Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Her face softens. “That’s a lovely idea.”
I open the first box of lights, unwinding the strand between my hands. “What were your Christmases like growing up?”
She takes the other end of the lights, helping me untangle them. “Small but special. Mom always made sure we had a tree, even when money was tight. We’d make paper chains and popcorn garlands.” She smiles at the memory. “What about you?”
“Quite similar to yours. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, especially when a new mechanic showed up in town. Mom didn’t make a lot as a seamstress, either. We usually just had eggnog and cake at Christmas. It was fine. I wasn’t big on holidays.”
“And now?”
“Now I have Ryan.” I look up at her, holding her gaze. “I make sure he remembers every single Christmas we spend together.”
We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes, circling the tree with lights. Her hair catches the glow, turning golden. I find myself watching her more than the decorations. If last night I thought her stunning, whatever feelings I have for her have grown tenfold. My self-control already snapped earlier. It’s now so close to breaking point again, I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know if I even want to.
“Ever sit on Santa’s lap?” I ask, deliberately breaking the silence.
She laughs. “Once. I was five and terrified. I refused to tell him what I wanted because I was convinced he already knew.”
“Smart girl.” I reach around her to adjust a light, my chest brushing her back. She stills, and I feel her breath catch. “What would you ask for now?”
“Nothing complicated. Financial security. Health. The usual adult wishes.”
There it is again—that evasion. Something about money troubles, which is pretty obvious given her participation at an auction, but there’s something else she won’t share. I make a mental note to have my investigator look deeper into her background. I need to know what drove her to that auction, what desperation pushed a woman like her to sell herself to strangers. I have a feeling it’s more than her mom’s medical bills.
“Hand me that box of ornaments,” I say, deciding to press later. For now, I just want to see her smile again.
She brings over a box of crystal snowflakes, carefully lifting one. “These are beautiful.”
“They’re new. I bought them the other day.”
Her eyebrow raises. “You went Christmas ornament shopping?”
“I had my assistant do it.”
She laughs. “Of course you did.”
“What does that mean?” I take the ornament from her hand, letting my fingers brush hers.
“It means you’re exactly what I expected.” She reaches past me for another ornament, her body close enough that I start to burn. “Billionaire who delegates everything.”
“Not everything.” I brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “Some things I handle personally.”
Her skin turns bright red. She steps back, nearly stumbling. I catch her elbow, steadying her.
“Careful, sweetheart,” I say, not letting go. “These floors can be slippery.”
“T-thank you.” She pulls away, busying herself with the ornaments.
We work our way around the tree, her hanging ornaments at the bottom while I place them higher. The domestic rhythm feels oddly right. Natural. As if we’ve done this before.
“You’re too tall,” she says, stretching to reach a bare spot near the top. “It’s unfair.”
I move behind her, reaching over her head to place the ornament. “Better?”
She turns, finding herself trapped between me and the tree. “Show-off.”
“Can’t help it. Why waste time with a ladder when I’m right here?”
Her eyes drop to my mouth, then quickly away. “Did you decorate trees with Ryan’s mother?”
The question catches me off guard. “No. She left when he was six months old. Decided motherhood didn’t suit her lifestyle.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don’t be. Her loss.” I reach for another ornament, forcing her to stay close to me. “What about you? Ever do this with someone special?”
She shakes her head. “Not since Mom got sick. The last few years have been ... complicated.”
“How sick is she?”
Her eyes widen slightly. I’ve surprised her with the directness.
“It’s treatable but … expensive.” She looks away, hand trembling slightly as she hangs another ornament.
“Is that why you were at the auction?”
She freezes. “I don't want to talk about that.”
“Why not?” I press my palm against the tree trunk, effectively caging her in. “Ashamed?”
“No.” She lifts her chin. “Desperate, not ashamed. There’s a difference.”
“Tell me why.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She tries to duck under my arm, but I don’t move.
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” Her voice rises slightly. “It was a business arrangement. You paid for the weekend. What does it matter why I was there?”
“Because I want to know everything about you.” The truth slips out before I can filter it. “Because nothing about you makes sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re educated, beautiful, intelligent. You don’t fit the profile of people at that auction.”
She swallows hard. “Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.”