My Favorite Holidate

by Lauren Blakely

“It was amazing. Rana is so talented, and my friends had a blast,” I say. And Maeve and all my friends think you have a crush on me, and I’m beginning to wonder if maybe, possibly they’re a little bit right?

too. “I really appreciate it,” I say, placing a hand on his arm and stopping him. “I mean it,” I add, genuinely. “You said you wanted to show Brady how a man should treat a woman, but really you’re showing me.” That smile of his? It gets a little bigger. That gleam in his irises? It sparks a little more. “Like I said, it’s my pleasure.” I arch a skeptical brow. “Really? Is it?” His smile burns off, and he stares at me with red-hot lust. “Yes. Really. Treating you is an absolute gift.”

“I’d like to say I knew the dress would look this beautiful on you, but you have continued to stun me. The dress doesn’t make the woman. The woman makes the dress,”

“Wilder Blaine. Someday you’re going to fall head over heels for a woman and I’m going to write a song about the unbreakable man breaking.” I roll my eyes. That will never happen, but still I say, “I’ll consider myself warned.”

Her red hair is piled in a bun, and she’s wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt that slopes off one shoulder, revealing a sliver of pale, kissable, freckled skin, and that silver snowflake necklace that I want to drag between my teeth only so I can lick what’s under it. I stare a little too long at her collarbone, remembering how she tastes. Like strawberries and champagne. Remembering, too, how much she likes kisses on her collarbone, her shoulder, and especially at the hollow of her throat. The way she trembles when I touch her there…

Another zing down my chest. Because she has a reason for liking frogs. Fucking frogs. What is happening to me?

Did you think I was…what? Spoiled?” “Actually, I don’t know.” “I wasn’t raised with money, Fable.” “Oh. I didn’t know that,” she says. “I know how to change a flat tire. To cook a meal. To perform CPR. To fix a faucet and change a lightbulb,”

Shame crashes into me as I think about the man I mistakenly thought cared about me. For the four months we dated, I believed we were going somewhere. I genuinely liked him. He seemed fun, friendly, eager to please. And, he was eager to please—another woman.

That massive fail in my romance picker is Reminder Number One why I need to be careful with my heart. Why my caution with emotions is a damn good idea. The more I let people in, the more they can hurt me. I shared my hopes and dreams with Brady. I told him about my friends, and how important Josie, Everly, and Maeve were to me. I told him about my desire to open a shop of my own someday. I told him, too, that I was scared. A lot of good that did.

And it’s like my chest is expanding, making room for the way my heart is growing for her. Too bad it’s only temporary.

Trouble is I’m going to need some kind of distance from my fake girlfriend in Evergreen Falls or else I’ll fall entirely in love with her before Christmas.

One room. One bed. Five nights. And an admission hanging over us that the one time in his office can’t happen again.

The bed. Dear god, the fucking bed.

That’s the issue. That’s why I can’t back down. The thought of sharing a bed with her is too alluring. Actually doing it, though, would be my downfall. I would reach for her at night. I would press a kiss to her shoulder as I was dozing off. In the middle of the night, when the world went calm and still, I’d wrap her in my arms and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Like I’m so hung up on you.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is the worst idea. How the hell did this whole situation go so wrong? Because...

Because you’re spectacular. Because I can’t stop thinking about the way your lips brushed my damn cheek out there in the living room and how much it excited me—a kiss on my fucking cheek. Because if a cheek kiss fires me up that much, what will I feel if I have you again? And I want you so fucking much. Because you’re fighting with me, and no one fights with me. Because I want to push you away and pull you close at the same time.

There’s no mistletoe this time to justify it. There’s no audience to perform for. We don’t need any more practice. This kiss is for us. This time, I kiss like we fight. I crush my lips to hers. I kiss her hard, a demand for more. Fable grabs the collar of my shirt, twisting her fingers around it. That. Right there. Her hands on me. Her hungry mouth.

We could kiss all day. All night. All year.

“Part those pretty legs for me, baby. Nice and wide. Let me worship this sweet pussy.”

“By the way, I was right.” “About what?” she asks, her eyes still a little foggy. I take my time, lick the corner of my lips. “You taste fucking delicious.”

There’s no rest for a fake dater.

Of course you are. He’s gorgeous and brilliant, and he spoils the hell out of you. He’s a clever, intelligent, attentive listener, a passionate thinker, and he’s a little obsessed with taking care of all your needs.

I’m no pro athlete. I’m the man with the bankroll and the brilliant ideas. The guy who moves chess pieces around. The one who checkmates someone else.

But when it comes to snowballs? I’m James Bond. I have a license to kill. As a kid I mastered how to peg a friend with a snowball. On winter days, I didn’t stay inside and play with spreadsheets or stock sites. I flew outdoors whenever I could and learned how the real world worked.

And here’s how it works in a snowball fight—you bat...

Did I know that watching my protective pretend billionaire boyfriend pelt the world’s douchiest ex-boyfriend with a snowball would be so satisfying? I did not, but it was perfection.

“You are shockingly ruthless.” “I will take that as a compliment. Especially coming from you.” “You’re a shark, Fable Calloway. And that’s the highest compliment.”

