Chapter 4
KADE
I've been awake since five, which is three hours earlier than necessary and a pretty clear sign that I'm losing my goddamn mind.
To pass the time, I drank an entire pot of coffee, reorganized the ornament boxes by color gradient instead of just color, and replay yesterday's hot chocolate incident approximately forty-three times.
Nia’s fingers trailing down my abs.
The way her breath caught when she saw my piercings.
How close I came to saying “fuck it” and backing her against that counter.
The only thing that stopped me was remembering our age difference, the fact that I hired her to decorate this cabin, and that I was going to go back to Colorado once Christmas was over.
And well, she deserves someone who isn't carrying around the kind of appetites that make most women run.
So I did the right thing.
Stepped back.
Put on a clean shirt.
And spent the rest of the afternoon keeping myself in check while she bent and stretched and laughed, completely oblivious to how badly I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs.
She fell asleep on my couch around five-thirty, curled up under the blanket like she’d done it a hundred times.
I tried to work. Really I did. But I kept getting distracted by those soft sounds she made, and how sweet and peaceful she looked.
When she woke up, she was adorably disoriented, apologizing profusely while I assured her it was fine.
More than fine, actually, but I couldn't tell her that.
I did insist she text when she got home safe.
And she did.
Made it!
Thanks for letting me nap. That couch is ridiculously comfortable. Also, you're a really good cook. And, I might have stolen a cookie for the road. Okay three cookies. Goodnight Deputy Giles!
I stared at that message for a full minute before responding.
Glad you're home safe. See you tomorrow
Friendly. Appropriate. Exactly what I should be.
Now I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror giving myself a stern talking-to like some kind of lunatic.
"You can handle this, Giles," I mutter. "It's just another day of decorating. Keep your hands to yourself. Maintain boundaries. Don’t think about what she'd look like bent over your—“
My phone buzzes.
Running 10 min late! Emergency glitter crisis at the shop. Be there soon!
I exhale slowly. Ten more minutes to get my head on straight.
By the time her Jeep pulls up, I've got my game face on.
The door opens and she breezes in wearing another pair of worn jeans that grip her ass like I wish I was, and a red sweater that somehow makes her look both wholesome and tempting as hell.
"Morning!" She's carrying a paper bag from the bakery in town. "I brought reinforcements. Figured we'd need fuel for loft decorating."
“Oh no, more sweets?”
“Of course!” She playfully punches my arm and even that contact sends heat straight through me.
"Everything okay at the shop?"
"Oh, just a minor catastrophe." She sets the bakery bag on the counter. "Apparently glitter and static electricity don't mix. The whole front window looked like a craft store exploded."
I can't help smiling. "Sounds like a hazard."
"Says the man who has glitter in his hair right now." She reaches up on her toes and brushes her fingers through the strands near my temple. "Got it."
She's standing too close. I can smell that Christmas cookie scent that makes me want to take a bite of her.
I step back, clearing my throat. "So. Loft today?"
"Loft today," she agrees, but there's something knowing in her eyes. Like maybe she's fully aware of what she does to me.
Naughty.
We head to the coffee bar and she makes something elaborate with the espresso machine while I refill my mug with straight black coffee. Though, I really don’t need it.
She holds up an empty plastic bag. "Was this…?" she asks, adding what looks like half a bottle of vanilla syrup to her cup.
"Yes, I ate an entire bag of Aunt Meredith's pecan berry bursts." I huff, shaking my head. "In less than twenty-four hours."
She laughs. "They're dangerously addictive." She pulls the new pastries from the bakery bag. "That's why I brought backup. Kanelbullar. Swedish cinnamon rolls from Falk’s Fikabrod on Main Street. Thoren and Charlie don’t mess around with their sweets."
My mouth drops open. "Are you trying to kill me with carbs?"
She giggles and I take one anyway, and the first bite is worth whatever damage it's doing to my macros. "Jesus, that's good."
We eat standing at the counter, and I try not to notice how she licks icing off her thumb…and fail spectacularly.
"Game plan?" she asks around a mouthful.
I pull up my phone, showing her the updated schedule. "Finish the loft tree, decorate the upstairs hallway, maybe start on the bedrooms if we have time."
She squints at the screen. "Did you schedule bathroom breaks again?"
"They're just suggestions, not mandates."
"Uh-huh." She grins. "You're adorable, you know that?"
