Christmas Cupid: enemies to lovers novella by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Author:Ilsa Madden-Mills [Madden-Mills, Ilsa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: IMM Publishing
Published: 2023-11-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Iris

The only good thing that’s happened in the past hour is that Kyler finally put his jeans on. Other than that, things have gone from bad to worse.

The neighbors may have brought us food, but it’s still blizzard-like conditions outside, and I left my favorite lip balm at home. At least I’m dressed warmly. Instead of my clothes, I found a pair of ski pants and an oversized black turtleneck sweater to match. It’s not chic, but it’s toasty.

My lovely companion, who is supposed to be rummaging around the house looking for supplies, keeps calling out in excitement with every ridiculous thing he finds in the attic.

“Hey! It’s one of those ab roller things!” he yells as I use the mirror above the chest of drawers in the bedroom to apply my makeup. The bathroom is a little cramped on space on the vanity, and I wanted to be courteous and leave room for Kyler’s bag of toiletries. Thank goodness he only brought deodorant and soap.

“Hell, these VHS tapes are ancient. I’ve never heard of most of these titles—oh wait, here’s Titanic. I’ve never seen it, but chicks love it,” he calls out from above me.

I roll my eyes. “Spoiler alert: Jack dies in the end!”

He cries out in glee, clearly not caring about Titanic. “An electric apple peeler! Totally sealed and unopened! Did you bring any apples?”

“No,” I say as I move to glance up at where I can see him as he leans down and pokes his head into the opening to the walk-up attic. Wearing a stupid grin, he waves the box at me, and I grimace. “I really only care if you found a magic device that can teleport me off this mountain.”

“I feel you, Iris,” he replies, his eyes meeting mine, and I blink, realizing it’s the first time he’s called me by my name. Ugh, I hate how the sound of it drips like honey from his tongue.

“Wish we had apples.” He gives the peeler box a look then tosses it somewhere inside the attic. He comes down the ladder, wiping the dust from his hands as he follows me into the bedroom and leans against the door jamb. I apply primer to my skin then add some tinted foundation with sunscreen. Normally, I’d never let a man watch me apply makeup, but I figure he and I will never see each other again.

He brushes those brandy-colored eyes over my attire, seeming to approve. “Also didn’t find any Christmas decorations.”

I am not decorating this place and settling in. That’s like admitting defeat. “We don’t need Christmas decorations. We need to find a way out of here.”

He shrugs broad shoulders, the flannel material stretching over his sculpted arms as he crosses them. I try not to watch how fluid his movements are.

“I don’t know. Maybe instead of busting our asses on what’s not going to happen, we should make the best of it. Could cheer us up to decorate a little. This kind of reminds me of our Christmases back home when I was growing up.

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