Chapter 9
KEZ
Three days have passed, and I still can’t look Charlotte in the eyes.
Or act right—whatever that means anymore.
It’s the afternoon and, luckily, I’ve avoided Charlotte while she’s working, which, apparently, includes tormenting helpless women while parading around in lingerie.
Keeping myself busy seems to be the only solution.
The last two days, I shoveled snow trails around the cabin, nearly losing my phone in the process.
Today, I took Ember on three walks, painted my fingernails green, then yellow again, chopped more wood we don’t need and re-reorganized the kitchen.
Anything to avoid thoughts of Charlotte leaning on the refrigerator, making bedroom eyes at me, or how my jaw automatically unhinged for every peice fruit she held to my lips.
By the evening, I cross my second-to-last chore off my invisible list. I stroll through the living room carrying a basket of laundry—Ember’s stolen socks, mostly—and nearly drop it.
Charlotte’s sitting on the floor, spread eagle. There’s a large, wrapped box between her garter belt laced thighs, with a red bow on top, the same color as her heels. Loose curls flow down her shoulders. She’s wearing a Santa hat, and a lace corset hugs her perfectly round breasts. Nothing else.
She clicks a button on a tiny remote and looks up from the camera sitting on a tripod. “Oh, hey.” She laughs. “Marketing doesn’t do itself.” She smiles like this is completely normal, as if she doesn’t look like every fantasy I’ve had over the last three days. “Want to help me unwrap this?”
I take a step and slam directly into the doorframe. The laundry basket crushing my stomach nearly knocks the wind out of me.
Stumbling back, I groan and drop the basket onto the floor. “I’m fine. No, thank you. I have to—Ember needs more water.” Meanwhile, I’m the one with a dry mouth.
“Of course.” Her eyes, covered with seductive dark eye shadow, tell me she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She rests both arms on top of the box, crosses them, and poses for the camera. “Have fun. I’d love to play, but, you know, work never stops.”
Forget the laundry. I can’t flee fast enough. In the nearest empty room, I crack the door and press my back against the wall. I try to remember how to be a functioning human who’s seen a grown adult working before.
Boudoir photography is Charlotte’s job, I keep telling myself. Maybe she’s not torturing me on purpose. She’s only—
Something catches my eye.
Another pile of socks. Three fuzzy pairs with pine trees on them.
They must be Charlotte’s because they’re not mine.
The sock bandit strikes again. I’m impressed at this point.
I bend down to pick them up, and right on cue, Ember wiggles through the doorway like she sensed me infiltrating her stash.
She sits at my feet, her tongue out, nub wagging, all proud of herself.
My brow quirks upward. “We really need to talk about your foot fetish.”
She barks. Translation: Worry about yourself.
Noted. After a moment of thought, I crouch down to her level.
“Look. I know we’ve had our differences.
But we need to come together as a team right now.
We’ll make it through these trying times.
” I pet her between the ears. “You heeled well this morning. That’s good.
Let’s add another walk to the schedule.” Lord knows I need the cool air.
Ember’s listening for once, sustaining eye contact. Maybe Charlotte’s right, perhaps she’d make a good police dog for—
“Ember!” Charlotte sings from the other room.
Ember’s ears perk at the jingle of dog treats. Bacon flavored. Her head whips between me and the open door. Her whole body wiggles.
I tilt my head. “No, no, no. Don’t give me that look.”
She whines softly. Her big brown eyes tell me she’s just as weak as I am. It doesn’t help that Charlotte gives belly rubs until her hand nearly falls off.
“We’re a team,” I whisper, pleading. “Remember? We just talked about this. Thirty seconds ago.”
Another jingle and she makes her decision.
“Hey. Come back here!” I call after her, but she’s already gone. “Whose side are you on?”
The side with the treats, the cuddles, and the woman who looks like a five-course Christmas feast. Obviously.
I dissociate for a minute, eyes fixed on a dot on the floor. New plan. I snap back to the present and fish out my phone from my pocket.
