Chapter 10
TEN
MAISY
Sterling was never much of a cook when we were together three years ago. Back then, he could burn water without even trying. His idea of a balanced meal was anything microwavable, paired with a sports drink.
Who knew that in three years, he’d not only learned how to cook, but he’d learned how to cook well. Better than well actually—tonight’s dinner, roast beef on mashed potatoes, is Michelin Star level, but I’ll never admit it to him.
I expect him to retreat to his room after dinner the way he usually does, but tonight he decides to stay in the living room with me. I’m curled up on the couch under my blanket, reading a cozy holiday romcom while the fireplace crackles. It’s my nightly me-time.
Sterling ruins it when he drops down on the cushion beside me, close enough for the couch to dip.
His cologne drifts over—clean, and woodsy, and distracting as hell.
I breathe through the distraction of his scent while I reread the same line for the fourth time, but all hope is lost when he reaches over and snatches half of the blanket off of me and onto himself instead.
I snap my book shut and glare at him. “I was using that.”
He doesn’t even glance at me, thumbs tapping away on his phone. “Oh, were you?”
“Yes,” I grind out, tugging the blanket back over myself.
Without missing a beat, Sterling pulls it right back. I let out a frustrated growl as I sit up straighter, tossing my book onto the nearby side table.
“What’s your issue?”
He smirks faintly, eyes still on his screen. “Well, for starters, you’ve got a real sharing problem.”
“I don’t have to share if I don’t want to,” I snap. “It’s called boundaries. I’m not here to people please.”
That gets his attention. He drops his phone, tugging more of the blanket his way. “Funny. You used to love pleasing me. “
My mouth falls open. Oh, he did not just say that.
“Is that what you thought?” I shoot back, smirking now. “Yikes.”
His brows knit as he tries to decode my meaning, and I take advantage of the distraction to wrench the blanket free and bolt. My heart races as I dash toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom, clutching the blanket to my chest.
If he won’t let me have it in peace, then he doesn’t get it at all.
As I reach the hallway, I hear the heavy thud of his footsteps chasing me. I glance back just in time to see six-foot-something Sterling charging, and a half-laugh, half-scream escapes me as I sprint for my bedroom.
I don’t make it.
Strong hands catch me, spinning me around. My back hits the wall, and my arms are pinned above my head in one swift move. The blanket drops uselessly to the floor as his body presses against mine, heat radiating off him as his chest rises and falls in time with mine.
“I don’t think it’s the blanket you wanted,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, vibrating through me where his chest brushes mine.
My lips part, ready to snap something back, but nothing comes out. His smirk deepens at my silence, eyes studying mine like he’s reading every thought I’m desperately trying to hide.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he says, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts over my cheek. “Starting fights. Running away. Making me chase you. I know you, Maisy, so don’t pretend this isn’t what you wanted.”
Heat floods my body, but I force out a laugh, deflecting. “Wow, you really do have an ego problem.”
His grip on my wrists tightens, not painfully, but firm enough to remind me I’m not going anywhere unless he allows it. “Ego? No,” he says, eyes dark and unflinching. “I have clarity. I know when you’re lying—even to yourself.”
My stomach flips at that, my heartbeat pounding hundreds of miles an hour against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. His face is so close I can see the tiny scar along his jawline, the one I used to trace with my fingertip.
“This—” his voice dips as he presses in closer, pinning me harder against the wall, “—is exactly where you wanted me. Exactly where you want to be.”
I try to shake my head, to deny it, but the movement is weak, unconvincing even to myself. His eyes burn into mine, catching every moment of hesitation.
“You could push me off right now,” he adds, softer this time, almost a dare. “But you won’t.”
The words steal my breath. I hate how right he is. I hate how my body arches closer instead of away, how my pulse quickens when his thumb brushes lightly over the inside of my wrist.
“Sterling…” I whisper, though I don’t even know if it’s meant as a warning or a plea.
He grins, slow and devastating, dipping his head until his lips hover over mine. Close enough that I can taste his breath, feel the warmth radiating off him.
“Say it,” he murmurs, eyes locked on my mouth. “Admit you wanted this.”
My throat works, but the words refuse to form. My silence is answer enough.
The tension between us crackles dangerously, every second stretching like a wire pulled taut. If either of us moves, it’ll snap.
But we don’t.
We just stand there, caught between resistance and surrender, hearts racing, breaths colliding, until the only thing I know for sure is that he’s right. This is exactly what I wanted.
Slowly, I tilt my chin up to close the small distance between us. My heart pounds even harder as his breath brushes mine, my lips parting, ready to taste him. But the shrill sound of my phone shatters the moment, ricocheting through the hall.
I jolt, but Sterling doesn’t move. His grip is iron-tight as one hand still holds my wrists above my head, while the other slides down the curve of my back and down my ass with practiced ease, plucking my phone out of my back pocket.
He looks down at the name flashing on my screen, and his gaze darkens, jaw flexing as he looks from my phone back to me. I watch as he swipes to answer and raises it to his ear.
“Jeff,” he says, eyes locked on mine the whole time. “What can I do for you?”
His tone is controlled, but he can’t hide the annoyance from his expression as he listens for a beat.
“No, this isn’t Maisy. It’s Sterling.”
Another pause.
“Yeah, we live together.”
My stomach drops. It’s not technically a lie. We are living together for the next month in this chalet. But he and I both know that’s not how Jeff will take it. But if I’m being honest, do I really care how Jeff takes it?
“Sure. We’ll both be there tomorrow.” Without waiting for a reply, he ends the call and lowers the phone, taking his time sliding it back into my pocket as his fingers deliberately brush over the curve of my hip.
Once my phone is back in place, he finally releases my wrists and steps back just enough to let me breathe again.
“Your boyfriend invited us to the Winter Festival tomorrow night,” he says, voice maddeningly casual.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, too quickly.
“Mmm,” is all he says.
He slides his hands into his pant pockets and strolls back toward the living room, leaving me pressed against the wall, breathless and flushed. The blanket lies abandoned at my feet, but I can’t seem to move, not with the echo of his hands still burning through me.