Hot For The Holidays by Hot For The Holidays (epub)

Author:Hot For The Holidays (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub

7

ELIZABETH

* * *

The sharp click of the door behind me nearly brought me to my knees. I clutched my stomach and struggled to hold in the pain.

But it was too intense.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, holding my palm over my mouth.

There was no stopping the sob from breaking free. It came as an offensive echo around the room.

I wanted to stop it, go back and change it, but it was too late. The damage already done.

I’d stumbled.

Fallen.

Considering how I felt, I should have known better than to let Christian through my door.

At the party, I’d been hit with the magnitude of how deep my affections ran. Wrapped up in how bad that realization stung, it’d left me vulnerable.

The knock on my door had jarred my hopes, flamed the fear, and stoked my need.

I’d hesitated, quieted my breaths, self-preservation kicking in. I’d silently willed him to walk away while my heart begged him to stay.

My rational side had little chance. The second knock beckoned me forward, and I’d peered through the peephole at the man who held me in the palm of his hand.

Fingers shaking, I’d unlocked the door, insecurity slowing my movements as I cracked the door to stare out at Christian.

Lines of anger had twisted his face, and I’d stopped short, confused and sad and relieved. It left me unable to comprehend the conflict he incited in me.

He’d pushed through, and the room had filled with his presence, the air so heavy that I should have seen it as a warning and not as the comfort that came plundering through my senses.

When his warm lips had caressed my neck, it’d almost been too much, and I’d been seconds from surrendering. A panicked voice inside me cried out to stop, to defend my heart, because I was already in far too deep, and I managed to rip myself from the grip I was falling victim to.

I’d spun around with an accusation perched on my lips and stopped dead.

There had been no surfacing from the flood that was Christian Davison because he’d been looking at me as if he felt the same.

Now my body shook and tingled with his residual, this consuming desire coursing through my blood, mingling with this vast depth of misery.

I would have given myself to him.

Offered what I guarded and protected.

Because to me, it was never a game. It was never supposed to be the fumble of a good time.

It was devotion—an act of adoration—something I’d been so foolish to waste before.

It wouldn’t have been wasted on Christian. Yet it still would have destroyed me.

I shook my head as I made my way back to the stove, my movements jerky as I flipped off the burner. I shoved the burning pot back to an empty burner.

Anger burned my insides.

God, I felt so angry.

His words had slashed me straight to the core, crushed and cut. They were all the confirmation I needed to know how easily he could devastate me.

Low, mocking laughter tumbled from my mouth.

He already had . .

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