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“The kids are gonna flip,” he says as we set them on the hotel room dresser next to the TV. Each wooden figure has a different robe, beard, and facial expression, and Sebastian took his time picking the perfect one for each of his sister’s children, forking over a small fortune for them. “It’s their first Christmas heirlooms.”
He says it without a trace of irony. Then again, if those kids have even a trace of the St. Claire Christmas DNA that I’ve observed, I fully believe they’ll be displaying these nutcrackers in their nursing homes eighty years from now.
Once he’s given each of the nutcrackers a final once-over, he says, “I need to get into a hot shower. Try to get some feeling back into my legs.”
He gestures, and what can I do but look down to confirm that he does indeed have legs? Nice legs. Legs I’d hate to see fall victim to frostbite.
I bid a fond silent farewell to those goofy shorts as he shuts the door behind him, and I try not to imagine him peeling them off as the shower starts up. By the time he’s emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, all flushed and scrubbed clean, I’ve changed into my pajamas and can slip past him to brush my teeth and wash my face.
When I’m done, I find Sebastian standing next to his bed, contorting his back with a grimace.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” He rolls his shoulders. “Just some stiffness from all that time in the car.”
“Ah.” A beat. “Would you like a back rub?”
His eyes travel over my thin shorts and T-shirt. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest and hope my nipples are behaving.
“I shouldn’t.” His gaze catches on my mouth before pulling up to my eyes.
“It’s the least I can do since you’re chauffeuring me cross country.” I try to make the offer sound light and friendly, but my voice is an invitation. Oops.
He swallows hard. “Okay. Yes, that would be incredible.”
I cross the short distance to his bed and murmur, “On the bed. Face the wall.”
His eyes flash with heat, but he obeys, settling cross-legged with his back to me so I can climb onto the mattress to kneel behind him. I only hesitate for a split second before I settle my fingers on his neck, and he gives a half-groan, half-sigh when I press into the muscles there. I tell myself it’s relief from the soreness and nothing else.
He’s lucky that Lizzie’s one indulgence was massages; I learned early on what feels good and what doesn’t when it comes to muscle manipulation.
“You’re so tense,” I say as I work.
His shoulders shift under my hands as he shrugs. “Flying’s a lot less stressful than driving through a blizzard.”
“I really am grateful, if I haven’t said it enough.” I shift my pressure downward. “Even though you stole my car.”
“It was never your car.” He shoots me a smile over his shoulder, and warmth settles over me knowing that it’s an in-joke between us now and not an argument. I work his knotted muscles in silence for a bit, and before long, I’m lifting off his shirt so I can really dig into his back. His broad, well-muscled back.
He eventually ends up stretched out on his stomach with me straddling his ass as I stroke him with long, firm movements. My shorts are too short for this; my thighs are pressed into his sides, and the friction against my core as I work is starting to make my nipplesreallymisbehave.
“What were you going to ask Santa for, really?”
My hands still at his question, which chases away all the delicious heat that was building between my legs.
“Just…” I run my hands down the muscles on either side of his spine. “Connection, I guess.”
“With other people?” He lifts his upper body to look at me, and I roll off of him and settle onto the mattress so we’re facing each other.
"Yes. No.” Why did I even say that? I’m trying toavoidrelationships right now. But he’s patiently waiting for a better answer, so I take a moment to consider how much I want to share before speaking again.
“I wouldn’t say I have trust issues, but at the same time, I don’t have many people in my life that I’m truly close to.” There’s not enough distance between us on this bed for what I’m about to say but I take a deep breath and start talking anyway. “For me, the main person was my grandma. She raised me. I’m named after her.”
Understanding dawns on his handsome features. “Lizzie’s Tap.”
I nod and hope I can get through this without another round of earth-shaking tears. “She owned it. I grew up there. Started helping out as soon as I was able to see over the bar. My whole life, it was the two of us until I left for grad school.”
“Your mom?”