Paige picks up on the second ring. “What happened?”
“I know an Op when I see one.” I grip the phone like a walkie-talkie, pacing the small room.
“Charlotte’s doing photoshoots around the cabin in lingerie multiple times per day.
Under my Christmas tree. On my hardwood floor.
Last night, I went for a late-night snack—as I always do.
There she was, eating strawberries in her underwear at 2AM. And just now—”
I peek around the doorframe. Charlotte’s packing up her camera, wearing a robe, the salacious Santa outfit underneath.
She’s laughing at something Ember did. “She’s taking pictures of herself covered by a literal wrapped present.
With a bow. She offered me a gift. The same present between her legs, Paige. ”
“I’m struggling to see a problem here. Didn’t you say she’s a boudoir photographer?”
Screaming children and holiday music echo in the background. Sounds like she’s at a mall or zoo. I can’t tell.
“Yes, but—okay.” I breathe and start again.
“This morning—” I lower my voice to a whisper.
“I walked past the library. She was squinting while biting her lip, reading a book that had two women kissing on the cover. She was wearing thick-rimmed glasses in this—this librarian outfit that was not appropriate for any library I’ve ever been to. ”
“Uh, huh.”
“And there was a candy cane.” I clamp my eyes shut at the memory. My ears are burning. “Just hanging out of her mouth while she hummed that Santa Baby song.”
“Right.”
“Don’t you get it now?” I entreat.
Silence. “She needs a stronger prescription for glasses?”
Are you fucking serious? I slap a palm on my forehead and point the phone’s speaker an inch from my mouth. I whisper angrily, “She doesn’t need glasses! Her vision is 20/20.”
“Ah. I see.”
“She’s weaponizing Christmas, Paige. To get me to leave. I need my Butch Bestie.” My voice cracks with desperation. “I need backup. What do we do?”
“We? I’m standing in a mile-long line to take my niece to see Santa.
” Her exhale is audible. “I don’t know why parents insist on making their children sit on Santa’s lap.
I can already tell Laurel hates him. And I hate standing in this line.
I wouldn’t want to sit on any man’s lap, let alone one that smells like stale coffee, bad decisions and has a fake beard. ”
“Sounds traumatic when you put it like that.” I agree.
“Exactly.”
Another child wails. I yank the phone from my ear and wince from the screaming. I can only picture the exasperated look on Paige’s face.
“Come on, Laurel. Want to get ice cream?” Paige says seconds later. “We’ll tell Mommy Santa called in sick today.”
Her niece squeals with excitement.
“Sounds like you just won, Auntie of the Year,” I say.
“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.” There’s movement, shuffling through crowds. “I’ll deal with my sister later.”
A minute passes. The sounds of children playing and that catchy chipmunk song descend to a murmur. There’s a jingle from a door opening, then I hear Laurel’s adorably shy voice order two scoops of reindeer tracks ice cream and pay the cashier. Paige praises her with an audible smooch on the cheek.
“Feels good to sit down.” Paige basically melts on the call. “Where were we?”
“Helping me make Charlotte a little less comfortable.” Which seems to be the opposite of her plans.
“Right. Two can play that game.” Paige’s voice sharpens, all business as if she’s facilitating a session at work. “Here’s what you’re going to do.” She pauses. “Train Ember.”
I yank my head back. “What? How is that going to solve anything?”
“Fight fire with…Ember,” she says with a chuckle, then gets serious again. “Practice Find and Bark or Find and Sit like I taught you. It doesn’t matter. Pick something and do it.”
I try to think for a moment, but my brain’s not computing, probably still overheated from Charlotte winking at me while wearing a garter belt. “You think that’ll work?”
Then I recall the way Charlotte wouldn’t stop touching me when first seeing me wearing my military service uniform. We were late for our brunch reservations that day. How could she resist me in uniform training an adorable puppy in a K-9 vest?
“Do you have a better idea? Because right now you’re probably hiding while she’s out there making money and winning. Have you forgotten you have a job to go back to? You’re running out of time. You need to be on the offensive.”
