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I groaned. “You’re impossible to please.”

“I hope you remember that in your attempt to get me into bed.” He finally turned, arching a brow. “You should’ve worn something warmer.”

“I didn’t know this was going to be a damn survival course,” I shot back, rubbing my hands together. “And I did wear a coat.”

He gave me a look that said the coat didn’t count. “Who are you trying to impress out here? Trees?”

The corner of my mouth curved. “You.”

That stopped him. Just for a second. His eyes flicked to me, hard, assessing like he couldn’t tell if I was joking.

“You impressed yet?” I stepped closer, testing the air between us. I plucked my hands out of my too-thin coat and pushed them into his pockets.

“Not even a little.” He tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let him loose. For one, his coat was so damn warm compared to mine.

I chuckled low in my throat. “Liar. Stand still. Let me warm my hands up a little.”

He exhaled slowly. “You never stop, do you?”

“Stop being me? Tried it once and didn’t like it. What you see is what you get with me, Stas. Question is, do you want it?”

I took another step closer, close enough for the small puff of his breath to warm my cheeks. He didn’t back away, so I did the stupidest thing imaginable. I leaned in and pushed up on my toes a little to reach his mouth and kissed him.

It was meant to rattle him, a soft brush of lips, just enough to get under his skin, to remind him that I wasn’t afraid to push him. The second our mouths met, something in me misfired.

His lips were cold, dry, but firm against mine. The shock of contact burned hotter than it should have. The world went quiet for that brief, suspended moment, and I forgot the air was freezing. Forgot the snow. Forgot everything except the way his breath caught in his throat.

Then he jerked back.

The silence that followed was deafening.

My heart hammered, too loud in my ears. I coughed, stepped back, trying to play it off. “Choose a tree, Stas.”

He didn’t answer. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.

Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

Finally, he muttered, “This one’ll do,” and grabbed the nearest tree.

I looked at it. Half the branches on one side were bare, and the top leaned like it had survived a windstorm. “That one’s a disaster, Stas.”

“It’ll do,” he said again, voice low, rough.

He bent to grab the saw, not meeting my eyes.

I stared at him, still reeling, pretending to grin, but my insides were shaky. The kiss had been a game—should have been a game—but now every nerve in my body was alive with it, humming with the ghost of his mouth.

As he kneeled in the snow, muscles shifting beneath his coat, I realized something that made my chest tighten. For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t sure who the hell was playing who anymore.

12

STAS

Iknew I’d fucked up the second I stepped back and really looked at the tree we’d just cut down. The trunk was misshapen and bald at the top. If a Christmas tree could look judgmental, this one was lying pathetically on its side.

Snow squeaked under my boots when I shifted. My breath fogged the cold, fat flakes drifting slowly like ash. I tried to picture my daughter’s face when she saw this sad, lopsided bastard in her living room, and a string pulled hard behind my ribs.

I’d let her down.