Chapter 20

20

TRISTAN

On the way back from the run, I burst into the kitchen, losing the race to Dylan for who gets back to the house first. Sweat is dripping down my face, and even if I lost, there she is—my prize, Nina. She’s sitting at the breakfast table with the rest of the Thompsons. Already breathless from the last sprint, my oxygen intake further deteriorates as our gazes meet across the room. I get lost in those emerald gems that burned with passion last night as I explored every inch of her soft skin. Just hours ago, she was mine, all mine.

Stealing a cookie off her plate, I flash her a teasing grin. Nina narrows her eyes, but her glares have softened. No resentment burns in them now. Only a very different kind of heat and a tender warmth shine through, making my throat tighten.

“Ew, Tristan, you reek!” Nina scrunches up her nose adorably. “Maybe shower first, then cookies?”

“What’s wrong, Thompson? Can’t handle a little man-musk?” I wink at her before popping the cookie into my mouth.

Nina sniffs again, and I theatrically lift an arm, smelling an armpit. Yeah, I need to shower.

Across the kitchen, I catch Dylan’s eye. A silent challenge passes between us. Game on, bro. We both dash for the stairs, jostling each other as we race to the bathroom. I edge him out at the last second, slamming the door in his face with a triumphant whoop.

“Losers wash last!” I call out, already stripping off my sweaty T-shirt.

I step into the shower, and as the warm water cascades over me, I can’t stop grinning like an idiot. Nina Thompson, the girl I’ve loved to torment for years, had her wicked way with me last night and from the looks she was throwing me in the kitchen, she isn’t nearly done. And damn, if that doesn’t make me feel like the luckiest bastard alive.

As I rinse the last of the shampoo from my hair, I hear the front door open and a high-pitched, excited voice fill the house. I quickly towel off and throw on some clean clothes to go check what the commotion is about. Finally smelling respectable, I re-enter the kitchen, eager to be near Nina again. The delicious aroma of bacon and pancakes wafts in the air, making my stomach rumble. More Thompsons have joined in. Milo, Agatha, Eric, and their two kids.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice,” Nina teases in a low tone as I slide into the chair beside her. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and for the first time, she doesn’t rush to pull it down or hide her ears from me. Looks like at least I kissed some sense into her last night.

“Usually, it’s you who steals the show after a shower,” I murmur back, low enough for only her to hear. A pretty blush stains her cheeks, and she busies herself with spreading jam on her toast.

“Mornin’, family!” Uncle Milo booms, his jolly face split in a wide grin. “Sleep well?”

Nina chokes on her orange juice, and I pat her back gently, trying not to laugh. If only they knew…

“Slept like a rock, Milo,” I reply smoothly. When she finally let me , I add in my head. “Must be the fresh country air.”

Lisa sets a heaping plate of pancakes in front of me, her kind eyes twinkling. “Glad to see you two made peace,” she coos, giving Nina a knowing look. “Greg.” She turns to her husband. “I think we might have a raccoon in the attic again. I heard a weird thumping all of last night.”

My turn to nearly choke on a sip of coffee. Nina’s face is beet red now, and she’s studiously avoiding my gaze. Did we make too much noise last night? Does her mom suspect something?

Maybe we’re being too casual. We went from trying to rip each other’s throats off to stolen glances and covert smiles in twenty-four hours. Her family might get suspicious.

I need to dial down the charm—or at least, the visibility of it.

Mr. Thompson, bless him, saves us from further embarrassment by asking, “What’s on the agenda for today, gang?” He spears a sausage with his fork.

As the conversation turns to our plans for the day—we’re building a giant gingerbread house, it seems—I push my knee against Nina’s under the table. She startles slightly but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she hooks her ankle around mine, sending a thrill up my spine.

As soon as breakfast is cleared, Agatha’s daughter, Zoe, starts bouncing on her toes, her curls flying as she chatters away to Nina about her decorating plans and how to make the gingerbread house more appealing for the competition that will take place after the recital at her school tonight. Agatha brings in the supplies covering the table with house parts, colorful icing tubes, and bowls of candy decorations.

“Tristan! You will help too,” Zoe declares, waving me over. “No one can skip.”

I grin and press my thigh more firmly into Nina’s. She peeks at me from under her lashes, just before she retaliates under the pretense of getting up and doing the dishes. Her chest oh-so-casually brushes against my bicep as she collects the last remaining coffee mugs.

I have to say, I much prefer this foreplay version of our covert war.