My stomach twists. I hate that she’s right. I’ve been so wrapped up in wanting to unwrap Charlotte, I completely forgot about my actual job. Returning to work means Paige will meet with Chief and I’ll give Ember back, but I need a solution to keep my cabin. And fast.
“Okay.” I straighten, nodding. “Okay. That’s a good plan.”
“Use your assets,” she says, mid chew. “And don’t forget your—”
“Evening, Kez.”
I startle, springing two feet in the air and spinning around.
Charlotte’s right behind me, no longer in the Santa hat and lingerie.
She’s wearing a T-shirt that hangs slightly off her shoulder and knee-high socks, which isn’t much of an improvement for the butterflies already swarming in my stomach every time she says my name. How does she keep doing that?
I hide my phone behind my back and clear my throat. I try to appear nonchalant but fail miserably. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” The glint in her eyes is back. “I’m exhausted from another long day of work.” She stretches, and I force myself to look at the wall. “Heading to bed soon.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I wet my lips. “Goodnight.”
Why is she just standing there? Against my will, I meet her eyes. My gaze drifts lower to where her nipples strain against the fabric. Wait. Is she wearing my shirt? My Team Naughty holiday shirt? She’s crossed the line now.
Her lips curl into a knowing smile at my mouth hanging ajar. She saunters past me toward the bedroom, and I follow because apparently that’s the direction we’re both going now. Ember’s nowhere to be found to stop me from my poor choices. Traitor.
I arrange my blanket and pillow on the floor beside the bed.
I should sleep on the couch. That’d be the smartest move, even with it freezing out there.
That might be the only thing that cools me down after days of Charlotte parading around in lingerie, slowly weakening my resolve.
But I don’t pull away. Instead, I lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling.
“You know,” Charlotte says behind me, book back in her hands. “You can sleep in the bed if you’d like. The floor can’t be good for your back. I don’t mind sharing.” She meets my eyes. “The bed’s yours too, after all.”
Don’t remind me. “I know.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Because no matter the size of the bed, if I sleep next to you, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.
I’ve been turned on for exactly seventy-two hours, three minutes and fifty-eight seconds.
I want you, and whatever this isn’t between us too much, and I shouldn’t want you more than I want the cabin, but damn do I miss you.
“The floor is fine, thanks,” I say instead.
I shut my eyes, hoping to wake up to a different reality than my desire to rip Charlotte’s clothes—my clothes—off of her. To kiss and lick the peppermint taste off those perfect lips. Or me moaning her name from the gift of her tongue buried between my legs.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for the offer. The floor’s fine.”
“Suit yourself.”
I hear the rustle of fabric as she moves around. Nothing I think about slows the wetness building between my thighs. I exhale in agony, my gaze firmly planted on the ceiling, and count each wooden panel until my eyelids close.
Several minutes pass. The room settles into quiet. Then I hear footsteps.
I glance up just as Charlotte steps over me, one toned, long leg on each side of my head. I blink away the sight of red lace. This is a nightmare.
“Sorry,” she says, sweet and innocent, as if knowing her effect on me. “Forgot to turn off the light.”
The room goes dark. I lie there in the blackness, barely breathing, and listen as she climbs into bed.
“Sweet dreams, Kezia.” Mischief laces her soft tone. Even her yawn is attractive, making my stomach flip and flop.
After a long pause, I find my voice. “Night.”
I shift around to get comfortable, unable to ignore my pulsing clit and not being able to do a damn thing about it. I can’t think straight for more than five minutes before having inappropriate thoughts about Charlotte. A Christmas miracle won’t fix my increasingly poor judgement.
I grip my pillow and stare toward the bed, pining for the comfortable mattress and the woman snoring on top, while the floor mocks me again and promises another sore neck in the morning.
I think about Ember and how she’ll abandon tomorrow’s training before we even start.
Is there anyone in this cabin who isn’t under Charlotte’s spell?