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Holy holiday heaven. Standing before me is a lush-as-fuck angel with evergreen eyes, berry-red lips, and a body I’d write to Santa for.
Her whispered voice is all the confirmation I need. This woman is mine, and I’m gonna find a way to keep her.
He’s about to do it. Michael Kesso is about to taste me. My eyes widen. Cake! He’s about to taste my cake!
If there was another man, he’s done now. He let her out, let her cross my path, and that’s his own fault. Because if she was mine, I’d keep her tied to my side. Literally, if necessary.
“Please don’t cry, Baby Cakes.” The pressure of his hand on my back increases. “I can’t take you crying.”
I’m sorry for making you cry. I know you don’t know a thing about me, but I’m pretty sure I’m half in love with you and I’d rather die than make you cry again. Sorry I didn’t just eat the whole disgusting cake. Because I will, if it’ll make you smile.
“Take more,” she sobs. “Take whatever you want.” Images of our life together flash through my mind. Diamond rings. A white dress. Sunny beaches. Tiny babies.
“Never run from me,” I growl between kisses. “Don’t ever run away from me again.”
“Did you say I had mistletoe eyes?” “Uh-huh.” I stroke my hand down her back. “They’re green, like mistletoe.” I palm her ass. “And I want to kiss everything below them.”
This is gonna be a Christmas to remember.
