delicate balance with a second-chance romance. You want the reason for the breakup to be believable, but neither of the characters can do something entirely unforgivable. And even though plenty of couples in real life suck at communicating, readers hate when a simple miscommunication is responsible for the split.