"I'm a lot of things. Adorable isn't one of them."
"Agree to disagree, Deputy."
After we finish our breakfast, we haul supplies upstairs.
Even the loft is big…and as beautiful as the great room—exposed beams, a reading nook with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the smaller noble fir we bought yesterday waiting in its stand.
"Okay," Nia says, surveying the space. "This tree needs to be elegant. Sophisticated. Like something out of a winter magazine."
"As opposed to the great room tree, which is...?"
"Exuberant. Joyful. Maximum sparkle." She pulls out a box of ornaments, all silver and white, with delicate glass pieces that catch the light. "This one is about restraint."
I'm familiar with the concept. Been practicing it for two straight days.
She starts untangling light strings, humming under her breath. I watch her work, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the way her body fills out her clothes.
"Can you hand me those silver garlands?" she asks, gesturing to a box near my feet.
I pass them over, and she immediately gets to work wrapping them around the tree. Or trying to. The lights she's already strung keep getting caught in the garland, and within thirty seconds she's completely tangled.
"Oh no." She tugs at a section wrapped around her wrist. "No, no, no—Kade, help!"
"What did you do?"
"I'm being held hostage by Christmas!" She's twisted in the lights, one arm pinned up near her head, the other back behind her. "This is your fault for wanting the extra-long strands."
"How is this my fault?" I’m biting back a smile, as I move toward her.
"You're the one who insisted we needed these premium, extra-durable, no-possible-way-of-breaking-free kind of lights." She tries to turn and only makes it worse. "Now I'm trapped in a festive prison."
I circle around her, assessing the damage. She's thoroughly stuck, lights wound around her like a tree, garland draped over her shoulder. "Hold still."
"I’m trying."
I have to get close to work out the tangle—close enough that I can feel the heat of her body and smell her deliciously sweet scent. My fingers work at the lights, trying not to notice how her sweater has ridden up revealing a tempting band of bare skin at her midsection.
"How did you even manage this?" I mutter, finding another knot.
"Hidden talent." Her voice sounds breathless. "I'm really good at getting into trouble."
"I've noticed." I reach around her to grab a section of lights, my chest against her back, my arms bracketing her body. Every breath she takes presses her closer.
"Almost got it," I say, my voice rough.
"Take your time." She leans back slightly, and I know—I fucking know—she's doing it on purpose.
The image hits me without warning: her like this in my bed, wrists bound (maybe even by my handcuffs), completely at my mercy.
"How about I tell you that you're a menace instead?" I tickle her exposed belly lightly.
She shrieks with laughter. "Kade! No fair!"
"You started it, naughty little Christmas angel." But I'm chuckling too, and somehow she wriggles us onto the floor.
As she squirms away, I chase with threatening fingers. "This is what happens when you provoke a deputy."
"You're—" She's gasping between giggles. "You're supposed to—protect and serve!"
"I'm protecting the sanctity of Christmas decorating." I grab her wrist, pinning it gently above her head, my fingers skittering over her ribs. "And serving justice to smart-ass decorators."
She's beneath me now, writhing and laughing, flushed and breathless on the hardwood floor.
The laughter fades as our eyes lock.
I yank a section of lights free, maybe a little too roughly. "There. You're loose."
"Am I?" She looks up at me with those wide eyes. "Because I feel pretty caught."
Every rational thought in my head is screaming at me to put distance between us. Begging me to remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
My hands flex on her waist. "Nia."
"Yes, Officer?" She's grinning now, the little tease.
"You're playing with fire," I growl.
"Maybe I like the heat."
My thumb traces her ribcage under her sweater. "I’m…"
"Tell me,” she breathes, biting her lip.
Damn her.
For one perfect, terrible moment, I consider it. Showing her exactly what I want. Hiking up her sweater, making her gasp my name while I—
But then I force myself to stand, offering her a hand up.
"Come on. This tree isn't going to decorate itself."
She takes my hand, but I don't miss the look in her eyes. Like everything I do only makes her want me more.
Fuck.
We go back to working, and thankfully, she puts on some Christmas music through her phone.
I still notice every move she makes. The way she bites her lip while concentrating. How she smoothes and fluffs all the decorations. The soft humming that's becoming as familiar as my own heartbeat.
"Tell me more about your sister and her new husband," she says suddenly, hanging a delicate glass icicle. "I only know them superficially, from the few times I’ve met them at events around town."