Chapter 2: Tangled Lights
986 Words
The next morning, snow blanketed everything in thick, silent white. School cancellations flashed across the local news, roads were slick, and Mia texted at nine a.m.:
Mia: Dad says the plows haven’t hit our street yet. Mind if we come over early to help with the tree? He’s going stir-crazy at home.
My stomach flipped.
Me: Of course! Mom’s making spiked hot chocolate. Come whenever.
I hit send, then immediately regretted how eager I sounded.
By eleven, their SUV crunched up the driveway. I watched from the bay window as Damien climbed out first, boots hitting the snow with purpose. He wore a black knit sweater that stretched across his chest and dark jeans that did criminal things to his thighs. Mia hopped out after, bundled in a bright red coat, already chattering about ornament placement.
I opened the door before they could knock.
“Perfect timing,” I said, forcing brightness. “We just dragged the boxes up from the basement.”
Mia barreled past me, kissing my cheek. “You’re a lifesaver. Dad’s been pacing like a caged wolf.”
Damien followed more slowly, snowflakes catching in his lashes. His gaze swept over me—leggings, oversized cream sweater slipping off one shoulder, hair in a messy bun—and lingered on the bare skin at my collarbone.
“Morning, Lila,” he said, voice rough from the cold.
“Morning.” I stepped aside to let him in, and as he passed, his fingers brushed the small of my back. Light. Barely there. But it sent heat streaking straight between my legs.
We migrated to the living room. Mom had Christmas music playing low—Bing Crosby crooning about white Christmases—and the fireplace crackled. Boxes of ornaments lined the floor, strands of lights spilling out like colorful intestines.
Mia dove in immediately, untangling lights with theatrical groans. Damien removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and I nearly swallowed my tongue at the sight of his forearms—corded muscle, faint scars I’d never noticed before, dark hair dusting the skin.
Mom handed out mugs of hot chocolate laced with peppermint schnapps. Damien took his with a quiet thanks, then settled on the hearth, testing light strands with methodical patience.
I tried to focus on ornaments. Failed.
Every time I reached for a high branch, my sweater rode up, exposing a strip of midriff. I felt his eyes on me like a brand. When I bent to pick up a fallen icicle, the leggings stretched tight across my ass, and I swear I heard his inhale—sharp, controlled.
Mia, oblivious, directed traffic. “Lila, you’re taller—can you do the topper? Dad, lift her.”
My heart stopped.
Damien rose without a word, moving behind me. His hands settled on my hips—big, warm, firm.
“Up you go,” he murmured near my ear.
I stepped onto the low stool Mia dragged over, but it wasn’t enough. Damien lifted me easily, like I weighed nothing, hands sliding to my waist. My back brushed his chest; I felt the hard plane of him, the steady thump of his heartbeat.
Higher. The star trembled in my fingers as I reached. His thumbs stroked once—just once—along the skin where my sweater had ridden up. A silent claim.
“Almost there, little one,” he said, so low only I could hear.
I secured the star and he lowered me slowly, deliberately, my body sliding down his until my feet touched the floor. For one endless second, his hands stayed on my waist, fingers flexing possessively.
Then Mia clapped. “Perfect! It’s gorgeous.”
Damien released me and stepped back, expression unreadable.
We spent the next hour hanging ornaments. Mia told stories about childhood Christmases with her mom; Damien listened, quiet, something shadowed in his eyes. I caught him watching me again when Mia stepped out to take a call from work.
We were alone by the tree, fairy lights reflecting in his gray irises.
“You’re shaking,” he observed, voice soft.
“It’s cold.” A lie. The fire was roaring.
He reached out, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His knuckles grazed my cheek. “Liar.”
I couldn’t breathe.
His thumb traced my lower lip, feather-light. “You need to be careful, Lila.”
“With what?” My voice came out husky.
“With looking at me like that.” His eyes darkened. “Like you’re already on your knees.”
Heat flooded me, pooling low and urgent. I swayed toward him without thinking.
The front door slammed—Mia back from her call, stomping snow off her boots.
Damien dropped his hand instantly, turning away to adjust a strand of lights that didn’t need adjusting.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of laughter and cocoa refills. Mia insisted on a group selfie in front of the finished tree; Damien stood behind me, one hand resting on my shoulder—innocent to everyone else. To me, it felt like ownership.
When they finally left around dusk, Mia hugged me tight. “Tomorrow night—ugly sweater dinner at our place? Dad’s actually excited. He found this hideous reindeer thing online.”
I laughed, but my eyes found Damien over her shoulder. He was watching me again, something fierce and hungry in his expression.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
At the door, Mia dashed to the car first. Damien paused, coat in hand.
He leaned in close, lips brushing my ear. “Wear something red tomorrow, little one. I want to watch it come off you in my head all night.”
Then he was gone, taillights fading into the snowy dark.
I closed the door and leaned against it, thighs pressed tight together, pulse thundering.
Five days until Christmas Eve.
I was already ruined.
- Writer
