part0010

I t’s the middle of the night, I’m tired as fuck, but do you think I can sleep?

Knowing the girl who’s slowly worming her way under my skin, is laying in her bed next door, is driving me crazy

I haven’t felt this way about a woman in years. I’ve never been excited to wake up or looked forward to the day ahead. But with her, I am. Normally, I go through life following the same eat, drink, sleep routine. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I got laid. It only serves me right that I’d start crushing on the one woman I can’t have.

I only grazed her skin with my finger last night, and just the feel of her body touching mine was enough to have me tenting a hard-on for the rest of the night. Which, to be honest, I’m eternally grateful for, because I was beginning to think my dick was broken or some shit.

I see beautiful women on a daily basis, but for some reason, I can’t seem to get my dick to get with the program.

Case in point, I’m a divorce lawyer. Fun, right? It bores the shit out of me, but I studied my ass off in college to get to where I am, so I can’t really knock it. However, last week, one of my female clients came crying to me about how her soon-to-be ex-husband was seeing someone new blah blah blah. She started getting emotional and claimed she missed physical intimacy.

That should’ve been my first warning.

The second she perched her ass on my desk, bared her tits, and spread her legs, I knew I was in trouble.

Do you think my cock reacted?

I had this gorgeous woman begging for my dick, and I felt nothing .

Shoving off the covers, I throw on my sweatpants and a shirt and head downstairs.

As I reach the bottom, I hear Leona Lewis' One More Sleep playing quietly from the kitchen, and the rich aroma of cinnamon and clementines permeates the air.

The girl made mulled wine.

I lean an arm against the door frame and smile as I watch her dance around the breakfast bar, humming the lyrics. Something about dreams and Mistletoe.

My heart swells to a painful size in my chest.

Too perfect and innocent for me.

I have a lifetime of baggage behind me; she doesn’t need that shit marring her future.

Holly doesn’t notice I’m here as she spins around losing herself in the music. Cleaning up the mess she made, she turns to face the faucet and rinses out the cloth.

“Nice moves,” I say quietly, not wanting to scare her.

Her green eyes snap to mine, and a look of shock washes over her face. “Jesus, Nick. You scared me.”

Smirking, I stroll into the room and pull out a stool. “You been up long?”

Leaning against the counter, Holly crosses her arms over her chest. “About an hour. Just got thinking about all the things we need to do, and I started to panic. I clean and cook when I get anxious,” she admits in a nervous chuckle.

“You do a lot of cooking at home?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really. I mean, I try to, but when it’s just me, I don’t really want to be making a full roast dinner with all the trimmings. You know?”

I could sympathize with that. After sitting behind a desk, filling out forms and working a fourteen-hour day, the last thing I want is to come home and cook a meal. Especially when Gabrielle’s away at college. It seems pointless. “Yeah, I can understand that. I don’t think I’ve had a home cooked meal in about two years.”

Holly’s jaw drops. “Two years?! ”

I give a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t have the time. I usually don’t get home until late, and then all I want to do is have a drink and hit the sack. I’ll just grab some wings or a pizza on the way home.”

Bending over the breakfast bar, she braces her forearms on the shiny red work surface. The neckline on her nightdress falls, and when I catch an eyeful of the full, perky tits she’s hiding underneath that ugly fucking material, my sweats grow uncomfortably tighter. The aching tip of my cock strains against the seam.

“Okay, well, now I need to make you something from scratch, even it’s only to save your arteries.” She laughs.

Taking out some glasses from the cabinet, Holly pours us some mulled wine and passes one to me.

Being the dick I am, I don’t think to thank her, instead I act like a complete douche and ask, “are you even old enough to be drinking that?”

Holly throws me a dry look and arches a brow. “I’m twenty, Nick. Not two.”

My heart drops like a stone, because while I knew she was around my daughter’s age, I was still holding onto some hope that may be a little older.

Bringing it to my lips, I take a sip. The taste of apples hits me straight away. “What’s in this?”

“It’s a non-alcoholic mulled wine,” Holly tells me with a smug smirk. “You know, for the underage guests here.” She winks and I want to haul her into my arms and kiss that cocky expression right off her face.

“It’s apple and pomegranate juice.”

Damn. It actually tastes pretty good.

“I’m impressed,” I muse, nodding my head.

Grinning, Holly takes a seat next to me and brings her glass to her lips. “My skills aren’t limited to the kitchen, you know,” she teases, but my dick twitches in my sweats, wanting to know just how skilful she really is.

Clearing my throat, I quickly divert our conversation onto a more stable ground. “So, what do you do when you aren’t impressing unsuspecting men with your mulled winemaking skills?” I joke.

“I didn’t tell you already?”

“I feel like I would’ve remembered if you did.”

“I work in my mom’s chocolate shop in Chicago. I’m a chocolatier.”

I choke on my drink and slap my chest, coughing. “Damn. I was not expecting you to say that.”

“Oh?” Holly says, amused. “What were you expecting me to say?”

Shit, if her grin doesn’t make me feel ten feet tall.

“I don’t know. I thought you were studying plant sciences with Gabrielle.”

“Nah. College has never really been my thing. I hated school and didn’t really fancy extending my torture any longer than required,” she laughs softly. “My mom’s a trained chocolatier, and her shop really took off. So, she needed the help without going through all the aggro of employing someone she doesn’t know. She taught me, and now I can pretty much make and create all kinds of chocolaty treats.”

Goddamn . “But you’re twenty,” I counter stupidly. Feeling like a complete idiot for stating the obvious, but holy shit, this girl is insanely talented.

Holly laughs again, but this time a blush colors her cheeks. “I’m aware of that.”

Her stunning emerald eyes lock with mine, and I know I should look away, but god, I can’t .

The gentle notes of Sinéad O’Connor’s Silent Night drift through her phone, and I stand and hold out my hand. “Dance with me?”

Pursing her lips together, her nose wrinkles as she fights a wince. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Neither am I, but I’m past caring at this point.

I shouldn’t want to feel her small body pressed against me. Or smell the shampoo in her hair. I definitely shouldn’t be imagining framing her face and brushing my lips across hers, but I am.

I don’t give a fuck if this thing building between us is wrong. We’re both adults and neither one of us is taken. We aren’t hurting anyone.

So if I want to hold this beautiful girl in my arms and dance the night away with her, no one’s going to stop me.

“What’s the worst that could go wrong?”

“You could end up in hospital,” she shoots back playfully. “I’m a terrible dancer.”