“The way you launched a missile at Brady and knocked him down? I didn’t know I needed that in my life, but I’m rating it a ten out of ten.”

“I’d be a liar if I said I don’t enjoy besting my enemies. And he’s one of them. Mostly, though, it felt really fucking good to deliver our message, as subtle as it was…” He pauses and levels me with an intense stare as he says, “That he can’t fuck with you.”

That darkness? That mood? It’s his protective side rearing its head again. Wilder is a man of his word. A man who sticks to his guns. A man of pure passion.

“You have no idea how much I love delivering a message on behalf of the people I care about.” Those words thrum through

My sister, though, deserves the best and always has. “What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” I ask. Charlotte hums, seeming to give that some thought. “Honestly, it’s that you always were so determined to make it amazing. I just wanted a nice holiday that Dad didn’t ruin,” she admits, then lifts her face and meets mine. “You were good at that. You always made sure I had some incredible homemade gift from you. That way if he was up to his usual shenanigans, I didn’t have to think about it.”

“It was your favorite time of year. I had to make sure you had the best Christmas.” “Maybe you were the real Santa Claus,”

“I still have that book you made me about amazing things that happened in the year I was born. And the jigsaw puzzle that you had m...

“I really do like him,” I say, meaning it. “We’re having a great time together. You shouldn’t worry.” With worry flickering across her pretty brown eyes, she asks, “Then why fake it? Why not date for real?” I wince. “The billionaire and the jewelry designer?”

“The woman and the man who’d both do anything for those they love—including fake a relationship.”

Charlotte is not at all calm. Red billows from her eyes. Smoke curls from her nostrils. She’s a cartoon character about to blow. “I will kill him now. With a pointy candy cane. Cousin Troy probably has a duffel bag full.” “No doubt, but Brady is not worth the murder rap. Trust me.” She crosses her arms fiercely. “Leo will kill him. Now. Tonight.” “Yeah, that won’t cause any problems for your wedding at all if your groom becomes the candy cane killer,” I say dryly.

“But I hate Brady with the fire of a thousand, million suns burning up his underwear so he has to run down the mountain streets naked in a hailstorm.” I giggle at my sister’s dastardly mind. “That is sister love right there. But I can’t give Brady the satisfaction of me being the pathetic ex-girlfriend, so he can’t know this is fake.”

“That’s perfect. And you have my sister-to-sister promise. I’m not going to say a word. But I also want you to know I love you and he can really suck it because I will always look out for you.”

She gives me a hug and then whispers, “My number one regret now is introducing the two of you. And I get why you kept it from me. I just hope you forgive me for setting you up with him.” I laugh. “Oh, please! You could never have known he’d do that. I didn’t think he would either. We can’t always tell what people are capable of,” I say,

“Well, I once liked Brady, but now I officially hate him.” “He’s really hate-able.”

But the funny thing is…I don’t really have very strong feelings about Brady one way or the other anymore. What I do have feelings about? Feelings I’m barely beginning to understand? They’re for the man in the cashmere sweater sharing a bedroom with me.

I say goodnight to Charlotte and then head to my room, feeling a little unburdened but completely unsure what to expect when I open the door. Will he be asleep on the couch, like a stubborn man? The floor? Or will he be in the shower? When I turn the knob, I have the answer to whether my boss owns anything for lounging around in. He’s in a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt, and he’s stretched out on the bed, and my mouth goes dry.

And oops. Did I accidentally let on that I’m still thinking about the way my boss tongue-fucked me on the couch in front of the Christmas tree? But at least that was better than any of the alternatives. Like can you please take off your shirt and show me if it’s true that there’s one billionaire in the world who has ripped abs? Or, can you stop being so stoic and let me return the favor because visions of your cock are dancing in my head?

In a heartbeat, he’s out of bed. He prowls across the room over to me by the door, and in no time, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bed, dropping me on it. I’m too shocked to think or speak. He looks down at me with fiery eyes. “In case it’s not clear…you’re sleeping in the bed. And I’m going to sleep right next to you, behaving like a good boss.” Hello, bossy Wilder!

I’ve been chastened and I’m loving it. But I also kind of want to tease him, too, so he’ll talk that way to me again. “But what if I don’t behave?” He stares at me with wild eyes. Heat flickers across his green irises. He breathes out hard through tight lips. “I guess you’ll find out,” he says, cool and in control. He’s the man in charge, and that tone sends a charge through me. One I want to feel again. One I crave.

With our gazes locked, it seems like we could break once more. We could shatter any second now and lunge at each other. He could claim my lip...

He sounds Machiavellian and powerful, and his confidence goes straight to my panties. I’m outrageously aroused.

“I want to open an eco-friendly jewelry store someday. In the city. Maybe even a line of them. A handful, then keep growing and bringing my designs to more and more people across the country. I want to change the industry. Make it green. Revolutionize my slice of the fashion world.”

“What’s your dream?” He smiles, rests his head against his pillow, and parks his hands behind his head. “Being the best father I can be.” My heart catches. My throat squeezes with emotions. Tears prick my eyes. “I think it already came true.” He looks to me, a softness in his mouth, a tenderness in his eyes. “I have to make it come true every day.” “And you will,”