“You were gonna leave,” I rasp. “And maybe I deserved that. I should’ve said something last night. But I didn’t leave because I regretted it. I left to get you this.”
Her voice cracks. “A tree?”
“A real one. No contest. No cameras. No gimmick. Just somethingreal.” I pause. “Something you won’t want to run from.”
Her lips part. Her fingers tremble.
“Noel…” My voice drops, rough and low. “You made this place feel like Christmas again. You mademefeel like a man again.”
Her breath catches.
And then she’s flying at me—mittens and all—fist pounding into my chest.
“Youidiot!” she cries, punching once, twice. “You disappeared! I thought—” Her voice breaks. “I thought you just wanted sex. I thought I was some glittery trainwreck you regretted!”
I catch her wrists gently, not to stop her—just to feel her. “I could never regret you.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears.
“You leftbefore coffee,Nash.”
I smile, crooked and wrecked. “To find a tree.”
She shoves me once more, then collapses against me.
And then her mouth is on mine.
Not sweet. Not soft.
Desperate.
Teeth. Tongue. Fury. Longing. All of it wrapped up in one feral, soul-splitting kiss that tastes like smoke, snow, and forgiveness.
I groan, clutching her hips, but she pulls back first.
“No,” she pants. “My turn.”
My brows rise. “Your turn?”
She grins like a woman who just decided to commit a felony.
And I’m the victim.
She pushes me back, hard, toward the fire. Her hands yank open my coat, dropping it to the floor, then work at my shirt. The fabric peels away, revealing steam-slicked skin.
“Christ, Noel?—”
“You went caveman this morning,” she says, eyes dark. “Now it’smyturn to make you feel something real.”
I don’t argue.
She pushes me to the rug in front of the fireplace, straddles me in one fluid motion, and pulls her sweater over her head.
No bra.
She’s art. She’s fury. She’s winter wrapped in heat and holiday revenge.
My hands grip her thighs, but she slaps them away.
