Page 13 of Dirty Little Christmas

"You know, when you marry me, you'll be part of the one percent too," he says.

"Marry you?" My mouth pops open. Is this what it feels like to be swept off your feet? If so, it's a little wild. I'm still reeling from the orgasms, now he's talking about marriage?

I want that. God, I want it so bad! But he didn't even ask me. And he didn't say he loves me. When we get married in my head, it's because he loves me as much as I do him. The possibility that he doesn't feel that way…hurts.

"Blaze."

His withering glare roots my feet in place. "If you even think about saying whatever you're about to say, I will spank you," he warns me, that voice a wicked growl of sound. He really shouldn't use it if he wants me to behave. Because as soon as he does, I want to do the exactoppositeof whatever he said.

I pause and lick my lips, not entirely sure I want to tempt the beast this time. "I realize billionaires get married for crazy reasons all the time," I say, choosing my words carefully. "But I always imagined when I did it, it would be with a man who loves me as much as I love him."

His gaze cracks like a whip when it lands on my face. For a split second, he doesn't even breathe. "You think I'd marry for some other reason, Georgia?"

"I…" I shrug helplessly.

"You think I brought you here to fuck, little one?"

"I don't know!" I cry, pressing my hands to my cheeks. My stomach roils with uncertainty. "Until today, I didn't even think I stood a chance with you. And then I find out you want the same things I want, things I thought made me bad. Now, here we are. And you're talking about marriage, and…and…" I trail off, waving one hand around like a crazy person.

His cocoa eyes light up with understanding. "You're overwhelmed."

"Very," I whisper.

He rises to his feet, far too gracefully for someone his size, and strides toward me. I watch him in awe like always. He's so damn beautiful to me, sexy in ways that make my knees weak. Looking at him, I know he could crush me with one hand if he wanted to do it. But I also know just how gentle those hands can be when they're on my body or testing fabrics between his blunt fingers. He's a walking contradiction, the man who has everything but wantsme.

When he reaches me, he sweeps me into his arms without a word.

I don't complain. The only place I want to be right now is in his arms. In them, the way I feel about him doesn't feel overwhelming. It feels exactly right. No, it feels better than that.In his arms, the way I feel about him, the things I want from him, aren't wrong. They aren't seedy or wicked. They're beautiful.

He carries me up the stairs, his boots heavy on the steps.

I'm too busy looking at him to look at the rest of the house, but the lack of Christmas decorations is obvious. "You didn't decorate for Christmas."

"Didn't plan on celebrating," he mutters.

"Why not?"

His cocoa eyes drop to mine, his expression somber. "Christmas felt like a fucking blade this year," he says, his chest rumbling against my side.

"Oh. Why?"

"Your final shoot is three days after Christmas. Seemed more like the end of my world than a reason to celebrate, Georgia."

"Blaze," I whisper, stunned. "You really feel like that?"

Hope tries to burst out of my chest while I wait for his answer, but I rein it in, a little afraid I'm reading more into this than I should. Terrified he doesn't mean it as much as I want him to mean it. The end of my time at the company has been weighing on me heavily for weeks because I didn't want to leave him.

Does he know how many times I show up at the office just to see him? Almost daily. Sariah covers for me; tells him I have fittings even though I don't. She knows I'm crazy about him.Everyoneknows.

If he doesn't feel the same way, I don't think I'm going to survive it. Just the thought feels like a knife deep in my chest, cutting through vital organs. I don't like it.

Please, Baby Jesus, can I please have him for Christmas? I won't ask for anything else ever again.

"I did." His boots hit the last step. He's not even breathing hard as he looks down at me. "I don't anymore."

"Oh." I lick my lips as he carries me down the hall, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he hears it. I certainly do.Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Like a war drum calling soldiers to battle. Even the floor moves beneath Blaze's feet, though I'm guessing that's his doing and not a thousand horses charging down the hall. "Why…why not?"

He doesn't answer me, at least not right away. He carries me into the master bedroom, stopping only long enough to hit the light switch. I gape around me. His bedroom is easily the size of an entire house. Three deep steps lead from a sitting area into the bedroom proper. His bed, ornately carved from the same dark wood as the floors, rests in its own oasis of tranquility. Three entire walls and the ceiling are glass. Everywhere I look, I see silvery clouds and raindrops.

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