Shit. I had, hadn’t I? I stood, slugged the drink back and set it on Dad’s desk.
“You’re right. Better go.”
“Sneak out the back. I’ll explain to your mother.” Dad rose slowly and put his hand on my shoulder. When had my hands gotten bigger than his? “Don’t wait nine months before coming next time. And bring Christa.”
Maybe I’d do that.
37
Christa
Someone pounded at the door and I almost dropped the plate I was drying. I put it down, carefully. It was him. Had to be. Who else could it be?
And, because I had absolutely no pride when it came to Micah Graham, I ran to the door and threw it open. “You’re ba—”
I was dangling from his arms before I could finish the sentence, his lips hot on mine. He devoured me like he’d never get another chance. Like this was it.
And thiswasit. Itwas.
He eventually pulled away, probably to breathe or something, and let me slide to my feet, keeping me warm in his embrace.
“Couldn’t stay away.” The words were hot puffs on my mouth. “Don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to, either, Micah.”
“Good. Good.” He nodded, and I noticed how cold the tip of his nose was against my cheek.
“Come inside.” I turned, paused and looked at him over my shoulder. “Stay the night.”
“Oh, no. Your gran’s place. I’m not—”
“What? What? Oh, don’t mind us,” Gran called, emerging from the hall in a rush. “We’ll give you some privacy.”
I flushed red as a beet at the sly expression on her face. It took a few seconds to realize that she and Gus were quickly suiting up to go outside. As if they’d been waiting for an excuse to be on their own again.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“We’re leaving you the house.” She wrapped a scarf around her mouth. “End of discussion.” The words came out muffled, but final.
“Okay, Gran.”
“And your dogs are welcome to stay, too, Micah. Too cold for them out there.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Alice,” she corrected before wishing us a happy Christmas, with an extra-long hug for both of us. Micah and I watched them disappear into the cozy, streetlamp-lit snow scene.
The door shut and, while the dogs performed a thorough investigation of the house, Micah and I stood by the door. It was awkward in the silence of this house that wasn’t even mine, with this man who’d come back for me, this man I’d only just met, but who felt like he’d somehow looked into my soul.
I turned toward the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink or—”
“No.” He stepped forward, cradled my face in his hands, and leaned down. “I want to go to bed with you. Now. I want to sleep and wake up and hold you in the morning.”
The kiss he gave me felt like so much more than just a touch. He was pouring emotion into me, telling me things he had a hard time communicating in words.
“I want that.”
“For longer than tonight.” He glanced at the door. “Tomorrow. And the next day.”
