Page 65 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

“What Miles said, earlier.” Quietly, he says, “Her name is Juno. The one I told you about. I brought her here for Christmas last year so she wasn’t alone over the holidays, but I swear to you, Evie, we really are just friends.”

So this is what it’s like, being met with openness and honesty in the face of a potential misunderstanding. I didn’t even have to be the one who brought it up. “I believe you.”

Jake’s shoulders relax, and he holds my hand a bit tighter. “Actually, I had a suspicion that Miles carried a bit of a torch for her. After his little swipe at me, I’m certain of it.”

“Do you think they’d notice if we left a bit early?”

“What are you suggesting, Miss McClane?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

One day to Christmas, Christmas Eve

We make it back to the cottage just before the storm arrives. Jake springs into action the moment the door is locked behind us. He kicks off his boots, but he doesn’t bother to remove his coat—he heads straight to the hearth to stoke sleepy embers back into a proper fire. As I take off my boots, I shiver like a pounded piano chord. My teeth clack together so hard I’m afraid I might bite my tongue.

He must be having trouble, because he makes an impatient sound and sits back on his heels, yanking his arms out of his coat to fling it across the room. When he bends back over the hearth, he doesn’t look at me, but he says, “You all right, love?”

“Mm-hmm,” I manage.

“We’ll get you warm soon.”

I shrug out of my coat and lay it on the sofa Jake moved next to the door. Silently, I lift my sweater over my head. Static electricity makes strands from my braid cling to my face and neck. The chilly air makes my upper body erupt in goosebumps so aggressive my skin feels a size too small.

I watch the way Jake moves. He’s determined. Purposeful. The strong arcs of his shoulder blades rise and shift beneath his sweater, and the warm light of the embers in the hearth glaze his hair with crimson. Suddenly, the orange glow becomes a bright, golden flame, casting Jake in silhouette. I feel the heat almost instantly.

My nipples are so hard they ache against the fabric of my bra. I reach around to unclasp it and ease my arms out of the straps. At the same time, Jake stands and turns to face me. For a few moments, he simply stares.

He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he pulls his sweater over his head, letting it fall to the nest we made in front of the fire. I let my fingers hover over the button of my jeans, and Jake does the same with his own, mirroring me. Nudging the button loose, I tilt my head subtly to the side. He thumbs open his own button and licks his lips.

Behind him, icy wind wails down the chimney. For a moment, the flames in the hearth go dark before roaring back to life.

I’m not cold anymore.

When I draw down my zipper bit by bit, Jake does, too. With a playful lift of my brows, I stop midway. So does he. He takes a determined step closer to me, but I hold up a hand. He freezes.

As a reward, I unzip fully and shimmy out of my jeans. Jake does, too, but he flings his aside with more force than I did. Our socks come next, one by one in unison, until all that’s left is our underwear. For me, cream lace hipsters; for him, navy-blue boxer briefs. I tuck the tips of my thumbs in the waistband near each of my hips, edging the panties down centimeter by centimeter.

Jake’s patience has run out, though. When he drags the waistband of his briefs off his hips, his erection tips forward and sways in front of him, rebounding upwards to curve towards his navel.

My god.

He’s already as hard as I am wet, and we haven’t even touched each other yet. My mouth floods like I’m a woman starved.

The instant I let the cream lace flutter down my legs and kick the knickers aside, Jake is on me, pulling me to him. Down to our little nest in front of the fire. Lust is a struck match between us, but he still has the presence of mind to cradle his hand around the back of my head as he lowers me to the pillows.

He kisses his way down my body, but instead of settling between my legs, he turns to lie sideways beside me. Gently, he lifts my leg closest to him so my thigh rests over his shoulder. His arm loops around to rest on my belly, positioning his hand so his long, beautiful fingers can open me to him.

Gasping, I say, “What are you—”

“Save your questions for the end,” he murmurs. It’s the soft heat of his lips there first. Then I feel him spread his mouth wide, using pressure and friction and suction to reveal the most sensitive part of me. His tongue makes a slow slide against my entire clit, moving side to side rather than up and down. Slow, broad strokes at first. I’m being savored.

My leg starts to slip and shudder over his shoulder. Jake reaches up to steady me with a hand shackled around my thigh. Once I’m braced against him, he seals his mouth against my clit. Now it’s rhythmic, rippling waves, escalating in intensity with every swirl of his tongue.

I see actual stars when I come, writhing beneath him as he clings to me like a life raft on a chaotic sea. I slap one hand over my mouth, the other across my eyes, jerking against him in the most exquisite orgasm of my life. I don’t recognize the noises I’m making, but I’m too delirious with sensation to care.

I’m left throbbing and breathless by the end. Jake sits up, looks me in the eyes, and wipes my wetness from his chin with a lazy stroke of his thumb.