And now, he was no one to her. Just a memory that wouldn’t fade, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. All good.
“Right.” She lowered her gaze but staring at his chest, seeing he’d added new tattoos to his right pec that she didn’t have the time, or the right, to explore, she looked down at his feet. Because feet were absolutely, 100 percent, not sexy. Except for Nick King’s.
His thumb grazed her jaw as his fingers touched under her chin, lifting it. Everything in her wanted to step into the touch; cherish it.
“This is unexpected,” he said.
He wasn’t allowed to look at her like he cared. Not when he’d walked out. Not when he’d turned one of the greatest nights of her life into a jaggedly painful memory.
She shifted her face, looked away to gather her strength, then met his gaze feeling more determined.
“Yeah. Sort of like the Grinch stealing Christmas.”
Instead of shutting him down, like she’d hoped, Nick laughed, shaking his head like she was both charming and amusing.
“It’s not funny,” she said through clenched teeth.
Nick just stared at her then stepped away, walked to the door that obviously led to his bedroom. Stupid Jack and Jill bathroom. She was so locking that for the rest of the trip.
He turned back at the door, his eyes tracking over her before landing on her face. “You know, in the end, everyone loves the Grinch. He’s a changed man. Or, whatever.”
Maisie scowled. “Maybe, but he started with a heart that was too small. You started without one entirely.”
The hint of a smile left his stupidly handsome face. His lips tightened and his gaze dimmed. He turned back, walking over to her in the towel that did nothing to hide him and everything to make her want him more.
Taking her hand, he pressed it against his chest. She felt the gentle thump-thump of his heartbeat amping up; thumpthumpthump. His breath quickened like her pulse.
“It’s there,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “Just a little out of practice.”
When his eyes moved to her lips, the air around them buzzed with energy. Or maybe that was her body buzzing.
The smallest of smiles lifted his mouth and he stepped back, not dropping her hand until he had no choice but to let go, his fingertips kissing hers.
She watched him walk through the door that connected to his own room, heard the click as he shut it and disappeared from view, felt the absence of his body heat, and could still smell the crisp, fresh scent of soap and Nick. Despite every one of those things, Maisie couldn’t believe the moment was real. She hurried into her own room to pull on some clothing. Cotton barriers that would be useless toward stopping her feelings.
Leaning against the dresser, oddly short of breath, thoughts collided in her brain like amateur skaters on ice. It looked like Santa was giving her confusion and longing wrapped in the sexiest package ever this Christmas.
Socks would have been safer, Santa. At least for my heart.
Chapter Four
NICK YANKED A WORN,blue San Jose Guardians T-shirt over his head with so much impatience, it took him a second to realize it was backward. He fixed it, yanked it down his slightly still-damp body, and stared at the door.Holy shit.He’d put it together a couple of hours ago, which should have given him time to brace himself against whatever reaction he might have to seeing her again. But fuck. He didn’t expect her to seeallof him or to have that look in her eyes like she too had remembered every single second of being together. Like he was her long-lost fantasy come to life. Hehadexpected the fire in her gaze. He deserved her anger. But the rest of it, her voice, her face, her eyes, just being in the same room with her, hit him in a way he never expected.
Nick didnotbelieve in karma or fate any more than he believed in Santa Claus, but seeing Maisie again, after agonizing months of trying to get her out of his head, felt like… a sign.
A light in the really dark tunnel he’d been lost in lately. A buoy just when he’d been sure he was about to sink. On top of rehabbing his knee, worrying about his sister and Asher, and trying to make the biggest decision of his career, he’d been inundated with thoughts of Maisie Smart. He’d tried drowning them out with hockey, brutal workouts, music, whiskey, beer, friends… didn’t matter. Nothing he did washed away the memory of her; the way he felt when he was with her, or more important, what a bastard he felt like for walking out. Not his finest moment.
And in betweenallof that, he’d started seeing a therapist for his anxiety. He hadn’t told anyone other than his coach yet, not even Ellie. Not because he was ashamed but because he didn’t understand why he couldn’t get a grip on it; why it came and went like an unwanted drop-in guest. And because he didn’t want his team or other coaches worrying about him any more than they already were.
He sighed heavily, pushing all the air out of his lungs. The memory of her gaze, the quick intake of breath made the past and present merge so fucking hard that he knew, with a certainty he’d only known a couple of other things in his life, whatever this was between them, it wasn’t over. It wasn’t finished. It was something he’d never known and he couldn’t lie to himself about it when all he wanted to do was drag her against him and kiss the hell out of her.
Maisie would need to stop sending him death daggers for that to happen and he’d need to try to explain things, make up for past wrongs. His sister would say Christmas was the perfect time for magic. He’d need nothing less to make Maisie Smart forgive him for being such a complete ass.
When he stepped into the doorway of her room—he’d heard the shower shut off and knew she wasn’t in the bathroom—his heart twisted in his chest. She’d put on a hoodie and sweatpants and now sat on the edge of the bed, her head down, her shoulder-length, dark hair falling forward.
When she glanced up, his chest tightened like it was locked in a vise. She looked like she might cry.Fuck.He had to physically restrain himself from rushing over to her, dropping to his knees, and pulling her into a hug. He had no right to do that, no matter how much he wanted to. He should let her stay mad. It was easier that way. Let her hate him. His life was more complicated now than when they’d met.
Instead, he walked over in slow, measured steps, crouched in front of her, curling his fingers into his palms.
