Page 27 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

He taps the space bar, and a video feed pulls up. It’s then that I hear the bakery door open and watch as Holly and James walk into the kitchen. Holly is smiling, holding a wicker basket—of course—of ingredients like she’s Betty Crocker. James rubs his hands together, removing his beanie and pulling her in for a hard, bruising kiss. Her fingers link around his neck, and she moans. My heart cinches tightly, and I feel Mav’s hand squeeze my shoulder. The temptation to reach for him is almost overwhelming, but that’s not why we’re here. Clearly Mav wants me to see something, but my patience is wearing thin.

“Voyeurism isn’t my thing,” I snip.

“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” his low voice grumbles against my temple, pushing an earphone into my ear. “Give me fifteen minutes of your time, and if you still want to leave, I’ll sneak you out the back.”

I take the bait he’s dangled and nod, leaning back into the chair. His eyes shine with victory as he says, “I’ll make us coffee.”

Holly and James chat away, and it feels like scratches against my ear as I watch her get to work on the screen. James cuts the tags off a new pink apron with frills around the edges, placing it over her head and tying it up. His hands are all over her. God, I hope they don’t start having sex on the counter—that would top off the day from hell.

This morning, whilst Mav was apparently sneaking into an abandoned building and setting up creepy cameras, I was fixing a shower, getting soaked with freezing water in the process. I helped Scott prep vegetables for dinner service as Laney, our kitchen assistant, was sick. Henry took the reins of the front desk where he works best, but also covered room cleaning, so we were darting here, there, and everywhere in what felt like an endless shift.

So sitting here watching Mr. and Mrs. Baker is not my idea of relaxing after a long day. In fact, what I could do with most is a glass of something strong, a hot shower, and then a trip to the city to meet some guy who will use me for a few hours.

Mav returns, typing away on his phone. I glance over, and it’s just email after email.

“Who exactly are you messaging during the holidays?”

“I’m a property developer. The work doesn't stop just because I took a trip. I landed a big investment last week, so I’m emailing my finance guy. Also, he’s scouting out listings. People are slow to check them this time of year, so you can pick up a few bargains.”

“What kind of thing are you looking for?”

“Well, I started with houses. Cheap ones that were falling apart. I built them up. I have a few guys I would use on projects that I trust. We did a few houses together, flipping them for a profit, but now I retain most of the properties, renting them out. Unless someone offers me something worthwhile, I want to keep them and have regular money coming in.”

“Do you do all the maintenance yourself?” His hands would suggest yes. They’re rough, workingman's hands. Not the type of guy who spends all his time typing emails on his phone.

“I used to. I have a guy now. Well, I had a guy. He just retired before the holidays. I’m looking for someone new.”

It’s then I realize that Mav must be doing well for himself. He’s ridiculously hot, apparently loaded, building an empire from nothing. It’s kind of amazing. I watch the screen as he continues to type away, taking sips of his coffee between emails. If my mom hadn’t gotten sick, maybe I would be in his position now, building an empire, building a business that's mine. I don’t regret staying back to care for my mom. I’d do it all over again if I could, just to spend another day with her. And I love the B&B. It’s home. It always will be. But I always dreamed of a bigger life. The B&B was a ready-made business when I inherited it. I wish I had known if I had the strength to start a life away from Bear Hills, to build a life that was completely mine, a life that no one could take away from me.

Holly’s shrill tone pulls me out of my thoughts as she pushes her hair back from her face. There are multiple screens, and I click on the one that has both her and James in the frame. His brow is pinched as he stands, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His T-shirt is tight, and I attempt to think about the muscles beneath. I close my eyes for a second, but come up empty. He’s just a big muscled blob. I can’t remember if he has any freckles; I can’t remember how much chest hair was scattered across his torso. I can’t remember the way he’d look at me after sex. And it’s only been a week. My brows pinch together at my brain’s obvious disloyalty to James. I know he’s disloyal too, but I didn’t think he’d be so forgettable to me, not when I’ve been obsessing over him for years.

“What are you doing? I can’t help you if you don’t explain the process, Holly,” James snaps, crouching down to bring himself to her level like a parent would with a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Here we go,” Mav whispers, pushing the spare earphone into his ear. He shuffles his chair so close that if he tilted his head down, his chin would sit on my shoulder. His arm wraps around the back of my chair, his other elbow resting on the desk as he leans forward, intently watching the show. I feel his heat radiating from him, the hairs on my neck rising as if to capture it.

“Why are you even here?” Holly says. “You clearly don’t know anything about baking.”

“Neither do you. And no, I don’t know anything about baking, but I’m not the one trying to open up a bakery, am I?”

“You did not just say that to me!”

“Oh my God, I thought it would be good, but I had no idea it would take less than fifteen minutes for them to descend into utter contempt for each other,” Mav murmurs, taking the break in their fighting as an opportunity to turn his attention to me. His eyes meet mine, but not before they rake down my body, dropping at my clenched thighs. Screw him for being right that I would enjoy watching this. I know it makes me a bad person, but they did a bad thing first, so I’m going to give myself a free pass to enjoy the show that Mav set up for me. Although God knows why. He doesn’t owe me anything.

A smirk plays on his lips, and his eyes darken. He trails his fingertips along the length of my thigh, reaching my hip bone. Once he reaches the crease of my jeans, he palms my leg, his fingertips grazing the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh. I close my eyes on instinct, my mouth watering from the feel of his tease. God, my self-given orgasms really hadn’t been enough. I need to be touched; I need to be filled. My blood heats. The warmth settles between my thighs, demanding attention at the most inappropriate moment. The moment I’m watching James’s frustration play out in real time as I sit on the floor above. I could peek my head up and watch him from here, but there’s something so sordid about watching it on screen.

“Open your eyes and watch them,” Mav’s voice, thick and gravelly, scrapes against the shell of my ear.

I face him, our noses almost touching, and his tongue peeks out, running along his full bottom lip. “We shouldn’t do this,” I say, silently praying he doesn’t stop. “They’re downstairs.”

“Fuck them.” He grips my leg with a harsh pinch, and I suck in a pleasured breath, the air seeping down my throat, scorching my lungs and spreading through my body. Rough, harsh, just what I need. Take, take, take. That’s what I want. Someone who isn’t scared to hurt me, to push my limits, to take me to the edge and jump off it with me.

“Mav . . .” I should stop now. The man I’ve wanted since I was fifteen is huffing and puffing, his frustrated sighs leaking into my ear, and it’s like a soothing balm. He deserves this. He deserves to be as frustrated as he made me feel for all those months.

I lean into Mav, my lips grazing his, but he spins the chair I’m on, forcing me to watch the screen again. My cheeks heat in the face of his rejection, that is until he bites down hard on my neck. As soon as the sting arrives, it’s gone, warmed with the open-mouth kisses he’s trailing right over that spot that makes my toes curl.

“Keep those eyes open for me, Index.”

I scoff, my eyes opening, hooded and glassy as I attempt to focus on the screen. “Not my name, Maverick.”