New Hope, Old Grudges: A Holiday Romance

My hand reached up to stroke his jaw. “And a man I simply can’t live without,” I added in a whisper.

His eyes were molten, hands a brand on my hips.

“Well, if that’s the case.” He kissed me softly and slowly. “You know, we’ll have to get married.”

I leaned back and arched a brow, even though my heart was in my throat. “You’re telling me we’re getting married?” I asked in a sharp tone.

He chuckled. The sound warmed my insides. “I know better than to tell you anything. Figured you may be agreeable to that, though.”

I pursed my lips, tracing the lines of his face, illuminated by the lights of the tree, seeing ghosts of the boy he was before mixed with the man he was now.

“You hate it,” his expression was structured in worry. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you something new. I, just…” He dragged his palms down his face. “I wanted to remind you where you started. I want you to remember who you are.”

I shook my head, trying to shake the tears away.

“I fucked up,” Brody’s voice was flat. “I’ve never given—”

“Will you shut up?” I whispered against my tears.

Brody’s lips flattened as he stared at me, wincing as if he were waiting for me to lay into him.

I went up on my knees, holding the box tightly while I crawled into his lap. His arms instantly went around me. “This is without a doubt the most special gift anyone has ever given me,” I told him, a single tear trailing down my cheek.

Brody immediately wiped it away.

“Thank God. You gave me a heart attack, thinking I’d hurt you. I don’t ever want to hurt you again.” There was regret in his voice. An apology.

“You don’t have to wear it—”

Brody’s hand curled behind my neck, then he drew me forward until our mouths met, kissing me brutally.

I returned the kiss enthusiastically until he broke it off.

Brody kept me close, our noses almost touching as his eyes seared into mine. “Besides what I’m holding right now,” he squeezed my neck meaningfully, “this is the most precious thing I’ve ever had.”

My breath turned shallow. Even though he shared his feelings freely, I never got used to the intensity of them. And how they felt right when they shouldn’t. Not after this short of a time.

Brody leaned back so he could slip on the ring.

On his left hand.

Fourth finger.

“A couple of months ago, I might’ve agreed with you,” I cupped his cheeks. “But from where I’m standing, my life doesn’t seem all that ruined.”

I whispered the last part. Because I was kind of a coward. Brody had been speaking freely about his feelings, yet I’d been keeping mine close to my chest, still afraid of getting hurt.

Brody’s eyes no longer blazed with fury as he regarded me. No, they were twinkling now. With tenderness.

Then Willow happened. And I knew I wouldn’t be content until she was mine.

I debated over shutting Hannah down. She wouldn’t be offended. She’d respect my need for distance and privacy. She didn’t take shit personally.

“Yeah, me and Willow Watson.” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my jaw.

“I did not see that happening,” she replied.

I frowned at her. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, I was two years below you in school, but I remember you, I remember her. You and Sam were rough on her. Well, you not as much. It was more Sam and the rest of the asshole football team. But you definitely weren’t her white knight, coming to her rescue.”

My jaw clenched, hearing her lay it out. I didn’t like that someone I respected, someone I wanted to respect me, knew what a piece of shit I’d been.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

Hannah put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re not the same person you were then. None of us are. She’s obviously forgiven you. By the looks of that tortured expression, you’ve got to forgive yourself.”

Brody answered after lingering at my lips for a long time.

My hands fisted at the mention of his father.

Brody noted that, lifting them to lay his lips on them.

“Love to see that fire, baby,” he murmured. “But don’t waste it on him.”

“I can save my fire for whoever I see fit,” I pursed my lips.

Brody chuckled. It was quickly becoming my favorite sound.

“As you wish,” he kissed my head.

“You’ve been away for too long,” he decided. “You aren’t dressed for the weather. You are getting cold.” His fingertip brushed over my stiff nipple.

I shivered delightfully.

“We gotta warm you up,” he playfully snarled, lifting me.

That’s how we had sex in the shower.

I got plenty warm.

Not that I was cold in the first place.

“I’m not planning on being outside for long.” I snatched his hand, attempting to drag him in the direction of the truck. But he stayed rooted. I wasn’t strong enough to drag two hundred pounds of pure muscle anywhere.

“First things first.” He drew me forward until our bodies were plastered together. His lips crashed down on mine, then he opened his jacket and wrapped it around me as he kissed me. With tongue. On our walkway. In full view of my mother, who was no doubt watching from the window.

Like in the coffee shop, I couldn’t fight the kiss. I melted into it and his warmth.

“First thing you do when you see me is kiss me,” he grumbled against my mouth.

I forgot those things as I relaxed in his arms and kissed him back. Enthusiastically. My body sang for him, waking up with his touch and remembering everything he’d done to me on Thanksgiving night. Suddenly I was hungry for him. Fucking starving. I was ready to claw at his clothes, tear them off right there so I could feel his skin on mine, get his cock inside me.

But just as soon as I was about to lose all of my inhibitions, Brody broke off the kiss. But he didn’t let go of me. His arms were still around me, his hand on my ass, face inches from mine. His gaze roved over me, drinking me in. No, feasting on me. Looking at me as if we’d been apart for years, as if he were starving and I was a banquet.

My knees shook with the effort it took to stay standing. But I wasn’t even holding my weight.

Brody was.

Then it dawned on me... Brody just kissed the ever-loving shit out of me in broad daylight. In a crowded coffee shop.

And I was supposed to hate him.

I opened my mouth.

Brody covered his lips with mine, silencing me.

For someone who was supposed to hate him, I sure kissed him back. For the second time.

His eyes were lazy as he pulled back again.

“You want to yell at me, you can do it tonight,” he drawled before I could speak. “I’m pickin’ you up from your place at eight. You’re comin’ to mine. I’m gonna cook for you, eat you in front of the fire, and take you to bed again.”

He spoke low, low enough to make sure that no one heard what he said.

Was I mentally unhinged?

Considering the events of the past month or so … maybe.

That was the only way to explain having sex with him last night.

And this morning?

I was as well rested as I’d been in my life and no longer emotionally reeling from the fight with my family. Nor was I vaguely traumatized from my minor car accident. Yet I’d slept with him. Again.

Had the best sex of my life.

And instead of scampering away once the sex in question was over with, I’d done the unthinkable… I’d obeyed his soft command of, “Go back to sleep,” then let him kiss me on the forehead before snuggling into soft sheets that smelled of him and going back to sleep.