Christmas Ever After (Puffin Island 3)

He was relieved.

“You’re never too old to poke a present.” Liv held one up to her nose and sniffed. “Smells good. What have you bought Skylar?”

“I haven’t bought her anything. Why would I? I’ve told you repeatedly—”

“You’re not together. I know, but I wish you were. She’s a million times nicer than anyone you’ve brought home before. And she is sooooo beautiful, Alec. Her hair could be in a shampoo ad.”

He thought about the silken flow of Skylar’s hair and the way it had felt in his hands. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Liv retied a bow that had come loose on one of the parcels. “For two people who supposedly don’t like each other, the pair of you are like an experiment in a science lab. Not that science is exactly my thing, but I’d say the two of you are one small spark away from a serious chemical explosion.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot, Alec.”

“You’re my little sister, and we’re not having this conversation.”

“I’m a teenager. I think about boys a lot, or didn’t you get that memo? I’m old enough to recognize sexual tension.”

“Evidently not. Skylar and I have mutual friends. She was in trouble, but I would have helped no matter who she was.”

“You brought her home, Alec. You haven’t brought a woman home for three years.”

He wondered if somewhere in the house there was a calendar marked with the highlights of his love life. “I brought Skylar home because she has a concussion and I didn’t want to leave her on her own in London.”

“So you were rescuing a damsel in distress? I don’t believe it. No way. Not after—” She broke off guiltily. “Sorry, Al. I have a big mouth.”

And a big heart.

He chose to ignore the damsel-in-distress reference.

“There is nothing going on. She isn’t my type. I don’t even find her attractive—” The words jammed in his throat as the woman in question walked into the room.

Her red dress hugged the curve of her narrow waist and ended at midthigh. She’d teamed it with black tights and black boots, displaying legs long enough to make a gazelle die of envy. Her hair gleamed pale gold and two jagged twists of silver, like lightening bolts, hung from her ears.

She looked as far from a damsel in distress as it was possible to be.

The intimacy between them, that moment of vulnerability that he’d witnessed firsthand, might never have happened.

“Not attractive at all,” his sister murmured under her breath. “Close your mouth, Alec. It’s rude to stare.” All guilt apparently forgotten, she scrambled to her feet. “Sky, that dress is incredible.”

It was incredible.

So were her powers of recovery. Or her willpower. He couldn’t work out which was responsible for the fact she was on her feet and looking better than most people looked after a week at a spa.

He looked closer and saw a hint of blush on her cheeks.

Underneath, she was pale.

Which meant it was willpower keeping her on her feet.

Willpower and those gleaming black leather boots.

It didn’t seem to matter what she wore, he kept seeing her undressed. Every time he looked at her.

Naked.

It was as if the internet had crashed in the middle of a movie.