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JONAS
Going to the Christmas tree lot with Holly was a mistake.
After spending half the night tossing and turning as I had lewd dream after lewd dream about her, being so close to her all day had been hell.
Then I’d accompanied her to the lot, per my father’s request, to help her get a tree for the party. That shouldn’t have been too bad. Except that Holly, apparently determined to drive me crazy, kept bending over to look at each trunk before she found one that would do the trick.
Every time she bent over, visions of stepping up behind her and seeing if the tree was sturdy enough to hold our weight while I drove us both to satisfaction filled my head.
At least it’s fucking cold outside. That, and the long walk back to the offices, does a little to help cool my lust.
Outside the building, Holly freezes suddenly. “Okay, stop.”
Unprepared for the sudden halt in motion, I run into the stump of the tree with an “oof.” “A little warning would be nice.”
“I said stop.”
“After you already stopped.”
She waves off my response as if that one crucial fact makes no difference. “Don’t change the subject.”
“What subject?”
“This.” She gestures emphatically at me as if that explains everything.
“What does”—I wave my hands back at her—“this mean?”
“Why are you being so mean to me?”
I frown. “Mean? I just helped you drag a Christmas tree almost a mile across downtown Denver.”
“And you glared at me the entire time. Just like you did yesterday.”
Her eyes are bright and sparkling. It’s all I can do not to stare at them. Especially after she’s just accused me of glaring—when I only thought I was staring—all day.
“I’m not glaring.” When she rolls her eyes, I take a step toward her and nearly bump into the stump again, but catch myself. Stepping around it, I move toward her. “I promise. I wasn’t glaring.”
“Then—then why won’t you talk to me?”
“I talk to you.”
“Barely. You hardly answer my questions.” She raises her chin as if she’s drawing upon some courage. It seems to me, she has plenty of it. It’s one of the things I like about her.
There are a lot of things to like about her.
“It… seems like you hate me.”
“No.” I shake my head and take another step toward her. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then—”
“You… you make me nervous,” I admit.
Her eyes grow wide. “I make you nervous?”
“You do.” I run a hand over the cropped whiskers on my jaw. “Look, you’re gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous?”
