Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(75)

I glance down at my vintage Mia Hamm tee. “Excuse you.”

Mom grins and folds her hands in her lap. “I’m waiting.”

A quick shower and some curl-controlling cream later, I throw on black yoga pants and a slouchy red sweater that tends to slide off my shoulder. It drives me nuts but Mama says it’s sophisticated.

“My bralette keeps showing.”

Mama rolls her eyes. “Honestly, are you the twentysomething or am I? That’s the point.”

I give her a good glare. “I’m not going to Christmas dinner to seduce anyone, Joy Sutter.”

She makes a noncommittal noise in her throat. “Come on, obstinate offspring. Time to watch you squirm.”

“Mother!”

Cackling, Mama wheels herself ahead of me. I follow in her wake, pushing the wheelchair when her arms start to tire and she sets her hands in her lap. Like the first time I ventured down this hall, noise amplifies, light grows. Nerves tighten my stomach.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I mutter.

“Nonsense. Take a deep breath. It’s Christmas dinner, not the Last Supper.”

“Could have fooled me.”

When we round the corner, my heart jumps into my throat. It’s an explosion of Christmas. Fresh garland, candles burning on every possible surface. Acoustic guitar playing Christmas music is a soft backdrop to the starlit wall of glass windows and doors of their great room. A Christmas tree is covered in handmade ornaments and sparkling lights. People snuggle on a massive sofa in front of the fire, hands cupping steaming mugs, reaching for pieces of a board game, laughing, talking, mingling.

It’s sickeningly cheery.

But then, away from the cozy chaos, Ryder stands next to his mom in the kitchen, talking. She speaks in a language I can’t understand, but Ryder seems to follow, nodding his head as she points to a massive ham on the counter. Following her instructions, Ryder is poised to cut into it. But then he sets down the knife.

I watch his hands grip and wipe the towel, then unbutton his cuffs and slowly fold the fabric along his arms. It’s another damn forearm striptease as he rolls up soft, worn flannel. This one’s Christmas tree green, checkered with white and wine red. It’s festive as hell. He looks like a yuletide wet dream.

I swallow so loud, Santa hears me in the North Pole.

Ryder must hear it, too, with his newfound auditory contraptions, because his eyes snap up and lock with mine. Those grass green eyes crinkle with what seems like a smile, but who knows, the bushy beard hides it. When he picks up the towel again, I gulp, watching his hand work the fabric.

I need to get laid. This is not right. I’m eroticizing hand-drying.

“Hi,” I manage.

Mama practically yanks herself out of my grip and wheels herself forward, as Dr. B guides her to a space at the table that they’ve cleared for her wheelchair.

Ryder steps close as he tucks the towel in his back pocket. Even that’s hot. There’s no mercy in this world.

“Hi,” he says quietly. His eyes hold mine, and the room gets twice as hot. “Willa, about last night. About everything…I’m sorry. I wish…” He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. His fingers snag on the strands, reminding him they’re pulled back. I have to suffer through him retying his hair, watching those damn muscles bunch under his shirt, his long, calloused fingers pulling each blond streak back into a tight bun. “I wish I would have told you more. I was scared of what would happen if I laid it all out. Holding my cards close felt necessary because we were playing a pretty brutal game. The stakes were high.”

I nod. “I get it. Me too.” I should say more. I should own my part more fully, but I can barely talk.

Ryder doesn’t seem to mind my paltry answer. He grins. “Forgiven?”

“Forgiven.” I swallow thickly. “And me?”

He frowns and steps closer, then wraps his hand around my shoulder. “Of course.”

His touch completes the circuit that I’ve missed. Electricity snaps and sparks between us. I sway toward him, then pull myself out of it.

“You look incredible.” His hand gently seeks a curl of mine and winds it around his finger. “You and this color. Reminds me of the infamous red napkin.”

I swat his hand away. “I don’t remember you disliking that napkin at the time.”

Ryder smirks, but his eyes bore into my skin. I feel their heat, their weight as they travel my body. “I never said I did.”

“Your eyes are kind of scary, right now, Ryder.” His pupils are so wide, I only know his eye color because I’ve seen it before. He bears that same thigh-clenching intensity as when I first met him.

He swallows and blinks, snapping himself out of it. “Sorry. Caveman moment.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Caveman moment?”

“You’re beautiful. I have four brothers about to see you. I’m feeling a little possessive.”

Those words roll off his tongue and dance across my skin. “Oh,” I say dumbly.

Scrubbing his face, he then drops his hands. “Ignore me.” His eyes hold mine for a long minute, before he leans and places a soft kiss to my temple. “Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”

I stand in place after his lips leave me, after his steps fade away. I’m rooted to the spot, my eyes shut, the world condensed to the echo of his kiss, burning with significance.