Page 17 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

HOLLY

The sound of the cabin door shutting echoes faintly, a dull thunk that rattles inside my brain, barely drowned out by the sounds of my blood rushing through my head.

I swallow around the lump forming in my throat and dart my eyes over to where Liam’s still standing.

Of course I’d be left alone with the one person I’m trying to avoid.

That’s just my luck, isn’t it?

My grip tightens on the mug in my hands, the ceramic almost too hot to touch, but at this point I barely feel it.

The tea’s steam curls upward, and for one stupid moment I wish it could work like some kind of smokescreen, blurring me out of sight.

Maybe if I keep my eyes fixed on it, I can pretend I’m not painfully and acutely aware of the fact that there’s no one else here now but us.

Nothing between me and him aside from the table and a couple of feet.

Shit, shit, shit.

The phantom press of my thighs over his lap from last night is still burning into me along with the rough scrape of his hand at my hip while he peeled my sweats off my body.

Even the way his gaze took me in, watching me tease him by rolling my hips while he fought to tuck me in.

I force myself to inhale slowly, but it doesn’t help.

My pulse is still galloping a mile a minute inside my skull now that I’m trapped in an enclosed place with nowhere left to go.

I feel him before I hear him, the subtle shift in the air around me as he moves.

“Guess…it’s just us,” Liam murmurs, his voice deep and still maddeningly casual as he grabs the coffee pot off the burner again to pour more into his mug.

I glance over just enough to catch him in my peripheral vision.

He looks too good in that dark thermal.

Way too good.

His hair is beginning to have a light wave to it after air-drying in the cabin’s heat, and my fingers twitch with the urge to thread through the thick lengths to see if they’re as soft as they look.

It takes herculean effort to drag my eyes back down to my tea, stopping myself before my thoughts get away from me again.

“Looks like it. Breakfast was good, you should have some.”

Miraculously, my voice somehow sounds normal.

You’d never know that my heart’s still trying to beat its way out of my ribs by the sound of it.

I stir my teabag around for no reason except to give my hands something to do.

“They’ll probably be gone a while,” I mumble. More to myself than him.

“Probably,” he says.

Silence stretches out between us.

It’s not uncomfortable exactly, but it feels oppressive all the same.

Clearly we’re both avoiding the topic and neither one of us wants to commit to actually rehashing it now that we’re both sober.

My brain scrambles for some neutral topics, but every thought gets tangled in the reel of last night.

My brain won’t stop replaying my humiliating teasing in high definition.

The weight of his gaze, even when it’s not directly on me, makes it impossible to focus.

Finally, I clear my throat.

Oh, fuck it.

“Um. So. About last night…”

He tilts his head slowly, turning toward me.

“I’m sorry if I…made things weird.” My cheeks warm instantly, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me. “I was drinking more than I should have and I?—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, gentle but firm. “It’s fine.”

It most certainly is not fine. “I just…I don’t ever let people see me like that.”

“What do you mean?”

My nails drum against the side of my mug. “Drunk. Out of control. I’m not much of a partier and even less so around friends.”

“Why not?”

I blink at him. “Why not what?”

His head tilts more, curiosity replacing the guarded lines on his face. “Why not let people see you like that? You seemed like you were having fun at the bonfire.”

“I did.” I give him a short, brittle laugh, not meaning to.

“I don’t like to let loose like that most of the time.

It’s not something that’s done much for me in the past. Plus, in my experience, a lot of the time when I drink, it’s because I’m trying to avoid thinking about something that’s bothering me. ”

His eyes narrow. “You’re talking about your family?”

I hesitate then shake my head. “Not exactly. I’m…my life’s kind of a mess right now. My business isn’t doing the best.”

Something in his expression shifts, softening.

Before I can stop them, the next words come tumbling out of my mouth.

“I think it’s going under and there’s nothing I can do about it and it’s making me really sad because I’ve spent years building it from the ground up with no help.”

Liam sets his coffee on the counter and steps around the counter.

“What do you mean there’s ‘nothing you can do’? What’s going on with it that you think it’s failing that badly?”

“Sales have been really down this season. I mean, I’ve tried everything.

Discounts. Ads. Chasing people down the street with a free sample.

