“That I like you?”
“Yeah. That you like me.” I whispered the words like the idea was crazy. Because it was crazy. It had to be.
His lips curled into a smile. “Why not?”
“Because it’s only Tuesday. We’ve got three more days here. I don’t want this to be more awkward than it already is. We work together.” My eyes narrowed onto his, trying to look intimidating. “Take it back.”
By this time, pure delight colored his eyes. “Take it back? Like we’re five?”
“Yup.” I folded my arms, trying to bargain with my racing heart. Heart, if you slow down, I promise I’ll try running again. Later. In the summer. Maybe.
He scoffed. “You want me to wait until the end to tell the girl how I feel? I refuse to be a cliché. Like a real man, I told you in the middle.”
“A real what?” I countered, trying to buy some time.
He pulled me closer. “I think you know.”
“You don’t really like me.”
“I do.” All the hairs on my body stood at attention. I ignored them.
“No. You can’t. And I absolutely don’t date people I work with. Been there, done that. I’ve made that very clear.”
“That’s not what you told your sister.”
“I was desperate!” I stamped my foot. A definite sign of a mature woman.
He went on talking, almost as if he hadn’t heard any of my protests. “Honestly, it was surprising how likable you were once we got you out into nature. Although, that could be the spanking talking.”
It took me a moment to formulate words after that, with Miles’s all-knowing eyes watching me with growing amusement. “Well, I reject your statement. You’ve just flustered me. That’s all.”
“Huh,” he mumbled, stepping closer, his coat pressing against mine while his hands found my waist. “So that leaves me three days to convince your lying heart otherwise?” He leaned in closer, his mouth a whisper away from mine. The heat from his breath smelled minty and warm, and I wanted nothing more than to get lost in it. To breathe it in and…kiss him.
Oh no.
His mouth became my only focus as it moved closer, lips parted. I had tasted those lips the night before, and by the way my mouth filled with moisture, it definitely remembered. I’d probably get the shakes before long if I didn’t just do it. I couldn’t think at all anymore and, instead, closed my eyes to block it out, my lips parting the slightest bit. Then I waited.
And waited.
I opened my eyes to find a triumphant Miles. Still too close to me. Still making my breathing erratic. He slid his lips away from mine, brushing them ever so softly across my cheekbone until he reached my ear. Chills raced down my entire nervous system and a soft heat billowed from his mouth as he whispered, “Game on.”
With a kiss on my cheek, he reached back down and grabbed the tree with one hand and my hand with the other and proceeded to pull us both back to the cabin.
And just like that, my body filled with all the clichéd emotions I found in the Hallmark Christmas romances I secretly watched every December. My heart was pounding, my stomach was fluttering, and the hint of a smile was begging to be released from my lips.
TWENTY
“No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en.”
William Shakespeare - The Taming of the Shrew
We got back to the cabin, red-faced and embarrassed—or wait, that was just me. Miles clomped along at my side, dragging the dead pine tree behind him and whistling “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” the whole way back.
Once inside, I put a pot of coffee on. Miles busied himself finding a stand and an old strand of lights from the creepy basement, which was fine with me. I needed a moment to regroup.
Miles’s revelation changed everything. It all felt different when I thought we both hated each other. I thought of the way he held my hand when we jumped into the pond and then half-carried me out, the way he paid no mind to Glenn, the way his hand felt when it pressed against the small of my back, the way our toe-curling, stupid, un-mistletoe kiss played in my thoughts, and the softness in his eyes as he told his parents—excuse me—lied to his parents about the things he liked about me. Yes…we definitely…hated each other.
Shoot.
If I did happen to admit that he was attractive and could be charming when he wanted to, it only made it that much worse. Besides the fact that we worked together, he was a walking Bear Grylls. Way too adventurous for me. He’d get bored in a matter of days when I refused to do all the things he loved. Because this girl would never go skydiving. Never. I had zero desire to rock climb. Here, where Miles had fewer distractions, I was just something new to occupy his attention. He was bored. I needed to remember that.
It was easy enough to remember while we decorated our tree—my tree. Not our tree. I found myself getting a tiny bit excited by the smell of fresh pine in the cabin. The glow of the white twinkle lights he draped across the tree sparked a fury of childhood memories that had me biting my lip to keep my eyes from watering. He’d found an old box of Christmas decorations that he and his siblings had made in elementary school. Soon, I was laughing at a picture of an earnest, beaming, bucktooth Miles from second grade. He had grown into his teeth quite nicely. There was a homemade brown cinnamon ornament with his tiny handprint inside. It was all so sweet. Really, it was. The soft sounds of Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra wove a spell over and around us. That was all it was. A spell. But my resolve to not fall for Miles Taylor was still firm. Look at me, a pillar of strength.
Of course, that was before my own personal Bear Grylls tucked me gently underneath a blanket on the couch, lifting my feet to rest against the coffee table. Then, he put in an old DVD copy of Home Alone that he’d also found downstairs, bringing me a cup of cream with a dash of coffee, just how I liked it, and a bowl of freshly microwaved popcorn before he plopped next to me on the couch. It seemed we had both decided to forego dinner at the lodge this evening in lieu of crossing off our Christmas movie bingo square. He was close enough to share the blanket. My blanket. Close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his arm, which was definitely pressed against mine. Miles with socks on, black jogging pants, a gray shirt, and an adorable grin, looking much too comfortable lounging in my space, was a definite breach against my defenses. But I could keep it together. One of us had to. He leaned forward and took a sip of my coffee, making a face before setting it back down on the table.
“For a girl who can’t stand milk, your coffee preferences are a head-scratcher.”