All morning, as we work on assembling and decorating the gingerbread walls, the stolen touches continue. Our hands brush against each other more than once, sparks igniting with each touch.

“Hey, Nina,” I say casually, picking up a piping bag filled with green icing. “Bet I can design a better side of the house than you.”

Her eyes flash with competitive fire. “Oh, you’re on, Montgomery,” she retorts, snatching up a bag of red icing. “Prepare to be dazzled by my artistic genius.”

As we toil on our respective sides, I can’t resist teasing her. “Is that supposed to be a wreath?” I ask, pointing to a lopsided green circle. “Looks more like a mutant turtle.”

Nina gasps in mock outrage. “Excuse me, Mr. Gingerbread Picasso, but at least my side doesn’t resemble a kindergartener’s finger painting.”

A playful gleam lights up her eyes, and I wait for everyone to be distracted to lean in close, my lips brushing against her ear. “You’re good at pretending you still hate me, Thompson,” I murmur, my voice low and intimate.

She shivers, closing her eyes briefly. But when she turns to me with a huff, her glare is real. “You’re being too obvious,” she hisses back, pushing me away.

I straighten up, putting on my best innocent face as I hold my hands up in surrender. “Obviously, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say smoothly. Dylan glances our way, one eyebrow raised, but I flash him a goofy smile that says, “Not to worry,” and he quickly turns his attention back to the roof that he is patiently helping Zoe sprinkle with shredded coconut to mimic snow.

Feeling bold, I discreetly pipe Nina’s initials into the frosting on my side of the gingerbread house, hiding them among the intricate swirls and patterns. I glance over at her, wondering if she’s noticed, but she seems focused on her own work, tongue poking out in concentration. She’d have me fooled if her eyes didn’t flick to the exact spot where her initials are, a knowing glint brightening her gaze.

We continue working, exchanging playful jabs and sly glances. At one point, I casually drop my hand under the table and drag a knuckle over her thigh. I let my fingers linger on her, savoring the way she turns rigid in her chair.

Suddenly, I feel mischievous. I reach over to Nina’s side of the house, pretending to adjust a candy tree. “Oops,” I say, knocking it over with a calculated “accidental” bump. “My bad.”

Nina gives me a slight tilt of the head combined with a quizzical raise of one eyebrow, but I can see the amusement on her face.

“Let me help you fix that.” I lean in close, under the guise of helping her right the fallen tree. Our faces are inches apart, the heat of her breath mingling with mine. Nina’s lips part slightly, and I’m overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her senseless, right here in front of everyone.

But before I can act on that impulse, Zoe’s excited voice cuts through the tension. “Look, Mommy!” she exclaims, pointing to an impressive section of the lawn. “Aunt Nina and Uncle Tristan made a candy carousel!”

We spring apart, suddenly reminded of our audience. Our gazes lock, half-sheepish, half-promising, before turning our attention back to Zoe and the rest of the family.

When we’re almost done, I notice a tiny figure nestled in the yard of the gingerbread house, partially hidden behind a gumdrop bush. Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s a miniature version of me, complete with dark hair and a smirk. My chest swells with affection. Hiding under the table, pretending I have to recoup something I dropped, I blow Nina a kiss. The way she glowers back at me is adorable.

As we put the finishing touches on the gingerbread house, I bend over, pretending to inspect our handiwork. My lips graze her ear as I whisper, “Come to me later if you want a little more sugar.”

Nina’s breath catches, and she shudders. She averts her eyes, her grip on a half-empty bag of candies tightening. My pulse races at the thought of stealing more moments alone with her, away from prying eyes.

“Looks like we make a pretty good team,” I say, loud enough for the others to hear. “Maybe we should go into the gingerbread house business together.”

Nina rolls her eyes, but no real annoyance laces the gesture. “Please, you’d eat all the profits before we even opened our doors.”

Dylan is watching us again, so I give her an answer the old me would have given her. “Don’t flatter yourself, Thompson, I wasn’t asking you.”

A shadow of doubt crosses her face before Dylan, from the other side of the table, calls, “Please don’t start again.”

If only he knew what we’re really up to.

The shadows on Nina’s face clear and we exchange a look, both of us fighting back laughter. As we gather up the leftover candy and icing, she casually bumps her shoulder into me, sending sparks shooting up my arm. I had this woman naked, panting underneath me only hours ago and now I’m blushing like a schoolboy at a mere brush of her body against me.

“Later,” I mouth, holding her gaze.

She nods almost imperceptibly, her eyes shining with a promise of what’s coming. I can’t wait for the day to end, for the chance to have her all to myself again.