Chapter 20
KENT
Is that a yes? My mind reeled as Sylvie hugged me. I stood to keep her from crawling into my lap. While I certainly wouldn’t have minded her in my lap, that would have been inappropriate.
And there would be no hiding the effect her body had on mine.
We stood with her arms going around me even tighter.
It felt good having her pressed up against me like this.
Way too good. The warmth of her body against mine, the way she fit perfectly against my chest, the soft press of her curves through her sweater.
All of it was doing dangerous things to my ability to think clearly.
My cock was straining against my jeans. I didn’t want to scare her off by rubbing my erection against her.
But I didn’t dare let go first. Instead, I wrapped my arm around her waist, hugged her back, and very subtly moved my lower half away from her. Only then did I allow myself to savor the way she felt in my arms.
She stepped back to look at me. My body immediately leaned forward to reconnect.
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her green eyes bright with hope and possibility. And hot damn, she had never looked sexier. There was something radiant about her in that moment, something that made my chest tight with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.
All because I’d made her happy.
It had been so easy to make her smile like that. Just a few carefully chosen words about investment opportunities and family business connections, and I’d transformed her from someone carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders into someone who looked like she might float away with pure joy.
The guilt started crawling up my throat like bile.
I had half a mind to tell her the truth right then and there.
To explain that this “deal” would destroy all the land and the entire town would be run out to make way for drilling operations.
That it would be an acquisition of all of Northwood, not just the lodge and tree farm, but everything.
Every business, every home, every piece of the community she loved so much.
Not much legacy in that.
But I held my tongue, swallowing the words that might have saved us both a lot of pain down the road. Because the look on her face was so purely happy, so filled with relief and hope, that I couldn’t bring myself to shatter it. Not yet.
“Does this mean you’ll be staying the whole week?” she asked, her voice breathless with excitement. “Or do you need to go back to the city to talk to your family?”
“There’s still a lot I need to see here,” I said, which was true enough. “I’m not heading home yet.”
“Perfect!” She clapped her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning.
“I promise I’ll give you the best tour, show you everything Northwood has to offer.
Tomorrow night is our Christmas kickoff party, and—” She paused, suddenly looking thoughtful.
“Actually, there’s an important job that needs to be done to make it perfect. ”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“We need about fifteen trees brought up from the farm to the lodge, and they all have to be decorated for the party.”
My mouth fell open. “Fifteen?”
She planted her fists on her hips and gave me a confident nod that somehow managed to be both adorable and slightly intimidating. “Yep.”
“Can’t Ozzo handle it?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Ozzo can’t handle anything without creating some kind of disaster. And besides,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, “you owe me.”
“For what?” I asked incredulously.
“For throwing our tree in the ditch. I hold a grudge, Bancroft. Now are you going to use those muscles of yours for good, or are they just for looking at?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at her boldness. “So you’ve been looking?”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the blush that crept up her cheeks as she gave me a playful shove. “Shut up.”
This girl. Why was she so easy to be around? There was something about her that made me feel more relaxed, more genuine than I had felt in years. She had this way of calling me on my bullshit while simultaneously making me want to be better than I actually was.
And why did I find myself wanting to be around her as much as possible? Every moment I spent with Sylvie made me want to extend my stay. I wanted to find more excuses to linger in her presence and discover new things about her that would inevitably make this whole situation more complicated.
But the question that really haunted me, the one I kept pushing down every time it surfaced, was the most important one of all: How would she change when she found out what my family was really planning for her home and this community?
Would she look at me with disgust? Hatred? Betrayal? Would all that warmth and trust in her eyes turn cold when she realized I’d been lying to her from the moment we met?
I tried to imagine explaining to her that the Bancroft “investment” would mean bulldozing everything she loved.
That the deal involved turning her family’s legacy into an industrial wasteland, scattering her community to the four winds.
The mental image of her face when she learned the truth made my stomach clench with something that felt dangerously close to panic.
“Earth to Kent,” Sylvie said, waving a hand in front of my face. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”
“Just thinking about logistics,” I lied smoothly. “Fifteen trees is a lot of work. I might need to do some stretching first.”
“It’ll be fun,” she said with the kind of confidence that suggested she’d never met a challenge she couldn’t charm her way through. “Besides, I’ll be there to supervise. Make sure you don’t drop anything important.”
“Supervise, huh? And what exactly does supervision entail?”
Her grin turned wicked. “Pointing out everything you’re doing wrong, mostly. And maybe bringing you hot chocolate if you’re good.”
“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”
The truth was, I didn’t want to refuse. Despite the guilt gnawing at my insides, despite knowing that I was digging myself deeper into a deception that would eventually explode in all our faces, I wanted to spend the day helping her decorate trees for a party that celebrated everything I was plotting to destroy.
I wanted to see her in her element, directing the transformation of the lodge into something even more magical than it already was. I wanted to watch her face light up when she stepped back to admire a perfectly decorated tree. I wanted to be the reason she smiled.
Even if it meant becoming even more of a bastard than I already was.
