Page 35 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

“That’s not how I want you to touch me,” he mutters, his hand reaching out for mine.

“Umm . . . that’s all I’m willing to give, Charles.”

He lurches back, wiping his drool with the back of his hand as his eyes fly open. “Shit, sorry, man. I thought you were Bella.”

“I figured. Do you know why we’re sharing a bed?”

“There was only one. I offered to sleep on the floor, but you insisted we could both fit,” he says, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“I thought you’d go home with Bella.”

He smiles wistfully, and I want to gag, except for a moment Indy springs to mind. The way she looked last night at the bar, flushed, her fingers rubbing her neck where I’d left my mark on her. How she felt clenching around my fingers as I muffled her moans with my palm. Jesus, she’s so pretty.

“That look better not be for Isabella.”

“You know it’s not.”

He smirks, lifting himself out of the bed and heading to the bathroom. “You need to get up. Holly came to the bar last night, and you told her you bought the bakery. You’re going to the Honeyford house at 10:00 a.m. to discuss it with her.”

The rumbling in my stomach tells me why I blocked that out. The idea of going to Holly’s family home now sends a wave of revulsion through me. As if the very thought of having her near me again is threatening to bring up those tequila shots.

Charlie raps his knuckles against the bathroom doorframe, and I hear the shower running a few seconds later. He’s assuming I’d be pleased about this meeting. It’s what I wanted. It’s why I’m still here.

And yet, all that’s floating around the back of my eyelids is Indy’s parting lips, her head thrown back as her fingers reach around the back of my neck and tug at the strands. Her muffled cries as she comes. God, what would she be like unencumbered? When she didn’t have to be quiet? When being pleasured wasn’t in a manky old office above an abandoned bakery.

I shake my head like an Etch-a-Sketch; I lose sight of Indy and replace her with Holly. Mouth turned down, hair perfectly curled, prim and proper. Her hand is resting on my shoulder as if we’re the Kennedys posing for a photo. She looks down at me and I up at her. Neither of us smiles. Neither of us is drawn to each other. There’s no spark that ignites between us. Just acceptance. A deal that neither of us believes in love. That a partnership is transactional. We’ll be loyal, of course, in the marriage, but only to the point that we both get the comfort and status we crave. She’ll have affairs; I’ll work too long and too much, finding new ways to avoid the house I once wanted nothing more than.

If I go to Holly’s house today, I’ll meet her parents properly, and they can get to know the man I’ve built over the past ten years. Hopefully, I’ll get through it without punching anyone in the face. Well, at least that’s the plan. I can’t have Hugh Honeyford brandish me a thug before we’ve even had a full conversation. I roll back onto the bed and cover my eyes with my forearms, and as much as I try to stop it, all I see is Indy.

Chapter Fifteen

December 29

Mav

Given that my memory has blocked out my interaction with Holly last night, I turn up to the red brick mansion at 10:00 a.m. Holly bounds past the . . . butler and jumps into my arms.

“Mav.” Her hot breath tickles my ear as I instinctively grab her by her hips. Her father stands by the living space, a good distance back from the front door and foyer, given that we’re in a literal mansion right now. He looks weary, tired, with a frown on his face that tells me he’s getting impatient having his daughter at home.

The decorations from the Christmas Eve party are still up, but lack the sparkle they had that night. Maybe it was the sheer number of people that made it look extra festive. Now the big empty space looks divided.

Holly jumps down, pulling me by the hand. It could be my mind, but I find myself pulling back, almost to delay the inevitable niceties when clearly Hugh Honeyford is not going to be an ally to me. Not by a long shot. The man is gray-haired, clean-shaven, wearing a plum-colored cable-knit sweater. He politely extends his hand for me to shake when we reach him, squeezing it into a death grip. Clearly not as polite as I thought.

“Sir, it’s nice to finally be introduced properly.”

“How’s your left hand?” he asks.

“Now, now, Daddy. I told you, I might be partially to blame for that,” Holly says sweetly.

Ha. Partially.

She tucks herself under his chin, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing affectionately.

“Besides, Mav has some big news, and I think it’s going to make you very happy. So where is Mom? I want her here for this.”

Mr. Honeyford mentions something about a country club as pure panic sears through my chest. My mind flits back to the engagement ring that’s tucked away in my luggage back at Indy’s house. I hadn’t thought of it once since I entered the cottage and shoved it deep below one of my sweaters, but now it’s as if it were burning a hole in my very pocket.

What the hell did I say to her last night?