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“Maybe.”
“It’s hard to be fatalistic sitting in front of a Christmas tree this pretty.”
“I don’t know about that. I think I can be fatalistic anywhere I want to be.”
“Now, that’s optimism.”
He laughed. “Did you get Benny’s presents?”
“No, Brody. Those are your presents.”
He looked at her, his expression sharp. “What?”
“Those are your presents. I got them for you. But you can’t open them yet. Because it’s only Christmas Eve. You have to open them Christmas morning.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well. I have something you can open tonight.”
She got up off the couch, set her mug of cider down, then gripped the hem of the new sweaterdress and pulled it up over her head.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. And everything that had happened in the last hour just dissolved. All the difficulty, all the stinking conversations, all the tough admissions and memories he preferred not to have.
Because she was standing in front of him in a red bodysuit that resurrected his very dead Christmas cheer.
It was lace, see-through, and there were straps, and it was a complicated thing of beauty, crisscrossing over that pale skin. He wanted to...
He wanted to tear it off her. Like a caveman. Like...
He was short-circuiting.
In all his days, he had not thought that the prim woman who he met all those weeks ago would be able to send him into this kind of a tailspin. Not in a million years. Not in a hundred million years. He had been certain that she was a prude. He had been certain that she was stuffy...
And right now, standing before him, she was a siren. And if she was going to lure him to his death, then he was going willingly. Because he had never seen anything more beautiful in all of his life, and he had never wanted anything like he wanted Elizabeth Colfax right now.
Lizzie.
His Lizzie. Because he was the only one who was allowed to call her that.
So he did.
“Lizzie,” he said, the name coming out a growl.
She arched her back, and the breath left his body in a gust.
He could hardly breathe past his desire.
The curve of her breasts, the way he could see the shadow of her nipples through that fabric...
“Please tell me that didn’t come from your ex-husband.”
“No. It came from Copper Ridge. You were very nice to me, hanging out in that store while I shopped... It made me want to do something nice for you too.”
“That is very, very nice,” he agreed.
And he didn’t even care that it was being presented as a reward. A little bit transactional. She said it light, she said it flirty. And hell, it made it really dirty, and he was 100 percent okay with that game.
All for him.
