Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty (Festive Flames)
Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty: Chapter 14

I haven’t ice skated since I was a child, but after Lily’s invitation, I spent the rest of the night scrolling online for a pair of skates. She told me there were skates to rent at the rink, but I want to impress her.

I’m not sure why I chose to pretend I know what I’m doing on the ice, but I want to make sure the day goes well so that she will invite me out again.

And again.

It turns out that shopping for ice skates is rather complicated when you have no idea what you are doing. From the material to the thickness and curve of the blade, I’m completely lost. Shopping for skates turns into a two-hour deep dive into all the different aspects of ice skates and their history. That, in turn, leads to spending far too long watching ice skating tutorial videos that leave me feeling far more confident that I should.

All I need to do is balance, keep my toes slightly forward, and don’t fall. All the people in the videos make it look so easy that I’m sure Lily will be none the wiser as soon as we hit the ice.

When I wander my hotel room to get more wine, I practice balancing on my toes like one of the beginner videos advised, and I’m successful. The wine could be aiding my confidence, but by the time eleven p.m. rolls around, I’m certain I can whisk Lily off her feet on the ice and have her utterly in awe of my skills.

I will do anything, really, to get her to look at me. My heart goes out to her about the bakery break-in, and just a single thought of Mark is enough to raise my irritation, but I will put up with all of that for her.

Lily.

She consumes me. Her face floats in my mind as I drain my third wine glass and contemplate calling in sick tomorrow so I can help her with the bakery.

I can’t. Responsibility looms over me like a shadow, and Margret has my balls in a vise. I can’t rock the boat at work, but maybe I can visit Lily after my shift and see if she needs any more help.

Glass empty, I drag myself forward out of the comfortable nook of pillows I’d created, and I’m about to head to bed when a familiar ringtone fills the air.

My light heart suddenly plummets to my gut as I glance at the screen.

Bernice. My ex-fiancée.

She’s a lovely woman, but we never clicked. I never held much affection for her, never mind love, but she’s the daughter of one of my mother’s friends and our engagement had been on the cards while I was still in college. It was a match made in rich-blood heaven and we were expected to go along with it because that’s just how things worked.

People as rich as us don’t marry for love. They marry for financial security and reputation.

I contemplate ignoring the call, but unlike my mother, Bernice hasn’t been calling as often.

Fuck it.

“Hello? Bernice?”

“Hi, James.” Her soft voice tickles my ear and my chest tightens.

I haven’t heard from her in six months, ignoring her calls much like my mother’s, but she sounds exactly the same as when I left. The single call she made after she found the note calling off the engagement had been short and sweet. Somewhat understanding.

“Bernice.” I lean forward and rest my elbow on my knee. “You’re calling late.”

“I thought it might be easier to catch you at this time,” she says. “I hosted your mother for lunch today, and she had a few choice things to say.”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“She tells me you want to get back together.”

I lower my head and rub my eyes with my fingers. “She’s lying.”

“Is she?” Bernice chuckles softly. “She was pretty convincing. Told me you were acting out because of your father’s death, and that all of this was a cry for help. She said you were days away from a breakdown, and all you wanted was for me to come to you and forgive you.”

“Do you believe her?”

Bernice sighs and remains silent for a long time. Nothing breaks that silence other than the oddly loud ticking of my watch.

“Did you replace her?” Bernice asks instead.

“Who?”

“Oh, come on, James. You think a girl can’t tell when her man is in love with another woman? Are you with her right now?”

Despite her rather delicate way of floating through life, Bernice was always sharper than she let on. I smile softly and shake my head. “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Her lips pop slightly. “I know we didn’t love each other, but that hardly matters in our lives, does it? No one loves anyone except their kids. That’s just how it is. But you were different, James. I know you were trying to please your mother, and your father, and every other person who had designs on the great James Anderson, but I could see through it. You were always yearning for someone.”

“It’s not what you think.” I lift my head, lazily staring around my hotel room while looking at nothing. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I loved her before I even met you.” Saying those words out loud feels damming.

“And yet you chose me.”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what is it, James?” Bernice snaps, and the silky softness vanishes from her voice. “I think I deserve to know.”

“I was young. My parents convinced me that I was too stupid to understand life and that I had to work in the family business. You know what it’s like, Bernice. You have no breathing room. I wanted to contact her again, but she never reached out to me. I thought she was glad to be rid of me.”

