Christmas Ever After (Puffin Island 3)

With a soft curse he hit a key and tried to focus on the screen, but instead of seeing his work, he saw her face. Her smile.

It was supposed to be all about sex, but at some point that had progressed to fun and sex and from there it had moved on to fun and sex and friendship. And over that time he’d learned a great deal about her. He’d learned that although she was beautiful, she wasn’t at all focused on her appearance. That she was equally happy in an oversize down jacket as she’d been in that incredible silver dress the night of her exhibition. That she was exceptionally creative, but lacked the basic insecurity that plagued so many creative types.

He knew she was happy in a crowd, but equally happy on her own and, like him, she could easily lose track of time when she was working on a project. Usually when he was with someone, he needed his own space, but with Sky he’d never once felt trapped.

She talked, sometimes with no filter, but she was also a good listener.

He’d shared with her, he realized, more than he’d ever shared with a woman.

And it was time to face the truth.

She had feelings for him.

He knew enough about women to know she had feelings for him.

Giving up on work, he went in search of her and found her in her favorite place—the window seat in the garden room.

“What are you doing in here? It’s dark.”

“I was trying to work but I couldn’t concentrate so I thought I’d sit for a while.” She moved her legs so that he could sit down. “Productive session?”

He noticed that she didn’t meet his gaze. “No. I couldn’t concentrate, either.”

He wondered if she’d tell him how she felt.

He sat next to her on the window seat, his thigh brushing against hers.

It was a situation he’d never imagined, being here with a woman. Especially not one who induced such strong feelings.

“I expect you were too excited about Christmas.” She nudged him in a playful gesture. “Don’t worry, I’ve told Santa you’ve been a very good boy so I’m sure you’ll get everything on your wish list.”

He didn’t smile. He no longer knew what his wish list looked like.

He wondered if she did.

What was she hoping for?

His stomach felt hollow because he didn’t want to be the next person in her life to ruin her dreams. Enough people had already done that. He wasn’t going to do it, too.

He knew he couldn’t be trusted with her heart.

“What’s on your wish list?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Not even a new tiara or fairy wings? I gather from Ryan those are both on Lizzy’s list.”

She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It was never a tiara or fairy wings for me. When I was six I wanted to be a ballerina, but that was only because my parents took me to the Met and I fell in love with Degas’s painting, The Dance Class. I wanted paints. Every year I asked for paints.”

“I thought your parents didn’t let you believe in Santa.”

“They didn’t, so I asked them directly.”

“And that didn’t work?”

“No. Eventually my aunt bought me paints. I spread them out in the kitchen on Christmas Day and incurred my mother’s wrath because we had fifty guests coming for dinner.”

“Fifty? That must have been a lot of studying. Did you ever get it all mixed up?”