Each one is appealing in its own right.
However, one makes me sadder than the other.
“That’s a long way from now,” I say noncommittally. “Besides, I’m sure you’re extremely busy at work.”
“Work isn’t going to be a problem between you and I.”
With past experience, I’m finding that hard to believe. Yet, Bronte isn’t Bobby, and comparing the two is like comparing apples and oranges.
“It might be for me,” I impart. “I’m always on the go.”
“You’re home by eight, and I’m perfectly capable of having dinner waiting for you and being home. Work doesn’t control me, and what I want to do with my life.”
That…sounds nice.
Perfect, even.
Too perfect.
Before I can work my brain too deeply into what that would look like and my impending decision that I have to make when we get home in less than two days, Bronte bumps my body lightly with his chest and presses my spine into my abandoned horse.
“About those memories,” he mutters in this deep and delicious tone. “I’d like tokiss my wife.”
I know he’s waiting for a response. An ask. But I can’t commit to this man because I don’t know how I’m going to feel back in the States.
And the last thing I want to do is lead him on after everything he’s done for me.
So, instead, I rise on my tiptoes, latch onto his waist, and press a simple kiss to his lips.
He takes it in stride, cupping one of my cheeks and taking what I freely offer him. But when I feel his mouth opening wider to coax mine open, I can’t help but follow where he’s taking me.
Within seconds, his tongue is sliding past my lips and tasting me in torturously slow and steady strokes. My body blazes in immediate need underneath my puffy jacket, craving more of what we could do underneath these lights, in Prague, on Christmas.
However, getting arrested in a foreign country, on my favorite holiday, for indecent exposure might cost Bronte more than what he bargained for.
Not that I think he’d mind.
“We’d better stop,” I mutter softly against his lips, honestly, more for me than him. “Or you’re going to start getting ideas.”
“What kind of ideas?”
Ha.
This man takes me for someone who’s going to rebel against the law, but I’m too fidgety to sit in a jail cell, and doing it on Christmas will definitely be a bummer.
“You know exactly what ideas I’m talking about,” I lightly chide. “You said I’d catch pneumonia.”
Bronte captures my lips again, pulling at my bottom one slightly to urge me even closer. Then says, “It’s not that cold.”
My mouth cracks into a full-blown smile because, this man…he’s going to either be the best thing that ever happened to me.
Or my worst emotional nightmare.
“You wanna get inside?” he asks me gently. “I think a warmshower and another Christmas movie are in the books for you and I.”
I nod. “That sounds nice.”
Bronte kisses me again and inquires, “What do you want to do on your last day tomorrow?”