I’ve sunk every spare dollar into keeping it afloat, and it’s still not enough.

My rent’s past due. I already got an extension on it, and I don’t even know if I can make it to next month to make back what I owe, let alone keep my books in the black.

That’s why I took this cleaning job, to help pay some of that debt down. ”

His eyes don’t leave mine. “How much do you need?”

My brows knit in suspicion. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I could give it to you. It wouldn’t be a loan or anything, so you don’t need to worry about paying me back. I’ve got a lot in the bank and it’s kind of just sitting there.”

I blink at him.

It’s such an absurd offer that at first I think he’s joking.

But then, as his face remains the same, I find myself shaking my head. “That’s sweet, but there’s no way I can do that.”

Because I can’t.

Even if he says it’s no strings attached and that it would be nothing like a loan…I know better.

Maybe not with him, specifically—hell, maybe he really does mean it—I’ve simply learned the hard way that nothing in life comes without a cost.

People who hand you something for “free” are usually just waiting for the right time to call in a favor you can’t refuse.

The strings are invisible until they’re not, and by then you’re too tangled in them to cut yourself free.

His mouth flattens into a line.

“I don’t want to see you lose something you’ve built, Holly. Let me help you.”

I swallow past the lump rising in my throat again.

Instead of letting the moment get too real, I force my lips into a faint smirk.

“So…if I didn’t pay you back with money, what exactly would you want instead?”

It’s meant to be teasing, just a little jab to lighten the mood.

But the instant the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve stepped somewhere I can’t just back out of.

The warmth in his expression sharpens into something darker.

“That’s a dangerous question,” he says quietly.

I should laugh it off and pretend I meant nothing by it.

But that other part of me, the one that’s been restless since the second I set foot in this cabin, wants to lean into it.

Wants to push at those invisible barriers just to see what happens if I do. “Maybe I like dangerous.”

For a long moment, he just studies me.

Then he takes another step forward, close enough now that I feel the warmth radiating off him.

My breath hitches, and I swear he hears it.

“You don’t,” he murmurs, but there’s no conviction in it. If anything, it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than me.

“I might,” I whisper back.

He exhales through his nose, almost like he’s trying to keep himself in check, but then his hand comes around my arm to tug me up from my chair.

His other hand brushes my hip, a whisper of a touch that drives me wild.

I don’t move. I can’t.

The corner of his mouth twitches, his eyes search mine.

Whatever he finds there makes him close the last few inches between us.

His knuckles graze the side of my arm before wrapping his fingers around it and lifting me out of my chair.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I’m serious. What would you want?”

There’s a moment where neither of us moves.

Then his hand is placed flat on my lower back, pulling me in until my toes brush against his.

His other hand lifts, fingertips grazing my jaw, sliding back until they’re buried in my hair.

He tilts my head and leans down to kiss me.

His lips aren’t tentative, and he holds me like he’s scared I’m going to pull away at any moment.

I can tell he’s been holding back, trying not to scare me away. How funny considering I’m not going anywhere.

I melt against him instantly, the world and my troubles long forgotten as my arms wind up around his neck.

His hands are everywhere while he kisses me.

One splays across the small of my back, urging me closer until there’s not even a breath of air between us.

The other slides up under the hem of my hoodie.

A shiver runs through me at the contact.

I press against him, feeling the solid heat of his chest along with the subtle rock of his hips like he can’t help it.

My hands clutch at his shoulders, sliding down to his pecs before I fist the fabric of his shirt tight between my fingers.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to drag his mouth along my jaw, nipping lightly before finding that spot just below my ear to suck on.

My breath comes out in a shaky rush, my head tipping back to give him more access.

“Liam…” It’s barely a whisper, but it feels like it vibrates in the small space between us like a bullet to the chest.

His hand on my back slides lower over the swell of my ass.

His fingers flex there, gripping and using it to grind against me.

I can feel his cock, solid and undeniable, even through the barrier of denim and fabric.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, pooling low in my belly.

Oh, I want him so badly…

He kisses me again, slower this time, tasing every inch of my mouth.

The pressure is hard enough that my toes curl in my socks.

His fingers slip higher under my sweater, trailing lazy, possessive lines along my ribs until they reach the line of my bra.

“Shit,” he mutters, his voice rough and uneven.