Page 35 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“We should probably walk home. It’s late.” Rory draws me from my spiraling thoughts. She’s no longer looking at her boots and she’s sucked her lip between her teeth again. Heat licks at my chest, and I force myself to look away.
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse. “Need to relieve the sitter.”
If nothing else will sober me, the thought of my daughter asleep back in our condo while I stand here panting after mauling Rory sure will.
“Breck?” Rory’s voice is quiet and timid, and her eyes have flicked back to the ground. Can she see the regret on my face? No, because I don’t regret it, not exactly. I’m honestly not sure what I’m feeling right now.
“Yeah?”
“Nothing,” she says, but I know it’s not nothing. “Let’s go.” She turns away, taking a step toward the street.
I reach for her hand, grabbing it tightly and making her face me. I push a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, then I run my fingers along her jaw until they rest at her chin and tip it up.
“It’s not nothing, Rory.” I hold her gaze, wanting to run my thumb over her bottom lip. It’s swollen, anddamndoes that do something to me.
“Are you going to tell Wes?” She straightens her shoulders, a hint of defiance snaking through the uncertainty.
“Do you want me to tell him?”
“No. I don’t. Is that going to be a problem for you?” Her voice is steady, the fire she hit me with in the gondola coming back.
“If it’s not a problem for you, then it’s not a problem for me. He doesn’t need to know our personal business.” A hint of a smile lifts the corner of her lips and I relax my grip on her chin. She nods and steps back, my hand falling away completely. She grabs it and tugs me along toward the street and through the crowds of people.
Leaning down close to her ear, I whisper, “Happy New Year, Rory.”
The lights from the casino cast a bluish tint to her cheeks, but it’s not enough to hide her flush or her freckles that stand out a little more prominently. Damn, I really like those freckles. I like the way she smiles too when she says, “Happy New Year, Breck.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rory
There’s a loud pounding in my head. That tequila shot was maybe not my best idea… or maybe it was. I run my tongue over my bottom lip. It’s not as kiss-swollen as it was last night, but considering it’s only—
I glance at my clock and see it’s eight a.m. Ugh. I’ve been in bed for less than 7 hours… why am I awake? The pounding resumes and I realize it’s not inside my head but at my door. For the love of all that is holy, isn’t there a rule against knocking on someone’s door at eight o’clock the morning after New Year’s?
I roll over, hiding my face in the pillow to drown out the pounding. For goodness’ sake. I sit up, smacking my hands down beside me on the heavy down comforter. It better be a freaking emergency. I push my feet into my white fuzzy slippers, then I stomp down every single step to the main landing.
Swinging open the door with a huff, I almost stumble into Jamie. There’s a wicked grin on his face and two paper cups held in his gloved hands. I give him my best glare and stand aside to let him in.
“What are you doing here, Jameson?” I lace my words with venom, but the smell of coffee wafts behind him and my brain gives up on the missed sleep.
“Oooh, feeling a little snippy this morning, are you, Roars?” he teases.
I growl at him—like, literally growl. He knows I hate that nickname. Jamie might be as good as family, but that’s crossing the line.
“I thought you might be in a better mood this morning…” His eyes trail down my pajamas and back up to my messy hair. “Considering the night you had.”
I narrow my eyes and reach for the cup in his hand, but he pulls it away—hovering it above his head. Stupid tall man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, it just seemed like you and a particular Aussie were having a rather enjoyable time.”
I blanch, stumbling mid-jump for the cup. “What?” I let out a sound that sits somewhere between a croak and a squeak.
“Rory, Rory, Rory,” he chides, dipping his eyebrows and smirking. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep an eye on you? We both know the kind of creatures this town sees during the holidays.”
Shifting my gaze away, I chew the edge of my thumb. Busted.
“You saw the shots?” I flick my eyes up, and his grin is knowing. Smug bastard. I slap his chest. “Jamie! Just tell me what you saw. And give me my coffee.”
