The Plight Before Christmas(46)

“I skydived when I turned twenty-three.”

I gawk at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Got a tattoo on my twenty-fourth.”

“That was supposed to be my tattoo birthday. What does that mean anyway?”

“What’s what mean?”

Shit. His tattoo, if I mention it, he’ll know I saw him without a shirt on.

“I mean, did you steal my list or something?” Good recovery, Whit.

His lips upturn. “Maybe I stole a few.”

“I guess that’s…flattering.”

I’m jealous.

Just a little.

“Well it’ll be even cooler to dive on my fortieth birthday.”

He gives me an infuriating sideways glance that tells me he knows I’m full of shit. Sadly, he’s right. There’s no way in hell I’m jumping out of an airplane at this stage in my life. My birthday bucket list was overly ambitious. But at the time, I intended to follow through with every single one. And then…life.

“So, did you do any of them?”

“I don’t remember. I’m sure I hit one or two.” I feel his gaze on my profile, his hands stopping briefly to again call bullshit. It’s one of the things I both loved and hated about him. He was maddeningly blunt and honest until things got personal.

“I can give the list back to you if you need it.”

Wait…he kept it?

It must have been one of the things I left behind at his house the day we broke up.

“Naw, I’m good. I’ve had a lot of good birthdays, so…” I rinse my hands. “I’ve got a surprise for my parents, and since everyone is gathered in the living room, it’s kind of the perfect time. Do you mind if I go get it ready?”

“Go ahead.” He nods, pushing his sleeves further up, revealing insanely muscular forearms before adding the last of the plates into the sink full of suds. As he starts to scrub, a lock of his thick blond hair comes loose and crests over his forehead, skirting just below his brow. Instantly, an image of him hovering above me shutters in.

Slowly, so slowly, he pushes into me, his eyes fluttering closed as he whispers into my parted lips. “Feels…so good, baby, so good…” he whispers hoarsely, desire and emotion lacing his tone. “Whitney,” he lifts to stare down at me as my eyes sting at the raw vulnerability in his gaze. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking perfect. Nothing has ever felt so perfect.” Just as slowly, he pulls back and thrusts in again, and we both shudder at the feel. Swiveling his hips to burrow deeper, his chest flexes as I lock my ankles around him, pulling him further into me. With a harsh exhale, he drops his chin at the feel of the deep connection, hair falling across his forehead and obstructing my view of his eyes. Eager not to miss a second of the unguarded affection in his gaze, I thread my fingers through it, combing it away before lifting to slide my tongue between his parted lips. He opens for me, his tongue plunging in time with his thrusts as I start to come apart beneath him.

The thud of a plate in the sink jars me, and I realize Eli dropped it and is now facing me, leaning into my touch…because I touched him.

I’m still touching him.

WHAT. IN. THE. FUCK?

Jerking my hand back, I slide my wayward palm down my thigh.

“Uh…what the hell?” I giggle exaggeratedly. “That was…weird.”

Sweet Jesus. It’s not like I can claim ‘old habits’ because who in the hell does that?

No one.

I just caressed my ex while remembering him making love to me. How did we go from small talk about decorations and a birthday bucket list to this in the span of mere minutes?

“We never could last long in a room together.”

If he hadn’t spoken those words to me today and looked at me in the shop with his voodoo icicle eyes, I wouldn’t be anywhere near that type of memory.

“Whitney,” he breathes out softly, his eyes trying to catch mine as I keep them averted.

“I’m going to go get that ready.” Neck on fire, I turn and make a beeline for my laptop. “Thanks for the help with the dishes.”

“Fuck,” I hear exhaled harshly behind me as I haul ass toward the stairs.





Toweling off my hands, I peek into the living room. Ruby and Allen sit in recliners facing the massive TV mounted above the fireplace as Whitney types a mile a minute on her laptop, sitting next to them, solo in the loveseat. Everyone else is scattered around in the spacious seating throughout, Conner and Wyatt already sleeping upstairs, down for the night.

For the first time since I got to the cabin, I feel like the imposer I am.

“Hey handsome, what are you doing just standing there?” Ruby asks me, her smile warm and inviting. “I don’t know what my kid is up to, but you’re stuck in limbo with the rest of us until we find out. Take a seat.”

“I’ve got room here, Eli,” Gracie pipes, scooting from the edge of the couch toward Thatch, who drapes an arm around her, Serena on his other side as Peyton lays milk drunk on his chest.

“What is this, Sweet Pea?” Allen asks Whitney. “Need me to get Alexa in on it?”

Alexa – I’m sorry, I’m having trouble understanding right now.

“Dad, seriously, give it a rest,” Brenden grunts in irritation.