“Then why run halfway across the country to see her after seven years?”

My lips part but I can’t speak. There’s no way I can explain the sudden, powerful urge to see Lily that overwhelmed me after my father died. I just knew, in my heart of hearts, that seeing her would make everything okay for a little while.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I say eventually.

“Wouldn’t I?” Bernice says. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me? The looks and the whispers and the sneers because my fiancé ran out on me? People keep asking what I did to scare you away as if I’m secretly some terrible person you simply could not stand. I nearly told people you were sick in the head just to save face.”

“Tell them that.” I sigh. “I’m never coming back, so tell them whatever you need to. Make yourself look good, Bernice.”

“I can’t,” Bernice says. “Because deep down, I know I was just an obligation to you, and you were to me, and had I had the guts, I would have done the same.”

“Do the same,” I tell her. “Do whatever you want to do, but don’t listen to my mother. I don’t love you. I never did. I don’t want to be with you, and I’m not yearning for you. And I know you feel the same.” It sounds harsh, but we both know the truth.

We’ve always known. I just got tired of pretending.

“Besides, I know you had feelings for the coffee guy around the corner.”

Bernice gasps softly. “I did not.”

“You can’t lie to me, Bernice. I knew you liked him and I didn’t care. He made you happy. So go and be happy. Ask him out.”

“My mother would enter the grave right in front of me.”

“Would she?” I scoff softly. “You’re the jilted fiancée of James Anderson. I’m pretty sure anything you do now will look good after the mess I’ve left.”

Bernice is silent for a few minutes. “So, you’ve really moved on?”

“Yes,” I say as my thoughts turn back to Lily. “I have.”

“Are you happy?”

“No. But I’m working on it.”

She pauses, then I hear a deep sigh. “Goodbye, James.”

“Goodbye, Bernice.”

My room is silent and cold once the call ends. My past continues to creep up, though it’s my own fault for leaving that mess so abruptly. Talking to Bernice was oddly freeing, though. I’d avoided talking to her properly because while I knew her feelings lay elsewhere, Bernice was fueled by a much deeper family loyalty than I ever was.

I half expected her to come here and drag me back.

Instead, she accepts my choice.

I slowly rotate my phone in my hands, mulling over our conversation until exhaustion forces a deep yawn out of me. I tidy up, shower quickly, and crawl into bed with a deep, satisfied sigh.

I’m free to pursue Lily. Truly free. To whatever end this path takes me.

Thinking about her immediately gets me hot under the collar, lulled by the easy thoughts fueled by my three glasses of wine. That kiss at the auction is still crystal clear in my mind. I wanted more.

I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her until we were both breathless and gasping for air. I ache to feel her soft skin underneath my fingertips, hear her breathy moans in my ear as I lavish attention over her neck, and taste the flutter of her rapid pulse beneath my tongue.

My cock swells at the thought, and I groan softly, wrapping both my arms around a pillow and pressing my face into the fluff as I grind my hips down onto the bed.

She would melt for me just like she did all those years ago. As my mind runs, I recall how she looked half in that dress. Inches of beautiful skin for me to kiss and taste.

Does she still like having her neck bitten? She used to love that and I’d take pride in leaving love bites all over her throat. Does she still melt when having her nipples sucked? Is she still ticklish on the left side of her ribs?

I have countless fond memories of Lily bursting into giggles while I was fucking her because she was so extremely ticklish. I smile at the thought, and my cock throbs. Tickling her became a game because her laugh was music to my ears, and she would tighten around my cock each time she tried to squirm away from my fingers.

Sex with Lily was fun. It was hot and rampant and addicting, and it was fun.

I can’t resist any longer. I take my length in hand and let the memories flow. I know she tastes the same because the phantom of her kiss still lingers on my lips. I ache for the bite of her nails in the flesh of my shoulders as I fuck her hard enough to make her scream. I want her legs around my waist, her hair in my face as I bury into her neck.

I need her silken heat locked around my cock, need the sweetness of her juices flooding my tongue, and I need to hear those sexy, delicate whimpers that would escape her every single time she was close to orgasm. It was her tell, and my chance to drag out her pleasure or pound into her until she shook apart in my arms.

I come with a muffled cry, spilling my seed across the bed without a single thought of cleaning.

Fucking hell.

I don’t even know if she wants me, and I am utterly hooked.

Rolling onto my back, I release a low, satisfied groan.

I will make her mine.

I swear it.