by Lily Menon
Silently, she limped closer and knelt before him on the rug in front of the fire. Even kneeling while he sat, she was smaller than him. “Kiss me, Wolfe,” she whispered.
He didn’t hesitate. His breathing ragged, he reached for her face, big hands cradling her jaw as his mouth closed over hers. Sophie’s hands fumbled with the hem of his sweater, drawing it up and over his head. They were chest to chest now, hot, bare skin against hot, bare skin, his heart thudding so hard and so furiously it felt like it might be in her chest. Sophie ran her hands up his smooth, muscled back as his mouth drifted to her neck, her collarbone, his tongue tracing small circles against her, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin in the hollow of her throat.
Standing and pulling him up with her, Sophie unbuttoned Wolfe’s jeans and helped him out of them. His boxers were next. For a moment, she stood staring at the full length of him—the perfection of him. She still couldn’t get over the fact that under all that bookish sarcasm and literary criticism lay this … this Adonis.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, staring at him.
Wolfe frowned a little. “What?”
Smiling, Sophie shook her head. “Maybe I’ll write you as the sexy hero next time, instead of the villain.”
Wolfe grinned and stepped closer, reaching for her. “That’s right. This is me helping you write future books. You should thank me.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow and tipped her head back to look at him. “I’ll thank you to never refer to me as a ‘Hart attack’ ever again.”
Wolfe laughed softly. “Point taken. That was discourteous of me, Ms. Hart.” He bent toward her mouth, his lips slightly parted, his hands encircling her waist. “Are you sure this is what you want, Sophie?”
In answer, Sophie tugged him back down to the floor again. “I’m sure, Mr. Wolfe,” she said, climbing carefully on top of him. “The more relevant question is, are you ready?”
Looking up at her, Wolfe half smiled, his hazel eyes dark and hooded. “More than.”
He was right; he was more than ready. As Sophie slid herself onto his hard length, both of them gasping as he filled her, Wolfe’s fingers tweaked her nipples. Sophie moaned and pressed harder into him, making his breath catch in his throat. Wolfe’s big, hot hands slid down the silken skin of her stomach, his thumb reaching her most sensitive spot.
Sophie gasped as he began to rub her, keeping rhythm with her movement on top of him. She threw her head back, her hair brushing her lower back, her eyes closed.
“Look at me,” Wolfe growled.
Sophie opened her eyes to find him staring at her in wonder, in lust, his eyes black with desire as they moved together, his fingers coaxing her over the edge. “Wolfe,” she gasped, moving faster, her body trembling.
“Fuck, Sophie,” he groaned. “You’re so wet.”
She gave him a devilish smile and bent forward to nip at his lips. “You have only yourself to blame.” When she tried to pull away, he put his free hand on the back of her head and held her there, taking the kiss deeper as his thumb continued to massage between her legs.
Moments later, they reached the peak together and went over it, Wolfe’s hands tightening around her hips, her fingers digging into the flesh on his biceps. They were both calling out, moaning each other’s names, their voices mingling in the near darkness.
When it was over, Sophie lay against his massive chest, listening to the thundering of his heart.
“Now it all makes sense,” Wolfe said after a couple of minutes, his voice deep and rumbling.
“What does?” Sophie asked, her voice just a touch shaky as she traced a bead of sweat that had rolled down his neck and over his collarbone.
“Why we’ve bickered so much over the years. It was sexual tension.”
“Sexual tension that came through your column and the pages of my books?”
Wolfe squeezed her ass. “That’s how strong it is.”
Laughing, Sophie popped him on the arm. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
He responded by rolling her over and pinning her under him, his strong thighs against hers, his arousal pressing into her lower stomach. “You know, Miss Hart,” he growled, nipping at her bottom lip, “I’m not sure I care right now.”
She grinned. “Round two?”
“Round two and three and four,” Wolfe murmured, bringing his mouth down to hers.