“Alright,” I said, standing up and extending my hand to help her to her feet. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Fifteen trees, professionally transported and ready for decoration.”
She took my hand, and the contact sent an electric shock up my arm that had nothing to do with static electricity. “I knew you were a gentleman under all that city boy attitude.”
If only she knew how wrong she was about that.
“Do I get a discount for putting in manual labor?” I asked.
She laughed. “You know, if it was anyone else, I would probably say yes. But we need the money, and you have it. Don’t you want to make the investment look better?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not sure that’s fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, big boy. Come on. Before the trees, I need to finish hanging snowflakes.”
“You’re hanging snowflakes?”
“Yep. It’s going to be a winter wonderland. I have these cute little lights that are shaped like snowflakes. They’re so cute!”
I followed Sylvie back to the storage room where she had boxes of decorations stacked nearly to the ceiling. She rummaged through them and appeared to know exactly what she was looking for, even if it took some digging to find it.
“Aha!” she exclaimed, pulling out a tangled mess of lights that looked like it had been through a blender. “Found them!”
I stared at the knotted disaster she was holding up like a prize. “Those are lights?”
“Snowflake lights,” she said proudly. Her expression fell as she really looked at what she was holding. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. They’re all tangled up again.”
She set the mess down on a nearby table and started trying to work out the knots, muttering under her breath. I caught fragments of her complaints—something about “dadgum lights” and “sugar-honey-iced-tea” and my personal favorite, “son of a biscuit eater.”
It was the most creative collection of clean cursing I’d ever heard.
“Here, let me help,” I said, reaching for one end of the tangled string.
“Careful,” she warned. “These things are like Christmas-light quicksand. The more you mess with them, the worse they get.”
She wasn’t wrong. What had looked like a simple knot turned out to be an intricate web of twisted wires and tiny snowflake bulbs. We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, our fingers occasionally brushing as we tried different approaches to the puzzle.
“Oh, come on!” Sylvie exclaimed when one particularly stubborn section refused to budge. “What kind of monkey-loving knot is this?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Did you just say monkey-loving?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I don’t curse. Well, not really. My mom always said there were better ways to express frustration.”
“And monkey-loving is better?”
“It gets the point across without offending anyone’s delicate sensibilities,” she said primly, then immediately contradicted herself by glaring at the lights and muttering, “Stupid, no-good tangle of bull—” She caught herself. “Bulldozer parts.”
I was thoroughly charmed. Watching her try to navigate her frustration while maintaining her clean language was like watching someone try to have a heated argument while tiptoeing. It shouldn’t have been endearing, but somehow it absolutely was.
“There!” she said triumphantly as a section finally came free. “Got you, you little sugar-coated devil!”
It took us nearly twenty minutes, but we finally managed to untangle the entire string. The snowflake lights were actually quite beautiful when they weren’t twisted into an impossible knot, delicate little crystalline shapes that would look magical once they were hung and illuminated.
“Now comes the fun part,” Sylvie said. “Hold the ladder.”
I steadied it as Sylvie climbed up with the string of snowflake lights.
From my position below, I had an excellent view of her legs as she stretched to reach the mounting points along the window frame.
Her jeans cupped her ass perfectly. I found myself momentarily distracted from my ladder-holding duties.
“Are you actually holding the ladder or are you just enjoying the view?” she called down, catching me red-handed.
“I can multitask,” I replied, tightening my grip on the ladder rungs. “Safety first, appreciation second.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You’re terrible.”
“I prefer charming.”
“That’s debatable.”
I watched as she carefully positioned each section of lights, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. There was something mesmerizing about seeing her work. I loved the way she had a vision for how everything should look and the patience to make it happen perfectly.
“How does it look from down there?” she asked, leaning back on the ladder to survey her progress.
The snowflakes were beginning to create a cascade effect along the window, each one catching the natural light and reflecting it in tiny sparkles across the room. Combined with the garland and other decorations Stacy and Brom were working on, the space was transforming into something amazing.
“Beautiful,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure if I was talking about the lights or the woman hanging them.
She climbed down the ladder with a bright smile. “Okay, next window,” she announced, already gathering up the excess string of lights.
We moved systematically around the room, and I found myself falling into an easy rhythm with her.
Hold the ladder, hand her supplies, offer occasionally helpful suggestions, and try not to get too distracted by the way she moved or the little sounds of satisfaction she made when a section came together perfectly.
It was domestic in a way I had never experienced.
Growing up, decorating had been something the staff handled.
Even at family gatherings, there was always someone else to manage the details while we focused on more important matters.
But there was something deeply satisfying about being part of the process.
“You’re actually pretty good at this,” Sylvie said as we finished the third window. “Have you done much decorating before?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “But I’m good at following directions when they come from the right person.”
She gave me a look that suggested she wasn’t entirely buying my innocent act. “Uh-huh. And what makes me the right person?”
The honest answer would have been complicated, so I shrugged. “Boobs.”
Her face bloomed red as she swatted my arm. “Kent!”
“Just being honest.”