Ready or Not (Aspen Ridge Holiday Novellas)

5. Wes

Chapter Five

WES

T he line inches forward as she studies me. When the silence goes on for a bit too long, I speak up. “What’s that look for?” I ask, pulling her from her thoughts. Her cheeks are flushed in a gorgeous pink that isn’t from the chilly night air. It looks a whole hell of a lot like arousal, and fuck if that doesn’t excite me.

“Nothing, just surprised, I guess. That’s a perfect way to look at the changing seasons. Way to change my outlook, Mr. Draven.”

“Please don’t call me, Mr. Draven, Lilith.”

“Well, if I don’t call you Wes and I don’t call you Mr. Draven, what should I call you?”

Daddy.

“Wes will do. It isn’t weird. Calling me Mr. Draven feels weird.”

“Fine, I give in, Wes.”

You will in time.

We reach the booth and order two spiced apple ciders plus two apple cinnamon donuts, and find a spot at a free picnic table. When she sets her bag on top of the table, a single rose tumbles out, and my lips twitch in satisfaction. She picks it up quickly, pushing it back into her bag and wincing. I look down at her hand, a red drop pooling on the pad of her thumb. She lifts her hand toward her mouth when my hand shoots out around her wrist, pulling it to me. Her eyelids lower as she watches me, tracking my movement. It takes every ounce of restraint not to bring her finger to my lips and lick it clean of her lifeblood. Instead, I take one of the napkins and press it down onto the cut.

“Secret admirer? That’s a very clear sign of love from the giver,” I tease, watching the spot on the napkin that turns bright red. I fold the napkin once more and lay it down again, holding pressure on her small wound. In theory, she’s absolutely fine, no one ever died from a thorn prick, but I’ll use any excuse to touch her, to let her feel my touch.

“You’re a private investigator, right?” she asks out of nowhere.

“I am.”

“What do you know about . . .” She stops talking and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, hesitating. I give her hand a little shake, pulling her attention back to me.

“What do I know about what, Lilith? Ask.” Ask me anything.

“Nothing, it’s silly. The creepiness of the season has gone to my head.”

“There’s nothing wrong with giving in to the spookiness of the season. How is your cider?”

“Delicious, better than anything. Yours?”

“It’s good. But I can think of a few things that taste better.”

Your pussy.

Her face flushes, the light of the lantern illuminating the glow of the color rising on her flesh.

“There you are!” a female screeches from across the street, looking directly at Lilith.

“My best friend, Emma. I should probably go. Thank you for this, Wes,” she says as her face blushes again and she gives me a devilish smile.

“I’ll see you soon, Lilith.”

Tonight, while you sleep in your bed.