12
Sophie awoke to the knowledge that she felt exceptionally toasty, cozy and warm in a way she never did in the winter, especially not in Starlit Grove. There was only so much her cabin’s thermostat could do to keep winter’s fingers out of the gaps between the old windowpanes and door jambs. Opening her eyes, she realized the cause of the toastiness in question was the very large, inarguably handsome man draped all over her.
No, not just a handsome man. A very handsome Wolfe. Her heart began to pound.
Very carefully, she slid out from under his muscular arm and leg and grabbed the robe she’d so wantonly discarded a few hours ago. Her ankle throbbed, but Sophie wrapped the robe around herself and walked down the hallway until she was safely ensconced in the bathroom. Putting the lid of the toilet down, she sat and buried her head in her hands, her unruly, sex-rumpled hair falling forward and providing a much-needed veil, even if no one could see her shame in here.
What the hell had she done? Sophie raised her head, got up, and studied herself in the mirror. Her mascara had smeared, her lips were still red and puffy from all the kissing they’d done, and her eyes … well, they were bright. Almost shining. And her cheeks had a certain glow to them. As if, in spite of her brain, her body was committed to enjoying all the orgasms she’d had last night after a seemingly never-ending period of fallowness.
And it wasn’t just the physical pleasure. Sophie remembered thinking last night that Wolfe was different from the person she’d expected him to be. She thought she could make this about taking the first step toward saying yes to love. If he was still hung up on Hannah, well, that was okay. Because she’d been so sure this was going to be about her opening herself up to the universe. Ha.
“Who are you kidding?” she asked her wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked reflection. Already visions of her and Wolfe were dancing in her head. The way he’d held her close, the way he’d murmured how beautiful she was, the way he’d said her name. She wanted all of that and she wanted more of it. Not from anyone else, but from Wolfe in particular. Wolfe, who’d just gotten a very confusing text from his ex, Hannah. Wolfe, who probably had no idea of the depth of her feelings and was looking at this as just one night of carnal bliss.
“Uggghhh.” Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. So much for taking the first step toward love. This was going to turn into another heartbreak instead; she could feel it in the air. Why the hell did she have to develop feelings for Evan Wolfe?
There was a quiet knock on the bathroom door, no more than three feet from where she stood. “Everything okay in there?”
Sophie jerked her head around and stared at the door, her pulse picking up. “Yeah!” she said, her voice all squeaky and odd, even to her ears. “Fine! Great!”
“Really?” She could practically see his (in)famous skeptical eyebrow. “Because it doesn’t sound that way.”
Sighing, Sophie yanked the door open to find Wolfe standing there shirtless in his jeans, one hand up on the door jamb. And yes, the skeptical eyebrow, never one to disappoint, was in place. Her eyes unwittingly caressed his painfully perfect torso before traveling back up to meet his hazel eyes. “I’m fine.” She brushed past him and walked to the kitchen.
He followed. “Mm hmm. I can see that.”
As she bustled around filling the coffee maker with water, ignoring the pain in her puffy ankle (something she’d definitely be paying for later), Wolfe stood by the counter with his arms crossed and watched her.
Finally, not able to take the silent staring anymore, Sophie looked up at him, a coffee filter in her hand. He was taking up almost the entirety of the small cab
in kitchen, his chest and shoulders and elbows in her space. She could smell him, cinnamon and cotton and something sleepily, primally male. She tried to keep her breathing shallow. “Move, please. I can’t get to the coffee machine.” Not without brushing my body along yours, anyway. Wolfe took an exaggerated step to the side, but kept staring at her. Finally, Sophie sighed. “What?”
“Nothing.” Wolfe shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders rippling with the movement. “Just watching you be ‘fine.’ It’s pretty entertaining, actually.”
Sophie scowled, jabbed the coffee filter into the machine, and hit the BREW button. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for one, you forgot to put coffee grounds in there.”
Sophie watched as hot water filtered into the clear coffee pot. “Dammit.” She stabbed the button to stop the machine, and a second later, Wolfe’s big hand was over hers.
“Hey,” he said softly, and waited until she met his eye. “What’s going on?”
Sophie pulled her hand out from under his and sighed. “Last night was a mistake.”
