Page 63 of My Favorite Holidate
“It’s from you. It’s not nothing.”
The command in his voice sends a shiver down my chest, right to my core. I raise my hand, the one that’s been clutching a tiny white paper bag with the gift inside. “Mac showed me the ornaments she made yesterday. And I wanted you to have one from me. It’s just a thank you,” I say.
His smile is no longer sly. It’s like he’s mesmerized. “You made this?” he asks, opening the bag. “For me?”
“Well, I made you the wreath for your office door too,” I say, downplaying it, but I don’t know why.
“And I love the wreath. But this is for my home,” he says as he reaches into the bag eagerly. His reaction makes my heart stutter. He pulls out a crocheted snowman with a little ribbon hanger on it. “I love it.”
“Because you like snow,” I explain, but my breath is feathery. My chest is warm.
“I was thinking of snow last night,” he says, his eyes darkening as his gaze returns to mine.
“You were?”
“Yes. You said you liked winter at the restaurant. At Dahlia’s. But do you like snow?”
My pulse spikes. He was thinking of me when he was alone at his home. “I do like it.”
He grips the ornament, his nostrils huffing. “Good to know.” He pauses, his eyes never leaving my face. My stomach flips. I don’t want him to look away. “I’ll hang this tonight.”
“Will you think of snow?” I ask, breathy. But what I’m really saying iswill you think of me again?
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I will.”
I want to lean into him, to catch his mouth with mine, to thread a hand through his hair and demand he kiss me hard on this couch, in his chair, on the…
A wicked thrill rushes through me, and I’m suddenly fixated on his desk.
He parts his lips like he’s going to say something. Something likeget on my desk right now and spread your legs.
I blink off that lusty thought.
He must erase whatever’s on his mind, too, since he returns to our earlier topic. “Do you want me to cancel the stylist my aunt arranged? I can send you a dress instead.”
My breath catches. This man loves to give gifts. The socks, the ice cream, the football suite, the shopping spree, and now a dress. “Do you like shopping, Wilder?”
He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s weighing what to say. “For you, I do.”
That’s not making me want him less. “So you’d shop for a dress for me?”
“If you wanted me to, yes.”
I’m tempted to say yes to the dress. But I also kind of want to go to the stylist too. Maybe I do have a littleMy Fair Ladyin me. “Would it make me greedy if I said both?”
He laughs, seeming a little delighted. “Considering Isent you into the lion’s den unprepared, you should have both.” He thinks for a minute. “I’ll send a dress to your office today. Why don’t you pick shoes with the stylist?”
“You’re too generous. You don’t have to. I swear.”
His smile is pleased, in control, a man who’s getting what he wants. “I know. I want to.” He pauses, then adds, “But you should pick your own necklace. One of your pieces. I like seeing the ones you make on your neck.”
That sends a charge down my spine. The idea that he likes my creations on my throat makes me feel a little shimmery all over. “I will,” I say.
“Good. I look forward to it,” he says, holding my gaze like he’s already picturing something pretty adorning my skin.
I let out a long breath. “Thank you. For reassuring me. I’m sorry I came in a little hot earlier.”
“I like it when you come in hot,” he says. The sound reminds me of how we talked yesterday after the kiss. It reminds me, too, of how he’s been looking at me in the last few minutes. And it definitely reminds me of these unexpected fantasies of mine.