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This is mental warfare the likes of which hasn’t been seen in Reindeer Falls in centuries. Because Carter knows that I have access to his library account, and he knows that I can see all this. Who has that kind of ego? Because he must know that now I’ll be trying to figure this puzzle out. Why these books? Is he mocking me? Is he going to return them or will he skip town with my books only to return them in a decade after running up a history making fine?
I’m so confused and pissed off by the time I get home that I decide I don’t have a choice. I have to look incredible for tonight. He can’t know that he’s gotten to me. I just have to be a professional. A professional fake, hot-as-hell fiancée.
I can do that.
Probably.
I find a red knit dress hiding at the back of my closet that’s a bit shorter and tighter than most of the clothes I own. I pair it with some tights and boots, grab a long white wool coat, and pull my hair back into a low pony tail. Classy, but also sexy. I add red lipstick and observe myself in the mirror.
I am rocking sleigh ride outfit attire.
Just in time, too, because there’s a knock at the door followed by a low woof from Rudy. I fling open the door, and immediately, I realize that it’s going to be harder than I expected to keep this professional. Because Carter’s wearing a green sweater that is very, very sexy. Yeah, yeah, I know sweaters aren’t exactly the epitome of sex appeal, but you haven’t seen one on Carter Sheppard. Also, he’s holding a bouquet of white and red roses and looking like a perfect Christmas boyfriend, expertly gift-wrapped just for me.
A slow smile spreads across Carter’s face while he gives me a once-over followed by a whistle. “Where have you been hiding all of these sexy outfits? Do the other librarians know?”
I swat at him, hiding my blush as I take the flowers. Then I make a show of looking past him out the front door.
“Where’s the photographer?” I ask. “Did they get their shot or should I step onto the porch so you can hand me the flowers?”
“No photographer, sprite. I just thought you’d like the flowers.”
A trap. This has to be a trap.
“Err, okay,” I reply, eyeing him suspiciously. “One second while I get a vase.”
I duck inside, leaving Carter on the step. I don’t trust him inside my place. Or, more specifically, I don’t trust myself with him inside my place. Not when all hopes of me keeping my feelings—and my lust—under wraps just flew out of the window.
“Rudy, they’re just flowers. Any guy can pick up flowers. Most don’t, but still. Just flowers.”
Rudy tilts his head in confusion, stares at me for a couple of seconds and then lolls his tongue out of his mouth.
“I will not be swayed via the most cliché seduction technique in the history of man,” I insist, even though having this conversation with a dog is a new low. “He’s just interested in sex.”
The thing is, though, I too am interested in sex.
So we have things in common, is all I’m saying.
Ugh.
Flowers in a vase, I turn my attention back to Rudy, hands on hips.
“I’m only doing this for you, you know. So you don’t have to spend the rest of your life in a jock mansion, being taken care of by a dog nanny while your adopted human runs around the country playing baseball. You could at least be a little supportive.”
Rudy yawns and walks away, curling up in one of his beds.
Well then.
I exhale, steadying myself for an evening in the company of Mr Sexy Sweater.
“So,” Carter says as I join him on the porch, doing a shit job of hiding the grin on his face. “Do you and Rudy talk about me a lot?”
“Shut up,” I reply. “Let’s get this over with.”
Carter winks. “Whatever you say, sexy elf.”
I hate it when Maggie’s right about the magic of Christmas.
Because as soon as we arrive at the sleigh rides, I instantly feel it. The freaking Christmas magic. To make it worse, snow is falling in soft flurries, dusting the trees in white shimmer. There are sparkly lights everywhere. The sleighs are all a beautiful bright red with gorgeous horses at the helm, each of which has jingle bells decking out their bridles.
Would it be so bad, I wonder, if a person were to give into that magic… just a little bit? This is so damn romantic that I can almost understand why Maggie has strongarmed our book club into reading nothing but Christmas romances all year long.
“Hot chocolate or hot apple cider?” Carter asks, coming up behind me. He’s got handmade knitted mittens on that make something inside of me twist. Fuck. When did I get a mitten fetish?
