Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I grip her waist and boost her up on the counter with a smooth, practiced motion I’ve never used on anyone else. She squeals and laughs, then settles.
“Um, this is reminding me of the night at your house.” She ducks her head and runs her palms over her thighs, tugging the hem of her dress down.
“Good, because I’ve been thinking about it and every other moment with you all day long.”
She rests her hands on my shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. I lean in until my forehead brushes hers.
“Declan,” she whispers, breath feathering my lips. There’s that hesitation again. A shadow behind her eyes I can’t name.
“What else did you do today?”
She frowns and drops her gaze, then offers a slight shrug. “Not much. Called Wren. Gorged myself on Mrs. Applewood’s amazing baked goods. Washed my hair.”
“It looks very pretty. And shiny.” God, I sound like an idiot.
She lifts her chin, whatever hesitation she seemed to have fading. “I thought about you. A lot.”
My heart stutters. “I thought about you too.”
I slide my hands along her thighs, pushing her dress up, and step between her knees.
She lifts her gaze. “Kiss me.”
“You sure?” My voice drops, rough and too honest. “Because once I start, I’m not stopping at just one.”
Her breath catches and she leans up, draping her arms around my neck. “I’m sure.”
That’s all I need.
I cover her mouth with mine—slow at first, testing, savoring the soft give of her lips. She sighs into me, her whole body melting forward. Every thought I had about keeping some distance or holding onto my control goes up in smoke. I deepen the kiss, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her hip to keep her anchored on the counter. She tastes like cold air and the sweetness I’ve been craving since we parted ways this morning.
The faint jingle of the front door opening and Lucy’s voice welcoming her client filters in through my closed door. Emery pulls away.
“You shouldn’t be doing this at work, should you?” she whispers.
“I own the place,” I murmur against her mouth. “I can do whatever I want.”
She smiles—small, breathless, and slightly dazed. My favorite look on her. Her gaze flicks past my shoulder, toward the closed door, breaking the spell and allowing the real world to sneak back in.
A burst of Lucy’s laughter echoes through the shop, followed by the client’s loud voice.
Emery winces. “You’ve got customers here.”
Fair point.
I rest my forehead against hers, to catch my breath and get my pulse under control. Hell, I’m trying to remember what normal conversation sounds like.
“Come on,” I say, brushing my thumb over her hip. “If we stay in here any longer, Lucy might invent a reason to ‘accidentally’ barge in.”
She chuckles and I help her off the counter, my hands lingering at her waist longer than necessary. Her boots hit the floor, and she tilts her head back, still pink-cheeked and a bit shy around the edges.
“What now?” she asks.
I open the door for her. “Let’s go before I commit more HR violations in my own shop.”
She laughs even louder and follows me out to the front desk. “Where to?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Town square. They’re setting up more decorations for the Slayride event. Figured you might want to see it. Record some behind-the-scenes footage of our small-town spooky charm.”
She beams as if she’s pleased I remembered her assignment. What brought her to Crowsbridge Hollow in the first place.
The Slayride is harmless. Packed with people. No shadows deep enough for the Rider to slip through.
If I keep her wrapped up in all the festival chaos, she’ll be safe until she leaves.
What happens after is a problem I haven’t solved yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Emery
Apparently, a Hallmark movie and a haunted house got together and gave birth to a creepy little Christmas miracle in the town square of Crowsbridge Hollow.
Garlands loop between lampposts, twined with twinkle lights and fake cobwebs. Skeleton reindeer “pull” a sleigh decorated with red ribbons and black velvet bows that’s parked in front of town hall. Wreaths with tiny skull ornaments hang from black streetlights. Christmas carols drift from some hidden speaker, remixed with sleigh bells and low, spooky chimes.
“Wow,” I breathe. “This is…a lot. How’d I miss all this?”
Next to me, Declan shrugs. “Decorating committee probably didn’t get as far down as the Applewood Inn, yet.” He glances down and grins. “Welcome to Season’s Creepings.” His amused tone barely conceals his contempt for the touristy display.
“I kind of love it,” I admit. “Christmas isn’t…my favorite. But I’ve always loved Halloween, so blending them together seems pretty brilliant.”
He glances at the display again, a more thoughtful expression sliding over his face. “I used to be the opposite. Dreaded Halloween and loved Christmas. This seemed like the worst idea ever, but it’s grown on me recently.”