Page 4 of You Make It Feel like Christmas

She hadn’t known who he was that night, other than a friend of Hailey and Wes Jansen’s.

After accidentally trying to break into his room, a series of funny-at-the-time meet-cutes had kept their paths crossing all night.

No matter where either of them were, her eyes kept traveling back to the tall, broad-shouldered, broody, sharp-jawed man who looked sexy as hell in his well-cut suit but kept himself apart from everyone else.

They’d danced around each other all night—shooting glances (him) and flirty smiles (her)—before actually dancing together.

And then. God. There’d been so much and then .

“Mind passing me a towel, Maze?” he said in that low, gravelly tone that sent goose bumps along every millimeter of exposed skin. That voice she heard in the early morning hours before the sun officially rose but the night was still tiptoeing away.

She backed up, her hip hitting the counter painfully, and because she couldn’t pull her gaze from his, she reached out, grabbing for a towel, and passed him her flowery yellow one.

He glanced at it, frowned, but took it and covered up the lower half of his body.

The sexy little V of hair that she’d teasingly nicknamed “mine” disappeared into the towel as he tucked it around his waist. When he laughed, that part of his stomach had rippled under the movement, against Maisie’s mouth and hands, infusing her with a wickedly wonderful kind of power. She’d felt like a goddamn sorceress.

“Not that you haven’t seen it all before,” he said, stepping out of the shower and onto the bath mat.

Was he joking about this? In a perfectly calm and infuriatingly sexy voice? She couldn’t formulate words. She was scared that if she even tried, only inarticulate sounds would leave her mouth. How the hell was he still so freaking hot? Jesus.

She thought she’d imagined it. Told herself that she had; that no one and nothing could be what she’d remembered of him.

Then, when she thought of the things they’d said in the quiet glow of the moonlight washing over them, then remembered the realization he’d left, without a word, everything inside of her hardened.

But eventually, the cycle started again.

She’d remember his face. His mouth and those eyes.

And his body. It was like he’d been sculpted and carved into perfection but she knew, from the time they’d talked in between, that his body came from hours and hours of hard work.

She knew that when he didn’t really want to answer a question, his gaze darted away, and when it came back and he was truly focused, it could feel like nothing else in the world existed.

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, MAISIE SMART. Right. She should think about doing that.

Nick stepped closer. “I remember you being a lot more talkative,” he said.

Water from his blondish-brown hair dripped down, touching her skin, short-circuiting her brain even further.

“What are you doing here?” And why the hell didn’t he seem shocked?

“This is my sister’s place,” he said, standing so close she was scared to breathe in.

Shit. Shit. But… wait. “Her last name is Kingston.” She started to put her hands on her hips but remembered her state of undress was actually more than his at the moment.

His lips quirked. She’d never been a fan of scruff on a guy but he wore his in a way that suited him, and anytime she thought about the way it felt trailing along her skin, she shivered.

Which was why she would absolutely not think about it right now even while she was staring at his square jaw, noting he still hadn’t shaved.

Instead of making him look unkempt, he just looked sexier.

She knew, if she let her eyes roam, she’d get transfixed on the black ink running over his biceps and shoulders, along his shoulder blades.

“I’m aware. So is mine, technically. You should stop looking at me like that before this moment gets even more awkward.” He sighed, looking at her with an expression she just couldn’t read.

At least he admitted to the awkwardness.

Her gaze roamed down his towel then snapped back up when she realized she’d been eyeing him like her favorite dessert.

Swallowing around the dryness in her throat, she remembered waking up alone.

She hadn’t known that Wes’s good friend was hockey all-star Nicholas King. Because, to her, he’d just been Nick.

And now, he was no one to her. Just a memory that wouldn’t fade, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. All good.

“Right.” She lowered her gaze but staring at his chest, seeing he’d added new tattoos to his right pec that she didn’t have the time, or the right, to explore, she looked down at his feet. Because feet were absolutely, 100 percent, not sexy. Except for Nick King’s.

His thumb grazed her jaw as his fingers touched under her chin, lifting it. Everything in her wanted to step into the touch; cherish it.

“This is unexpected,” he said.

He wasn’t allowed to look at her like he cared. Not when he’d walked out. Not when he’d turned one of the greatest nights of her life into a jaggedly painful memory.

She shifted her face, looked away to gather her strength, then met his gaze feeling more determined.

“Yeah. Sort of like the Grinch stealing Christmas.”

Instead of shutting him down, like she’d hoped, Nick laughed, shaking his head like she was both charming and amusing.

“It’s not funny,” she said through clenched teeth.

Nick just stared at her then stepped away, walked to the door that obviously led to his bedroom. Stupid Jack and Jill bathroom. She was so locking that for the rest of the trip.

He turned back at the door, his eyes tracking over her before landing on her face. “You know, in the end, everyone loves the Grinch. He’s a changed man. Or, whatever.”

Maisie scowled. “Maybe, but he started with a heart that was too small. You started without one entirely.”

The hint of a smile left his stupidly handsome face. His lips tightened and his gaze dimmed. He turned back, walking over to her in the towel that did nothing to hide him and everything to make her want him more.

Taking her hand, he pressed it against his chest. She felt the gentle thump-thump of his heartbeat amping up; thumpthumpthump. His breath quickened like her pulse.

“It’s there,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “Just a little out of practice.”

When his eyes moved to her lips, the air around them buzzed with energy. Or maybe that was her body buzzing.

The smallest of smiles lifted his mouth and he stepped back, not dropping her hand until he had no choice but to let go, his fingertips kissing hers.

She watched him walk through the door that connected to his own room, heard the click as he shut it and disappeared from view, felt the absence of his body heat, and could still smell the crisp, fresh scent of soap and Nick.

Despite every one of those things, Maisie couldn’t believe the moment was real.

She hurried into her own room to pull on some clothing.

Cotton barriers that would be useless toward stopping her feelings.

Leaning against the dresser, oddly short of breath, thoughts collided in her brain like amateur skaters on ice. It looked like Santa was giving her confusion and longing wrapped in the sexiest package ever this Christmas.

Socks would have been safer, Santa. At least for my heart.