A flash of hurt played across his face. “It seemed like you were having a good time.”
Sophie felt her cheeks color. “No, I did. But … I don’t do one-night stands.”
He dipped his head down to look at her. “Who said anything about a one-night stand?”
When she looked at him uncomprehendingly, he added, “I like you, Sophie.”
The gentle, straightforward way he said it brought a lump to her throat, somehow. Something deep inside her yawned open in yearning. Sighing, she limped past him to the window in the dining room. The world was white with snow, pine trees buried under it as far as the eye could see. It was possible to believe, just looking out at the forest, that it was just the two of them in the entire world. Fiddling with the tie on her robe, Sophie spoke quietly as she felt Wolfe come up behind her. “I saw how much Hannah’s text affected you yesterday, Wolfe. I don’t want to be someone who fills in the gap until she convinces you to go back to her. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.”
Wolfe joined her at the window, the sunlight falling in a broad stripe across his torso. “Sometimes things feel right from the beginning, and sometimes they feel completely wrong. Hannah and I were completely wrong; I knew that deep inside. I wasn’t lying when I said yesterday that I’m not going back down that path again.” He stepped closer to her, his eyes riveted on hers. “Did her text affect me? Yes. It affected me, it gave me pause, and it made me realize Hannah means nothing to me anymore. Am I afraid, on some level, to put myself out there again? Hell yes.” He took a deep breath. “But you’re the person I want to put myself out there with, Sophie. You and I … we feel right. We fit. I know you feel it, too.”
Sophie’s heart thudded at his words. She wanted to believe him. She really did. But she’d been hasty before, she’d fallen way, way too fast and look how all of those relationships had played out. She turned away. “This is us—Evan Wolfe and Sophia Hart. How could it ever work? We’re just so … so different.”
“Luuk and Noelle in Dashing through the Snow, Tegan and Riley in The Perfect Match, Priya and Quentin in Love Me Tender.” He was naming characters in her books who were complete opposites of each other and had ended up happily ever after. He remembered them all. Sophie looked back at Wolfe to see a lopsided smile play across his mouth, making her breath catch. “So why not us?”
Sophie looked down at her feet. “I’ve been hurt a lot.”
Wolfe placed a gentle finger under her chin and raised her head so she was looking at him. “I would never hurt you. Never.” There was fire in his words, a thrum of emotion that made her knees go soft.
Sophie took a breath.
Everything inside her was saying—actually, yelling—an enthusiastic yes. Yes to Wolfe. Yes to wherever this might go. Yes to this potential Christmas present from the universe.
But that was it; this was too big a decision to make without some guidance. Sophie had jumped headlong into relationships without a second thought before, and look where that had got her. Gazing up at Wolfe, she bit her lower lip. “Um … will you walk outside with me?”
Wolfe frowned, confused. “Outside? I mean, yes, of course I will, but—”
Sophie grabbed his hand. “Good. Then let’s go.”
13
They stood at the edge of the forest, bundled into their coats and scarves and boots. Winter scented the air: pine trees and clean snow and just a hint of woodsmoke from Sophie’s chimney.
Wolfe considered Sophie in the blue-gold light of early morning, but didn’t say anything. It was like he knew she was up to something important, even if he didn’t know exactly what. A crisp breeze swirled around them, lifting strands of his thick dark hair.
Sophie turned to face forward. Surrounded by towering pines and cradled by snow, she closed her eyes. Okay, universe. I really, really like this man. He’s kind, he’s obnoxious in the best way, and he’s as obsessed with books as I am. Sounds pretty perfect, I know. But you and I are both aware what a spectacular train wreck my past romantic life has been. So right now, between you and me … I could really use a sign. Show me I’m on the right path.
Sophie opened her eyes, took a breath—and that’s when she saw it. Sophie gasped.
Wolfe, respectfully silent until now, frowned down at her. “Are you all right?”
Wordlessly, Sophie pointed, and Wolfe turned to follow her gaze.
