Fresh snow falls in lazy spirals under the glow of the streetlamps. My boots crunch against the sidewalk, and the sound of her heels keeps pace with my heart. Everything around us sparkles. Christmas lights adorn every building, wreaths hangin every window, and the holiday music plays in the bar next door.
It all makes me nervous as hell.
Christmas was always our special time. Willow gave herself to me for the first time at Christmas, and it was the best present I ever received. For years, it was the gift that kept giving, then it was gone without warning.
I want my gift back.
Emotions I haven't allowed myself to feel in years lodge in my throat. I glance at Willow and note how she's the same yet different.
She's prettier than I remember.
How is that possible?
Her dark hair spills over her shoulders like she just stepped out of a movie. Pink flushes her cheeks, and she looks up at me like she's pretending she's not feeling what I am, but those eyes say everything her mouth won't. Her blues turn almost hazel, glowing under the streetlamps, seductive yet innocent, flickering with nerves.
After all these years, it still rattles me like it used to.
She has no idea how much power she holds over me.
She pulls her wrap tighter. It curves snugly around her waist, showcasing her ass, triggering my pulse several notches higher. Her jeans mold to her hips, and I swear she wore them on purpose to torment me. It's the kind of outfit that leaves just enough to the imagination, causing a man's blood to pump hotter.
Snippets of our history flash in my mind, one scene at a time. All involve intimate moments between us that I'm determined to experience again.
A gust of snow darts at us, making it harder to move forward. Willow leans closer to me, and I do my best to shield her from the harsh flakes, holding her head against me. My palms sweat despite the thick snowflakes falling everywhere. I forge ahead, leading her toward the truck, my hand gripping the curve of her waist, our breaths visible in the chilly air.
Every step I take reminds me of a gamble I can't afford to lose. She hasn't let me be this close without being angry since I got back. But I'm not a stupid man. I know I haven't yet earned back a permanent spot in her life. So I debate about how to get one. By the time I get to the truck, my heart's wildly thumping against my rib cage, and I'm running on instinct.
I open the passenger door but don't let her climb in. Instead, I turn her toward me, sliding my hand into her hair. My voice comes out low, "Willow. Wait a minute."
The holiday lights cause her features to glow, reminding me of the night she gave me her virginity. Her lips slightly part. The pink flush on her cheeks from the cold deepens. She arches her eyebrows, holding her breath.
God help me.
Before she can duck away from me, I lower my lips to hers. This kiss is different from yesterday's. This time, I take my time, slow and deliberate, reclaiming everything sacred I stupidly lost a long time ago.
To my surprise, she doesn't fight me. She leans into our kiss.
All the aches I've carried since I left resurface. With each shot of pain, I continue to taste her, holding her tighter. My tongue coaxes hers, hungry with all the words I never said and regrets I'll live with forever. My hand curls in her hair, with just enough tension to keep her as close as possible.
She breathes in sharply, then her lips part wider, and I deepen our kiss.
Every whimper and flick of her tongue, I savor. She relaxes more and more until there's no resistance, just a sweet surrender she doesn't even realize she's offering.
Her breathy moan hits my ear. She shivers against my chest, and the cold disappears. She fists my shirt, clawing at my chest, pulling me closer. And I don't know who's been starving more. Me or her.
Her body melts against mine. Her hips shift subtly, as if her subconscious is already giving in to everything her mouth won't admit. Then she moans louder, and it shreds every bit of control I have left.
I move her over two steps so we're in front of the passenger door, then pin her to it.
My breath turns ragged. I nip her bottom lip, then soothe it with my tongue, tugging her hair tighter.
Her hands roam under my jacket, taunting me.
She gasps. "Wyatt?—"
"No," I growl roughly against her mouth. "Not a goddamn word, Willow. Not yet."
Her knees wobble.
