Christmas Ever After (Puffin Island 3)

Something in the way she said it made him smile. “For the record I think your dress is great.” More than great. Looking at her he felt as if he’d been dragged naked through the molten core of a volcano.

“I really don’t care whether you like my dress or not, Alec. I didn’t dress for you, I dressed for myself. I don’t need you to tell me I look good.”

He stared at her. Selina had needed to hear it. She’d needed to hear it a thousand different ways, a thousand times a day and no matter what he’d said or how he’d said it, it had never been enough. Her insecurity had been the most exhausting thing about their relationship.

Sky’s gaze met his and he saw something that looked like sympathy in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she strolled over to the Christmas tree.

“I always wanted a sister.”

He grabbed hold of the change of subject as a drowning man might grab a floating branch. “You have brothers?”

“Yes. All lawyers. It’s part of our DNA although somehow it missed me. Mealtimes are like a day in court. Growing up, if I didn’t want vegetables I used to say ‘objection.’ Of course my mother would say ‘overruled’ and drop them on my plate anyway.” She examined the ornaments. “A tree like this would be part of my dream Christmas.”

He opened his mouth to ask about her dream Christmas and then closed it again. Information, particularly personal information, was a prelude to intimacy, and that wasn’t a word he wanted anywhere near his relationship with Skylar. Circumstances had thrown them together, but that didn’t mean he was interested in getting to know her on a deeper level. He already knew more than enough.

“My mother insists on a real tree.”

“My mother can’t deal with the fact she can’t control the activities of each individual pine needle. Where did this one come from?”

“Local farm. Going to choose the tree is part of our family tradition.” The more she revealed about her family, the more he wondered how they’d produced someone as creative and free-spirited as Skylar. A different person would have been crushed, or at least taken the path of least resistance.

She examined everything in detail and then reached out and touched an uneven snowman. “Who made this? It’s cute.”

“Me. My mother refuses to throw it away. That is yet another embarrassing detail you now know about me.”

“She doesn’t throw it away because it has meaning. I love that.” She examined every decoration, asked about each one. “Your whole family history is right here on this tree.”

“The ha

ndmade decorations you made as a child were probably elegant and perfect.”

“My parents have always employed an interior designer to decorate the house for the holidays.”

Alec looked at the misshapen snowman that his mother insisted on hanging on the tree every year. “You never made your own decorations?”

“Oh, I made them a few times but they always ended up in the trash.”

“Why?”

She ran her finger over a glittering angel. “Whatever I made was the wrong look for the tree.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but dappled with hints of wistful sadness. It tugged at him, drawing him in a direction he didn’t want to go.

He could only see her profile, but he was aware of her with every one of his senses. Apart from the livid bruise at her temple, her skin was creamy white, her hair falling in a sheet over one shoulder. He wanted to lift that hair and discover the skin beneath. He wanted to seduce her mouth and coax a smile from her.

She turned her head to look at him and he wondered if the burn of his gaze had triggered some internal alarm system. Maybe she had a built-in heat sensor.

Their eyes met and held.

The only noise in the room was the crackle of the fire.

He could hear the sound of muffled laughter and the clatter of crockery from the kitchen, but here they were completely alone.

She shook her head slowly. “Unbelievable.”

“What is unbelievable?”

“Here I am, spilling my guts to you again, and there you are taking it like a man instead of telling me to shut up.” She spoke a little faster than usual. “You’re treating me as if I’m made of glass Alec, and you don’t need to. Say what’s on your mind. A bit of the old brutal Hunter sarcasm would probably be good for both of us right now.”