“It Doesn’t Get Better” - Citizen Soldier
Those glittery hazel eyes turn to me, hopeful, swooning as usual.
I’ve memorized her body gestures. And I love how I’m the only one who truly makes Briella swoon. She looks adorable in Vincent’s sweater and Rory’s collar. I’m eager to see her dressed in nothing but that collar, but the Scottish bastard will get that honor first.
His gift to her. Her gift to him.
I wave my hand, summoning her. Seth’s face lights up when she takes the cane and tries it out. The wood is strong. It will hold up well. It takes a few practice tries, but she gets the hang of it. As her doctor, I approve of the cane and its prevention of further injury.
“Hey, Jude.” Briella leans on the cane and smiles at me. A soft, slow-blooming smile—the kind that’s warm, trusting, and teasing, with that dreamy, head tilt. Like I’m her favorite drug, and she’s already floating.
“And I have indeed let you under my skin.”
Love that little giggle, knowing I played along with her Beatles joke.
Touching one finger to her chin, I urge her closer, tipping her face up ever so little. I may be sitting, but I’m still a head taller than her, than everyone in this room.
“I may have one practical gift for my Babydoll. And one intimate and intriguing gift.”
“Ack, come on, Doc,” groans Rory, tipping his head back against the sofa. “It’s a present, not fucking poetry.”
“Which would you like first?” I ask.
“Practical, pretty please.”
“On my lap.”
I touch her hips as she turns, and I help lower her onto my lap, her back to my chest. Then, I reach for the present I cunningly hid beneath the chair.
“It’s so pretty,” she marvels at the box alone. Blue with little snowflakes and a silver bow. “So perfect on the outside, I almost don’t want to ruin it.” When I kiss the side of her head, she turns back to me and adds, “Almost.”
Leaning back against me, she opens the small box, surprise flashing as her fingers brush the soft, black fabric inside. A custom-made compression sleeve—one I designed, sleek, breathable, subtly embroidered with silver thread in a pattern that mirrors the chains of our brand.
“For your leg.” I ease it out and roll the fabric between my fingers. “It’ll help with circulation. Support the scar tissue. Ease the limp over time.”
She nods, brushing her hair off her shoulder as I guide her leg into place. I smooth the sleeve up her legging-clad calf, my hands slow and sure. It fits like it was made for her—because it was.
“You’re not broken, Babydoll,” I whisper near her ear. “Just healing—with a little help.”
After tracing her fingers across the sleeve, she throws her arms around my neck, hugs me, then touches the stubble on my jaw before touching the side of my face. “Thanks, Cheekbones.”
I kiss her. She melts. Surrenders so beautifully every time. I taste the remnants of the Christmas punch she had earlier. She smells like Christmas. Wild oranges, clove, frankincense, cinnamon, and pine needles. Dragging the flat of my tongue along hers, I savor her moan, how she leans closer.
When her fingers stray to the buttons on my shirt, I chuff a laugh and free her of the kiss, tapping her nose. “Slow down, Babydoll. You have another gift to open.”
I hand her the next box. Much smaller than the last. Green this time with a gold bow. All she needs to do is remove the lid.
Inside is a small vial on a chain. Her lips turn up as I dangle it before her. “It has our blood. A drop of blood from each of us.”
“Yeah, I still got the finger prick to prove it,” Seth grumbles from behind, but Briella focuses on me.
“And my blood?” she wonders.
I nod. “I took your blood a couple of times during your healing process. We are all here.” I fasten the chain around her throat, clasping it.
She touches the vial and lays her head on my chest. Heat fills my chest and travels lower. She’s listening to my heartbeat. I let her curl up in my lap, lingering here while I softly rub circles along the compression sleeve.
“I have a gift for you, Briella.”
