Chapter 34
Gable
Itoss my phone onto the bed, officially bored of receiving bad news. Another dead end, another waste of time and money, and I’ve never been more desperate to get the hell out of this cabin.
Ever since that fucking drill the other day, I’ve been watching Ella more. She hasn’t brought up what happened, and neither have I, but it’s clearly on both our minds. It’s in the air and the way she is around me.
I nearly fucked her in the snow. I was hard as a fucking rock, her pussy invitingly hot through her jeans, and I’d almost tugged them down and fucked her senseless. Thank God Cleo called and snapped me back to reality.
But now, the atmosphere is thick and heated between us.
We never touch anyway, but now if we even come close, she tenses. So do I. I give her far too much room to pass in the hallway, and when the shower in her en suite stopped working and I saw her in a towel, I fell back into my room and slammed the door shut to avoid her.
But I can’t fucking avoid her.
She wears coconut body lotion. She clenches her toes when she reads or writes a sex scene.
And she’s a good writer.
I bought one of her e-books and stayed up all night reading it. Twice, I buried my face in a pillow to laugh into it.
And I’ve come to the horrifying, stomach-curdling realization that I might actually like Ella Gibson. My brother’s girlfriend. The first woman he fell in love with.
God, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I half creep past Ella’s door and down the stairs, needing coffee and a few hours to absorb this disgusting new development, but I’m not alone.
“You’re up.”
Ella glances over her shoulder at me. She’s in the kitchen in her pajamas, as usual, her hair up in a high ponytail, the strands resting on her shoulder. Fuck, she looks pretty. Fresh faced and still a little sleepy.
My dick twitches.
Stupid fucking dick.
We can’t have her. It’s so beyond wrong that there aren’t words to describe just how wrong it would be. Maybe I just need to jerk off.
Except, I already have. Once last night and then again this morning. The problem is the only thing that gets me off is the one thing I shouldn’t be thinking about: Ella, on her knees, her mouth stuffed with my cock.
There’s something about her mouth that I’m quickly becoming obsessed with.
I stare at it as I lean against the counter. Her thick lips, arched Cupid’s bow, her tongue darting out to lick up some chocolate she’d missed. And her throat—so delicate. The only thing missing from it is my hand, squeezing gently as I feed my dick past those thick, beautiful lips—
“I wanted to ring my dad and wish him merry Christmas,” she says. “You hungry? I made s’mores.”
I blink for a moment, my gaze darting to the plate. I didn’t tell her about the tradition Asher and I had. Did I? No, I’d remember that. Unless Asher did, but Ella never brought it up, and that’s something she’d mention. The woman never stops talking.
“You made s’mores?”
“Yeah. You had all the ingredients for them, and I had a craving.” She sucks on her bottom lip, then stares up at me. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t like s’mores. I can forgive murder, Gable, but I have my limits.”
“I love s’mores.”
“Good. I’ll make more. More s’mores.” She chuckles at her annoyingly cute joke and takes another bite of her food, and as she unscrews the lid on the chocolate spread, I stare at the dot of marshmallow on her lip.
For a dick-driven moment, I want to lick it off. To slide my tongue across her bottom lip then into her mouth, tasting all the sweetness before dropping to my knees and tasting something even sweeter.
Shit, I’m hard.
Ella doesn’t seem to notice, though, so I reach out and use my thumb to wipe away the marshmallow. She freezes, her eyes lifting to meet mine, a half-made smore balanced in her hand.
Slowly, I bring my thumb to my mouth, sucking off the marshmallow.
What the fuck am I doing?
I know exactly what I’m doing.
And I shouldn’t be fucking doing it.
Asher. Think about Asher. Your brother. Your best friend. The man she loves.
Not you.
Never you.
But even my guilt isn’t pulling me away.
Ella goes to tap her temple, forgetting she’s holding a s’more, and slaps chocolate spread all over her cheek.
My laugh is quiet at first, and she gapes at me before her lips curl into a smile. Then, I can’t stop. She flushes, still smiling, as I laugh and pick up a kitchen towel, running it under water.
“You’re always such a fucking mess,” I say as I wipe away the chocolate. With every glide of the cloth against her skin, our gazes remain locked, and my skin heats. My heart claws at my rib cage to get out.
She swallows, a slow dip of her throat, and whispers, “Did you get it all?”
“I think so.”
Another heavy swallow. “Maybe you should check.”
“Check?” I ask, knowing what she means, and wishing one of us had the courage to just fucking say it.
