“Me too, Vixen. Me. Too.” I take her other hand in mine and pull her in closer to me. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“Tell me,” she breathes.
I slide my hand into her hair and step in closer still. “You’re beautiful in a way that blindsides a guy. Not just because of your face—though that alone could ruin me—but because you’re vibrant and unpredictable, like the whole season wrapped into one woman. You’ve got that Christmas kind of magic … the kind that pulls a man in, warms him up, and makes him want more. It’s the kind of beauty someone doesn’t forget.”
“Hey. You gonna buy that, lady?” The vendor interrupts us.
Still holding my gaze, she answers him, “Yep. I’ll take this one and this one.” She pulls away from me and holds out an ornament of the Rockefeller tree.
“Which one is mine?” I point to her hand.
“The apple is yours. The tree is mine—because that’s the first time I noticed the green in your eyes, and they shimmered in the light of the tree, and I didn’t want to look away.” Her teeth graze her lip.
“And I get the apple because you’re?—”
“Bold, bright, and impossible to ignore.” She lifts a shoulder.
“I was thinking because you’re too tempting not to want to take a bite out of.”
I let out a groan, and she smiles, then ducks her head and walks over to the vendor.
“That’ll be thirty,” the guy says.
“I’ll get it.” I walk over, pull out forty bucks, and hand it to the guy.
“Oh, wait, one more thing.” She grabs a Santa hat off another stand.
“Twenty,” the vendor says.
“Twenty? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She puts her hands on her hips and huffs.
“I got it. Here you go, buddy.” I hand him another twenty. “Keep the change. Merry Christmas.” I nod, then reach for her hand. “Let’s go, my little Vixen.”
As we walk, she starts to laugh. “You just got ripped off. We could have gotten that same hat at Duane Reade for half that price.”
“Ah, who cares? And you picked it up, not me!” I wrap my arm around her waist and tickle her side.
She giggles and squirms away from me. “No tickling!”
“Okay, let’s go find this carriage.” I wrap my arm around her again, and we continue to walk.
“Oh! There’s one!” She points to an all-black carriage with a red seat bench and a gorgeous black horse. There are white lights attached to the carriage and along the harness. We walk over to it, and she asks the driver, “Are you taking rides?”
“I sure am. Hop on in.” He waves his arm toward the carriage with a wide smile. “I’m Frank, and I’ll be your driver tonight.” He looks at me. “Hey, don’t I know you?”
I don’t really want to be rude, but I also don’t want to be talking about football the whole time with the driver, so I just smile and wink at him. “Thanks for the ride.”
I guide her over to the step and hold her hand. “My lady.”
“Thank you,” she says, then places a kiss on my cheek before she climbs into the carriage.
I can feel the heat from her lips, even after she pulls away.
Once she takes a seat, I climb up and settle beside her. I drape my arm along the back of the bench, hand resting on her shoulder, and pull her a little closer, letting her lean into me. I think I hear a quiet sigh, but it could just be the horse’shooves clopping over the pavement. Either way, it hits me—I love having this woman in my arms.
Her warmth presses against me, soft and solid at the same time, and the faint scent of her wraps around me. My chest tightens in that way that makes me want to hold her closer, to feel her even more. Everything else—the cold, the noise, the moving horse—blurs into the background. Frank rattles off the route he’s taking around the park, but I barely register the words.
All I can focus on is her—the way she fits perfectly against me, the subtle weight of her body molded to mine, the heat of her skin against my arm. My pulse jumps every time she shifts just enough to brush against me, and a low, dangerous thought slides through my head: I don’t want to let go, not now, not ever.
