Because itfeelslike that again. I don’t feel unloved. I feel so much.
But I can’t just throw myself at him. I collect my emotions, reach for the lapel of his coat, and stroke it gently, needing some kind of contact. “I want you to know how I felt. You really hurt me. I felt like you didn’t even give us a chance. I felt like you were willing to throw me aside.”
“I wasn’t, I swear. I retreated because it felt safer.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to play it safe anymore. I want to show you I’m a man who loves you so completely he’d do anything for you. Including, well…going Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve.”
I can’t help but smile. That is the ultimate romantic gesture. But I also need to do my part too. I let the smile fade. “But the thing is…I need to tell you how I feel as well.” I swallow past the fear. “And it’s this—you pretty much had me when we started dating at the Christmas tree farm.”
His smile lights up the night sky. It’s big and bright, and I swear it twinkles. “You said it.”
“I did.”
He climbs the final steps to my front door, cups my cheeks, and kisses me—soft and sweet at first, then deep and passionate.
When he breaks it, he says, “I love you. Will you be with me even if I’m terrified of you breaking my heart?”
Tears well up. My throat aches. I set a hand on his chest.
“I will. And I won’t break your heart…because I love you too.”
He kisses me one more time. Longer. Sweeter. Until the opening lines of “White Christmas” drift past my ears.
Three voices. Deep, rich tenors.
I open my eyes and see The Mistle Bros on the sidewalk, serenading me with my favorite Christmas song.
Rowan moves behind me, wraps his arms around me, and holds me as we listen.
When they’re done, I say, “Thank you.”
“And may all your Christmases be white,” they say together.
They leave, and Rowan turns to me withwhat’s next?in his eyes.
But I know what’s next.
I tug him by the collar and pull him inside.
“Say it again,” Rowan growls, slamming into me hard enough to make the door rattle.
We barely made it inside. There was no point in heading to the bed.
And really, I didn’t want to make the bed again.
“Say what?” I pant as he drives into me.
He grips my ass, his palms rough and possessive, grinding into me, letting me feel every glorious inch.
“You know what I want to hear,” he rasps, then licks the side of my neck, hot and slow, before biting down gently.
I gasp, then cry out. But I don’t give in. “You say it first.”
“Fine,” he growls, but there’s nothing grumbly aboutit. “We’ve been dating since the Christmas tree farm,” he says on a deep, hot thrust.
And I shout a loud and very, very joyfulyes, my head thudding against the door.
A second later, he follows me with a low, feral groan, spilling into me, then slumping against me. His bow tie is undone, and his pants slip low on his hips as he shudders.
“You look good in a tux,” I say between breaths.