But maybe it’s good that we don’t. Maybe that will bring us hurtling back to reality, and I don’t want that.
Not yet.
So, I cup her cheek and tilt her head up.
Her eyes flutter closed as I kiss her cheek softly.
The contact is so fucking electric that for a moment I stop breathing. It’s a rush unlike anything I’ve felt, and all I’m doing is kissing the cheek of a woman I totally fucking despise.
I kiss the same spot again, my tongue gently pressing against her skin, and she draws in a breath. She tastes like chocolate, like the worst fucking decision I’ve ever made, but I can’t stop.
My lips move to her jaw—soft, small, delicate kisses that I fool myself into thinking don’t count as anything intimate. As long as I don’t kiss her mouth. As long as our lips don’t meet, it’s fine, right?
Then I’m nibbling her ear. Soft skin between my teeth. Her hair smells like vanilla. And her hands are on my chest, breathy sighs warming my skin as she pulls me closer.
“Gable?”
I blink, snapping back to the moment, to Ella staring at me, looking puzzled, the marshmallow still on her lip. “Yeah?”
“I’ve been talking for like, five minutes.”
Yes, and I’ve been fantasizing, apparently.
I clear my throat and take out two mugs before pouring us both coffees. “You know I never listen to you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do you want s’mores or not?” I nod, and when she turns her back, I bite my knuckles and try to rewire my fucking brain.
The woman is in Big Bird pajamas, for fuck’s sake.
And I’ve never wanted anyone more.
“Oh.” She taps my chest. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”
I grunt my response and gulp down coffee, ignoring the tingling skin where she touched me.
“I was thinking we should’ve got a tree,” she says, sipping her coffee and staring at the empty living room.
“Bit late, Gibson.”
She sighs. “I know, but it was bugging me last night. We don’t really have an excuse, do we?
It’s not like we’re busy.” She gestures at the empty space where a tree would look perfect.
“We’re being miserable on our own time.” She shrugs.
“Anyway, I’m gonna go catch up on writing.
I went to bed early last night and now my brain is buzzing.
” She bumps her hip against mine and heads up the stairs.
I watch her go, and eat my s’mores, and fuck me if they aren’t delicious.
I groan. “What the fuck does this woman do to food to make it taste so good?” I ask Motor as he stares up at me, drooling. “She’s a culinary fucking wizard.” I point at him. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
He licks his lips.
While Ella is upstairs, I wrap her present, and it suddenly feels fucking pathetic to give her this.
Silly, even. Asher would try so hard to give me something he knew I’d love, something that would make me smile or laugh.
He’d remember the smallest comments I’d make, from books I thought sounded good, to snacks I’d become obsessed with.
I go to the bottom of the stairs. “Ella, I’m just gonna walk Motor.”
“Okay!” she calls back.
After pulling on my boots and coat, I go to the back patio door. “Come on boy. Let’s get a fucking Christmas tree for Gibson.”
Turns out, chopping down a tree and hauling it across the snow isn’t as easy as I thought it’d be. It didn’t help when Motor got hold of the other end and tried to play tug of war with it, either.
But somehow, I make it back.
I’m sweating and breathless and stressed the fuck out by all the pine needles on my living room floor, but I manage to do it all without disturbing Ella. I even get Asher’s old Christmas decorations from the attic.
It brings back good memories and bad, but I do it. I do it because it matters to her.
Then I get to the good bit—vacuuming.
I’m cursing every pine needle under the sun by the time I’m finished and switch off the vacuum to admire my work.
“You got a Christmas tree.”
I whirl. Ella is standing on the stairs, her eyes wide and shining.
She’s in a blue jumper that brings out the color in her eyes, and a pair of dark jeans, and something about the moment has my heart stopping.
It slams to a halt in my chest, an almost violent sensation, something I’ve never experienced in my fucking life.
As she slowly descends the stairs, all I can do is stare.
And it hits me all at once.
A thousand memories with this woman.
All amounting to this very fucking moment.
And something Asher said that I never understood.
“I know you better than you know yourself.”
He knew, didn’t he? He knew even before I did. That the annoyance, the sniping, the constant thinking about her … it was never hatred. Not even fucking close.
Shit. How long have I cared about this woman? How did Asher not hate me for it?
It makes me love him even more, makes me hate myself tenfold, because he stood by and watched me fall for her and never held it against me. He was such a good man. So much better than me. And now he’s gone, and she’s here, and I don’t deserve her. I fucking don’t.
She comes to stand by my side, her eyes aglow with Christmas lights, her smile brighter than any of them.
How did this happen to me?