This Is Not a Holiday Romance by Camilla Isley

Author:Camilla Isley [Isley, Camilla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books
Published: 2024-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

19

NINA

He’s sleeping on me. His head resting on my chest, one arm possessively wrapped around my waist, our legs intertwined under the sheets.

The soft rhythm of Tristan’s breathing is a soothing backdrop to the chaos of last night’s memories. I had sex with Tristan Montgomery and I’m not even sure I can call it just sex. It felt more like a colliding of galaxies, or maybe just the perfect storm of pent-up tension and raw attraction. But definitely not an itch that goes away once you scratch it because now I’m itching all over.

And the way he looked at me last night, the things he said. And the ones he didn’t say. There was a moment when I could swear I saw pure, unadulterated terror in his eyes. Is he afraid of me? Of us?

Are we even an us? No idea. I just know that today everything has changed. That my brilliant solution to fuck him out of my system might’ve backfired spectacularly.

I haven’t even moved an inch because I don’t want to wake him. Not yet. Not until I’ve let my eyes feast on him a little longer.

The room is filled with morning light that shimmers on his dark hair and makes the stubble on his strong jaw almost sparkle silver. The early sunrays dust his angular features with a pearly hue. His lashes, long and enviably dark against his pale skin, flutter in the quiet slumber of dreams.

I lie still underneath him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, tracing his strong back with my gaze, itching for my hands to follow. I sink one hand into the soft hair at the back of his head because I can, because I don’t know when I’ll have the freedom to do it again.

I close my eyes, relaxing into his embrace, relishing his weight on top of me. I’m about to drift off to sleep again when the quiet is shattered as the door handle jiggles violently, followed by a muffled voice—Dylan’s voice—calling out for Tristan.

In a single heartbeat, Tristan’s eyes flicker open, his body coiled like a spring. We exchange a look that’s electric, alive with the silent communication of two people caught in an act they hadn’t planned. That they don’t know what it means.

“Wait a sec!” Tristan calls, his voice steady despite the adrenaline that must be racing through him. With a swift motion, he rolls out of bed—the sheets tumbling after him in a knot.

I can’t help but let my gaze linger on him for a precious second, taking in the sculpted lines of his back, the athletic grace of his movements. But there’s no time to savor the view. He yanks on his discarded gray sweatpants from last night, depriving me of the view of the perfect curve of his ass.

He turns to me, eyes roaming hungrily over my exposed body. Then, with a grin and a tenderness I still can’t believe he’s capable of, he presses a finger to his lips and pulls the sheets over me, covering me from head to toe.

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