Page 90 of Snowed Inn

And just like that—

I know.

I am falling for him.

Chapter 33

We pull away from each other just long enough for Jesse to ask, “What do you want, Maria?”

Reaching up, I cup the side of his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of his stubble, the heat radiating from his skin. “I only know I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave either,” he replies.

“We can do this, right?” I say, like I’m trying to convince him and myself. “Just one night? Casual?”

“We can figure everything out tomorrow,” he offers.

Tomorrow.

For a split second, Trevor flashes through my mind—the guy who once looked like everything I wanted, right up until he wasn’t. I’d sworn I’d never hand that kind of power to anyone again.

And yet here I am, teetering at the edge with Jesse, like I didn’t learn a damn thing.

Except my hands are already sliding down his shirtfront. They reach his belt buckle, trembling with anticipation. Right now, I don’t give a damn about my past.

Jesse’s breath catches.

“Sounds good to me,” I reply.

That’s all it takes. His mouth is on mine, any chance of hesitation gone.

The kiss is hungry, demanding—like we’ve both been holding back for too long. I sink into him, my fingers threading through his hair, my body pressing against his like I can’t get close enough.

His hands roam, sliding beneath the hem of my dress, his fingers leaving fire in their wake. When he groans into my mouth, I feel it everywhere—deep, hot, aching.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down my neck, his voice like gravel and heat. “Oh, who am I kidding . . . all week.”

I shudder, gripping his shoulders as he pulls me down onto his lap on the couch.

“Jesse—”

“Tell me what you want,” he murmers against my skin, his hands moving up my short skirt, tightening on my thighs.

I grin, tilting my hips just enough to make him exhale sharply. “I think you already know.”

A low, rough sound rumbles in his chest before he lifts me effortlessly, standing and carrying me toward the bedroom.

I laugh, slightly breathless, as he kicks the door shut behind us. “You’re eager,” I say.

“You have no idea,” he mutters, gently setting me down on the bed and kicking off his shoes before crawling over me.

His lips find mine again, deeper this time, slower—like he’s savoring the moment. His hands slide down my sides, making quick work of the zipper on my dress. The fabric slips down, pooling around my waist, and I arch into him, craving more.

The second my dress is off, Jesse’s lips begin a slow, torturous descent down my body—kissing, tasting, worshipping.

He tosses the dress aside. It’s designer and I don’t even care. Because when his mouth finally moves between my thighs, I forget everything—my name, my flight, the fact that this was never supposed to happen.

All I know is him.