Chapter 8
Two days in Christmas paradise.
If paradise feels like walking into a room full of tripwires, then yeah. Absolutely.
But she smiles, and I don’t have it in me to break that.
So we drink.
The cocoa hits hot and sharp, peppermint sliding down like a knife blade. Halfway through my swallow, I realize she’s watching me—really watching me from over the rim of her mug.
Heat snaps low in my gut.
Stop staring, Spence.
Sit. Move. Do anything normal.
Before my brain catches up, I circle the island, grab the stool next to her, and sit. Too close.
Her knee brushes mine when she shifts, and both of us go still like we’ve tripped an invisible wire.
We pretend it didn’t happen.
I set the cheesecake between us. “We’re sharing.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Since when do you share cheesecake? That doesn’t seem like you.”
“Since right now,” I mutter, because keeping distance isn’t working and I’m done pretending it is.
She smiles down at the plate, cheeks warming, lips softening in a way that makes my pulse jump.
I cut a generous bite and lift the fork—not feeding her, but offering.
She leans in and takes it from the fork.
Holy hell.
Her eyes flutter closed, and the sound she makes—quiet, warm, involuntary—punches straight into the center of me.
“God,” she whispers. “That’s unfairly good.”
My breath leaves me in a rough exhale. “Easy,” I murmur, voice low despite myself. “It’s just cheesecake.”
She bumps her shoulder lightly against mine. “Don’t ruin this for me. Let me have my moment.”
That tiny touch nearly knocks every thought out of my head.
She slides the plate closer with a grin. “Your turn.”
I take a bite, but I couldn’t name a single flavor in it. All I’m aware of is her. Especially the way her thigh is one inch from mine and somehow burning me through denim.
“I’m glad it was you that I’m stuck with.”
My chest goes tight. “Yeah. I wouldn’t like it if you were stuck here with Ryker or some other punk.”
Liberty laughs because she knows that no one on the team is a punk. Every one of Agile’s men is solid. I still hate the idea of her being here alone with any of the single guys.
Trying not to think, I divide the cheesecake down the center. “There. Now it’s fair.”
She laughs softly, dragging her fork through her half. “This feels illegal somehow.”
“It’s definitely against SEAL nutrition guidelines,” I mutter.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She shoots me straight in the part of me I thought was dead.
When I should, I don’t pull away. I don’t create space.
If anything, I lean in. Just a fraction.
The air between us tightens. Warm enough to fog the damn stone walls.
“Yeah,” I murmur, barely recognizing my own voice. “I feel the same.”
She looks into her mug, smiling like she can feel exactly what’s happening.
“This is delicious,” she says, and I’m certain she’s not talking about the food or the drink.