Page 121 of Hero for the Holidays

But he didn’t really have her.

He sighed and headed up the stairs.

He turned and headed down the hall, and the door to Fia’s room opened.

He stood there. Looking down the dimly lit hall as she appeared. He found himself walking toward her. And he could see a kind of helpless expression on her face. Not sure whether she wanted to tell him to fall back or tell him to come near.

But he needed her. He really did. Because the truth was, he had everything else. And so he knew that if something was missing, it was her. In his arms. In his bed.

She was in his heart. Just like she had been from day one.

But that heart hadn’t been mature enough to hold her in the way it needed to. He hoped it was now. He hoped to God that it was now.

“Baby,” he said.

Because it was what he’d called her then. It wasn’t the most personal. It wasn’t the most special. But it had been the most passionate thing. From the depths of his soul. Just like it was now.

She moved away, making room for him to walk through the door.

She threw her arms around his neck, and she was trembling. And he just held her. And memorized the feel of her. The press of her breasts against his chest. Her smile. The way she was familiar. The way she was different.

The way she was his. He would’ve said that he wasn’t an emotional man. He would’ve said that prior to the last few months. And now it felt like they were always so close to the surface. It felt like they were all of him. Everything. And he didn’t even hate it.

The chance to hurt for these women who were everything to him, it felt like a gift.

It made him feel like he ought to be here. He wished that he could go back and tell that boy it would all be okay. Not the way he imagined it, but better. That love meant more when you gave it the right way, at the right time, when you had the right stuff to give.

He tilted her chin up to his and he kissed her.

It was slow and aching. Because he didn’t need a whirlwind. Because they weren’t racing anything. Their better judgment, their parents, the clock.

They had time. They had this room. They had a bed.

In their house. Their house.

So he took his sweet-ass time undressing her. Revealing that glorious body to him.

He took his time, because she was worth all the time. All the years, all the waiting. All the wanting.

Because she was worth it. Because God knew that pain. But they deserved pleasure.

He couldn’t give her back all those years. But maybe he had needed to be away from her. Maybe he had needed to become a different man, a better man.

He wished to God he could go back and be better then. But in the absence of that he would take this. He laid her on the bed, and he worshipped her. His Aphrodite. His everything.

His woman. His woman whom he’d loved since she’d been his girl. And he’d never been anything as young and simple as a boyfriend.

Now he wanted to be her husband. Her protector. Her man. The father of her child. God, he wanted to have more children with her. That was a plea. A prayer.

And every kiss was a supplication. A request, not a demand.

And when he entered her, he felt that same rush. Like the first time. Like every time. Over and over again.

Because she was beautiful. And she was his. Fia Sullivan and that bastard Landry King. She clung to him. To his shoulders. Wrapped her legs around his waist. He wanted to be closer than inside her. He wanted to drown in her. In this.

He wanted to lie beside her. Every night. Forever. He wanted be with her always.

“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. He’d said it to her before. It had been a long time ago. A lot of years. What they had meant then was:I love your body. I love to have sex with you. I love the pleasure that you give me.

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