Page 26 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

I wonder if I had grown up in a town like this, would I appreciate it more? Before I was shipped off to my grandma’s, my parents and I lived in Gravesend, the shitty part. The harsh Pacific Northwest wind had a chill factor that stripped the warmth from your skin five times quicker than the rest of the continental US. It was a spiteful town, reeking with suspicion and corruption. The houses were cold, paint peeling and walls cracking.

It’s why I love renovating so much. Maybe it’s my way of fixing a part of my childhood by constantly repairing broken things, like that would help mend the relationship I don’t have with my parents. Like that would somehow help me forgive myself for being such a little shit to my grandma when my parents dumped me with her. Like building my business will somehow make up for the fact that we lived in squalor for years. As long as it never happens again, it’ll be fine.

I have a good nest egg. A good foundation of a life I’ve built with my bare hands. And with a father-in-law like Hugh Honeyford, a household name in property development, I’d be unstoppable.

◆◆◆

“I’m in love,” Charlie sighs wistfully as we trudge through the snow toward the B&B.

“You’re not in love. You hate small towns, you hate Christmas, and you hate women who wear pink dungarees.”

“I don’t hate Christmas or small towns. And I think that might be my future wife.”

He’s lying; Charlie has no plans to get married—ever. Something about an ex-girlfriend who ended up dating his dad. The drama was unbelievable, and his relationship with his father has never been right since. His dad and now-fiancée are very happy, living their best life in a small town not too dissimilar to this one.

Charlie having a visceral reaction to a woman, when he usually keeps them at arm's length, is only adding to the innumerable disasters that Bear Hills has brought me. This town is ass-backward; everyone is wanting the wrong person, everyone is in the wrong place, wrong time.

“This town is messing with your head. It’s all the Christmas lights. Come January, it’ll look like any other small town, as boring as a round of golf, relying on tourists in the summer to get through the winter months. Depressing.”

“The only thing depressing here is you. Cheer up. I think I’m starting to come around to the holidays.”

We stomp our boots before we step inside, the warmth of the fireplace prickling against the cold of my cheeks. A hint of pine and smoke in the air as I head to the front desk. Indy is there, dressed in her signature black outfit. Her cropped hair is pulled back into a half-up-half-down style. The strands framing her face have curled like she’s repeatedly tucked them behind her ear.

“Mr. Stone. I see you’ve brought a stray.” She’s beyond professional, considering her tongue has been in my mouth, and she let me see her naked when she got out of the bath.

Water dripping down her body, nipples tight and hard, a trim little figure, full hips that were begging to be gripped. We haven't talked about yesterday. We both still have an agenda, and despite the curiosity to scratch an itch, I’m here for Holly. Even if it’s harder and harder to remember why. Would it be worth having the support of her father? I’ve built everything else on my own. His support would be more reputational rather than actual investment. I don’t need it. I just want it.

Indy arches an eyebrow, her chin lifted defiantly.

What did she look like when she made herself come last night? Was her chin still defiant? Was she biting her lip? I bet she bit down so hard it almost bled. God, it had taken all the strength I had not to storm into her room and lick her orgasm right off her. All my strength and strangling my cock three times as I gripped the tiles of the guest bathroom. The first two were quick, rushed, my cum spilling into my fist in hot spurts. The third was pure masochism, getting off on a fantasy I cannot let happen. Regardless of how attractive I find Miss Winters. Regardless of those come-fuck-me eyes she can’t help but give me when I step into her space.

“My friend Charlie needs a room. Have any become available?”

“We have one. Henry made it ready. Room 6.”

She hands over a key as Charlie places his credit card on the desk.

“Dinner tonight, Mav?” he asks as he heads down the hallway.

“I’ll come and knock in a few hours. Stay out of trouble. Avoid anyone in dungarees.”

He smirks, rolling his eyes as he turns away.

“Do I even want to know what that was about?” Indy quips.

“Not yet, it’s a surprise.”

She rolls her eyes, dismissing me. I head out the front door, without asking why she hadn’t given me the room if she had one available. Instead, I head to her cottage, keeping my mouth shut.

Chapter Eleven

December 28

Indy

“Why exactly are you taking me to an abandoned bakery? It’s creepy as shit in here.” I’m in the office of The Bear-y Hungry Bakery, well, what used to be The Bear-y Hungry Bakery. I’ve never been in the office, which is upstairs, overlooking the kitchen and shop area. A computer is set up on an old wooden desk, which has hastily been dusted, remnants clumped together at the edges.

Mav, who has been sneaking around all day, guides me to the chair, his big hands squeezing the tops of my arms as he pushes me down. His warm breath tickles my ear, and my thighs squeeze together. We haven’t been this close since we kissed in my kitchen. God, I’ve thought of nothing else since. The swipe of his tongue, the feel of his strong, surprisingly calloused hands kneading and rubbing my hips, the feel of his hardness rubbing recklessly against my clit. I must have gotten myself off five times since then. The first one, I made sure he could hear. I was loud, unencumbered with my moans, letting the hard length of my vibrator slide against my wetness until I toppled over the edge. The rest, I’ve been quiet, clenching my teeth or biting down onto my pillow to muffle my screams. Even the mere fantasy of him is making me come harder than I have in months. God, the depraved things he whispered in my ear had my toes curling. James would never—too soft and gentle with my body when I wanted him to be hard and rough, too careless with my heart that I needed him to be soft and gentle with.