Merry Ever After (Under the Mistletoe Collection, #2)

by Tessa Bailey

“You’re one of a kind.” “I’m always thinking the same thing about you.”

Hell. This woman has me tied up in all kinds of fucking knots this morning. The first time I saw her, I decided she was out of my league. The second time, I confirmed it: Yup. Way out. I haven’t changed my mind, either. She’s young and sexy and good God, she’s full of fire and spirit. Talent. She loves that baby, too. I can see it in the way she cradles his head like she’s trying to protect him from the world. She’s nurturing on top of everything else. A man could fall in love and stay there with this one. Stay there forever.

But maybe it’s true what they say and there is someone for everybody.

“God, you’re so beautiful. God.” The fingers of his right hand tunnel through my hair, then continue, frantic, down my back, drawing me close, tight. Letting me feel the growing ridge in his jeans. “I like the look of you in my house, Evie.”

“Friends with benefits is for boys,” he says, backing me against his refrigerator. Planting his erection right there and grinding lightly, then harder. Harder. “I ain’t no boy.”

“How about this, sweetheart? If you still don’t want to be called my woman after I’ve given it to you down and dirty, I’ll let you call me your friend with benefits.”

“They don’t make jeans that fit me, and they don’t make many women that fit me, either.”

“There’s something happening here, Evie.” “I know,” I manage while filling my lungs. “It doesn’t exactly scream casual, does it?” “Nope.” A line snaps in his cheek. He appears to be battling the urge to pin me again. Part of me wishes he would. “You’ll decide what this is and how fast it moves, but I’m going to do everything I can to help you decide in my favor. You, Evie, are in my goddamn favor. In whatever capacity you allow me.” He holds eye contact long enough to make my pulse feel fizzy. “But I’m going to say something for the record one time, just so it’s clear: you’re a package deal with your boy. I’m not scared of that.”

“How many grilled cheeses should I make you?” Evie asks me then, totally nonchalant. “Three or four?” That seals it. I’m marrying her, come hell or high water.

“I’d rather die than scare you or push you for more than you’re ready to give. But I’ve made my position clear. If you want to be mine, if you want me to be yours, you know where to find me.”

“Forever sounded less and less scary every day I spent away from you.”