About fifty yards away in a thicket of spruces was a gray wolf, virtually unheard of in this part of the state. Its blue eyes were locked on Sophie and Wolfe, but that wasn’t the only thing that had caught Sophie’s attention.
“It’s beautiful,” Wolfe murmured.
“Look at its forehead,” Sophie said, unable to keep the trembling breathlessness out of her voice.
It took Wolfe a moment to see what she’d seen. Once he noticed it, he said, his voice imbued with wonder, “It’s a heart.”
On the wolf’s forehead was a perfectly shaped black heart, as if someone had drawn it on with marker. Sophie continued to stare at the wolf, and it continued to stare back. “Do you know what that is?”
Shaking his head, Wolfe looked at her. “What?”
Sophie grinned as the wolf sniffed the air. “An unambiguous sign. That, dear Wolfe, is a wolf with a heart.” She raised an eyebrow at Wolfe’s confused expression. “Wolfe-Hart?”
Wolfe looked at her seriously for a long moment—long enough that she began to be afraid he didn’t get it at all. But then he began to laugh. “Wolfe-Hart,” he repeated, his eyes bright and almost blue in the morning light. The wolf, hearing his laughter, took off through the trees, disappearing in an instant. “I mean, I have to admit … gray wolves are rare enough in these parts, but to find one with a perfect heart on its head?” He shook his head. “That’s pretty incredible.”
Smiling, Sophie stepped close to him and put her arms around his waist. “I think so, too. I just asked the universe for a sign that I was on the right path with you, and…” She shook her head. “Wow. There it is.”
“There it is,” Wolfe repeated, his eyes crinkled in the corners. Then, solemnly, looking down at her, he added, “So … What does this mean for us?””
“What it means, Mr. Wolfe,” Sophie said, rising on her tiptoes to meet his lips with hers, “is that we’re about to have a very merry Christmas.”
“Not just that,” he murmured against her mouth, his arms snaking around her and pulling her tight, “but a very merry, magical Christmas.”
This is it, Sophie thought. A happy ending better than anything I could’ve written.
A cascade of howls sounded through the forest, as if the universe couldn’t agree more.
Read on for a sneak peak of
Make Up Break Up
Coming in 2021
chapter one
“Detest” was a very strong word. So were “abhor” and “despise” and “loathe.” Annika, being a pacifist, preferred a differ
ent term—something her yoga teacher had said that struck a much more civil chord.
“I am elementally unaligned with you, Hudson Craft,” she muttered, staring at his picture on the Tech Buzz magazine website. Her right hand was curled so tightly around her wireless mouse that the opalescent white plastic creaked in protest. “Completely and utterly elementally unaligned.”
They were calling him “the hottest tech entrepreneur who doesn’t believe in true love.” It was like a train wreck you couldn’t help but stare at. A gratuitously handsome, Harvard-educated, blond train wreck who had (probably) stolen her idea.
Also, that magazine feature was supposed to be hers.
When the journalist had called to interview Annika, she’d assumed she was going to be the feature. Instead, this was her big mention: “‘Relationships are the new frontier as far as the tech sector goes,’ a local businesswoman agrees.”
That was it. That was all of it. Not only was there no mention of her business Make Up at all but Annika had been reduced to an anonymous “local businesswoman,” just propping up Hudson Craft in all his amazing amazingness.
“Arrrrghhhh.” Annika reached into her desk drawer to browse her stable of stress tools, all neatly organized using drawer separators. Mini Zen garden? Multicolored breathing sphere? Singing bowl? No, today called for something much more basic.
She grabbed the unicorn-zombie-shaped stress ball she’d lovingly named ZeeZee (he’d been a white elephant gift from one of her friends at yoga; when you squeezed him, his green brains squirted out between your fingers) and shut her drawer slightly harder than she meant to.
Spoil the ending to his book, Annika said to herself, aggressively kneading ZeeZee’s brain. Designer virus to his email address. Glitter bomb that’ll take days to rinse out of his stupid golden hair. She hadn’t seen him since Las Vegas last year, but she could renew their acquaintance in a way he wouldn’t easily forget.
