We both burst into laughter, and I love how easy it is to be around Adam. To be myself.
Once we both decide on what we’re having, we head up to the bar to order. It’s a quiet night with the weather, so our table is safe.
“Have you decided what you’d like?” the young barmaid behind the bar asks with a smile.
“Yes. Can I have the steak and chips?” I ask, placing the menu back in the holder on the bar.
“Of course, how would you like your steak cooked?” she asks, moving her Santa hat out of her face so she can see what she’s doing.
“Medium rare, please.” She nods and types it into the computer before turning her attention to Adam.
“And for you, sir?” I don’t miss the way her eyes light up as she takes him in. And I sure as hell can’t blame her. The man’s a walking aphrodisiac.
“The same, thanks,” Adam says, putting his menu back before flashing me a killer smile.
“No problem. Would you like it cooked the same as your girlfriend?” she asks innocently, smiling over at me, and I feel the heat rush to my face.
After the conversation we’ve just had, I look at him to assess his reaction. I already know that he’s probably not going to be impressed by the barmaid’s assumption, but the expression on his face…
All the levity is gone, and a strained smile makes him look as though the notion is completely unfathomable. Which makes me wonder why he would invite me to dinner after our moment this afternoon? Why would he call me amazing and listen to me ramble about my ideals when that innocent slip clearly has him on edge?
“Uh…we’re not…” Adam flashes his stare at me, blue eyes boring into mine. He must realize what I’m thinking because he returns his focus back to the waitress with a low chuckle that sounds somewhat forced. “Yes, medium rare will be fine, thank you.”
Oblivious to the tense atmosphere she’s created between us, the barmaid reads out the total, and Adam is quick to get his card out to pay the bill. Normally I would argue about paying my own tab, but there’s a lump in my throat that seems to get bigger the more I try to make sense of my feelings and what just happened.
Dinner took a nosedive after that. Gone was the carefree atmosphere we’d had before. It became tense, almost as though we were both trying too hard to figure out how to recover from the G-Bomb and its fallout.
The trip back to the cottage isn’t much better, filled with an awkward silence, only broken by the sound of the radio. Reaching for the heater, I freeze when my fingers connect with his. All of a sudden I’m red-hot, and heat is the last thing I want. Other than his stiff posture, Adam shows no signs of being affected, and I’m once again left wondering if this is all in my head. Whether the pull I feel to him is one-sided. He told me he didn’t need distractions, and I’m sure as hell a big one. Relieved when we pull up outside the cottage, I make my excuses as politely as I can and escape to my bedroom.
Well, that went well… not.
I don’t know what happened. Things became so awkward when she assumed we were a couple, with Adam being so quick to brush it off. What’s wrong with me? Did I come on too strong? Maybe he wasn’t so nonplussed about my version of the fairy tale as I thought he was. But he said I was amazing. Was he just being kind? I’m so confused and embarrassed.
Regardless, I barely know the man, and I’m lusting after him like a dog in heat. Perhaps I’m letting my hopeless romantic heart cloud my judgment? All these touches, lust-filled glances…maybe they’re all in my head.
My phone buzzes and I grab it, expecting it to be Kate checking in on my “date’ as she called it earlier. It’s not Kate though.
Adam: Want to join me for a drink by our tree?
Our tree. My smile stretches as I read the message. I appreciate that he’s trying to break the awkwardness I’ve let hang between us, but maybe hiding out in my room is the best plan. I already revealed more about myself than I intended to, and clearly I want to climb the man like a Christmas tree. He can’t be oblivious to my attraction, even if he doesn’t reciprocate it, and a drink would only aid in giving me looser lips and longer lingering looks. But it is Christmas…
Me: I’d love to jingle you.
Shit!
Me: JOIN you. I’d love to join you. Damn autocorrect!
And just like that, the awkwardness is back. I throw myself back onto my bed and throw a hand over my eyes. I can’t catch a freaking break!
Adam: HAHA. You’re welcome to jingle me anytime. ;-) Come down for a drink.
Putting on my big girl-panties—metaphorically, of course; nothing sexy about those bad boys—I stand and head downstairs in just my “Santa, I’ve been a good girl” nightshirt.
The lights are off with the fire filling the room with a golden glow along with the Christmas tree and the twinkle lights we’ve scattered around the room. Bing Crosby is singing softly in the background while Adam’s pouring two glasses of champagne.
“Hey.” He smiles, handing me a glass of champagne and lifting his own to make a toast.
“Hey,” I reply, tentatively.
Taking the glass from his hands, I don’t miss the electricity I feel when our fingers touch. As always it ties me up in all these delicious knots that leave me hyperaware of his every move. His mere presence has me losing my senses, and with his touch, he lights me up like a damn Christmas tree.
“Merry Christmas, Amelia.”
“Merry Christmas, Adam,” I whisper back, clinking my glass to his and taking a sip.
The tart taste has me humming in pleasure, and I notice there’s a bowl of strawberries on the floor in front of the tree and some melted white chocolate. I gasp at the sight of the late-night picnic he has set up, and he looks up and smiles at me, one of those heart-stopping, panty-melting smiles. Lowering myself to the floor, I take a seat on the rug in front of the tree. The twinkling lights, the crackling of the fire, and the man in front of me have me mesmerized. This is the epitome of the festive season.
Sitting opposite me, Adam dips a strawberry into the chocolate, before taking a bite and moaning at the taste. I find myself mesmerized by his mouth. He dips another into the chocolate before offering me a bite. Leaning forward, I don’t break eye contact as I bite into the juicy fruit, enjoying the sweet taste as it hits my tongue. When I pull back, swiping my tongue over my bottom lip to catch the juice before it runs down my chin, I don’t miss how his eyes darken at the sight. Nor how he reaches behind him. He pulls out a small sprig of holly, and I’m momentarily confused. But then he dips the red berries into the white chocolate and pulls it out with a satisfied expression on his face.
“I didn’t have any mistletoe, so I had to improvise,” he says as he lifts his makeshift mistletoe above our heads and shoots me a disarming smile before leaning in. My heart swells at the sweet gesture, and I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. He tastes of chocolate and champagne and Adam. I’m addicted. One taste will never be enough. Opening my mouth to deepen the kiss, he has the same idea and slips his tongue inside. My hand slips into his soft hair, and I pull him closer, needing to devour every ounce of him.