Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(20)

In any other situation, I’d have made a move last night at the door. If she were anyone else. If the circumstances were different. Maybe even if it were a year from now, when our wounds weren’t still so raw.

Because I didn’t fully trust my motives either—sure, Sylvia was funny and sweet, she was a great listener, and I loved making her laugh, but I wasn’t up all night imagining jokes I could tell her.

I was up thinking about all the things I wanted to do to her.

Delicious things.

Dirty things.

Things that a woman like Sylvia—classy and refined Sylvia—had probably never even imagined.

Was I just too hard up for sex to see straight? Maybe this whole thing was one-sided, and I’d earn myself a great big kick in the nuts if I tried something with her.

But I could think of nothing I’d like more for Christmas than to make her come while she screamed my name.

I moaned as I pulled my truck into a parking space at the gym, my cock rock hard in my pants. Now I’d have to sit here until it went away, and who knew how long that would take?

I forced myself to think of unsexy things. Mold on the vines. Insects. Hormone tracking devices measuring peak fertile days. When I was positive I could walk in without embarrassing myself, I got out of the truck.

I needed to fucking sweat.





“Henry! You made it!”

Later that evening, Daphne Sawyer kissed my cheek and took my coat. Her husband shook my hand, clapping me on the back. “I hope the drive wasn’t too bad.”

“Not too bad. Looks great in here.” The lobby of the inn looked like an old Hollywood Christmas movie set—fire blazing in the huge stone fireplace, a massive evergreen in the corner decked out with so many lights and ornaments you could hardly see the branches, a hundred or so well-dressed people sitting in groups on the lobby couches and chairs, or standing in clusters near the tree, all holding a drink of some sort or balancing a plate of food on one hand.

“Thank you, darling.” Daphne patted my lapel. “You look wonderful. Go get yourself a drink. Bar’s open.”

I was heading in that direction when I spotted Sylvia.

My knees went weak. She wore a deep red strapless dress that clung to her curves like an apple skin. The front of her hair was pulled back off her face, and the rest fell in loose waves around her shoulders. Her lips were painted to match her dress. Normally, I didn’t like a lot of makeup, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her mouth from across the room. God, the things I wanted to do to that mouth.

Whiskey. Whiskey would help.

Since the party was already in full swing, I was able to slip through the crowd without her seeing me. But along the way, I was stopped several times by party guests I hadn’t seen since last year. Almost all of them asked me where Renee was, and their awkward I’m sorrys—or worse, the dead silences—when I told them we were now divorced were nearly enough to make me regret coming. Finally, I made it to the bar, where I ordered a High West Double Rye, neat. I was planning to take my drink and hide out in a dark corner for a while when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, you.”

I turned around, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me. She looked like an angel—albeit one who might be tempted to do bad things with those ruby lips. “Hey,” I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat.

Sylvia smiled seductively, her eyes traveling over my suit and tie. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks. So do you.” But fantastic wasn’t even close to how delectable she looked—I wanted to lick her like a candy cane—but I tried to tamp down the thought. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure. I’d love a glass of wine. Maybe the sparkling white?”

“You got it.” I ordered it for her, and when it arrived, she picked it up and tapped her glass against mine. “Merry Christmas, Henry.”

“Merry Christmas.” I took a sip of whiskey and watched her lift the wine to those sexy red lips. My dick stirred, fully prepared to deck her halls.

“So many people out there,” she said, setting her glass down on the bar and sliding onto a stool.

“Yeah.” I could smell her perfume. Jasmine. Almond. Cocoa. I nearly drooled. There were times having a sensitive nose didn’t make life easy.

“I didn’t even see you come in. My mom told me you were in here. Are you hiding out?”

“Kind of.”

She toyed with the edge of a cocktail napkin. “Are people asking about Renee?”

I nodded and took another drink. “What about you? People asking about Brett?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “But we were expecting it, right?”

“Right. How are the kids doing?”

“Pretty good, although they tried to call their dad earlier, and he didn’t answer and never returned their call. I think they were bummed about that.”

I drank again. It wasn’t fair that a fucking asshole like that got to have kids when he didn’t deserve them. And they were great kids too. Polite and friendly and good-natured, especially considering what they’d been through. It was a testament to Sylvia’s parenting that they were so well-adjusted.

“Anyway,” she went on, waving a hand in the air, “I don’t want to talk about that. But I did want to tell you that I had such a nice time last night, and I hope I didn’t talk your ear off.”