Page 18 of A Guardian for Christmas

Well, bless my heart. I might simply pass out from the vapors.

Is this happening? I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Will I ever be ready to be interrupted again? Not with Sagan around.

The way his hand wraps around my jawline so possessively, I already know I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing this newfound sensation of someone caring for me so intensely. He cares on a bone-deep level.

Sagan lied to get to me. He somehow knew how to handle me. He’s so tender yet fierce all at once. Sagan Fisher is perfect.

And here he is, acting like I can do no wrong. Well, he’s in for a heap of trouble. But for now, he’s made an island for us where only he and I exist.

I want him to kiss me so badly, yet he’s not pulling me toward him. All I want is to get closer to that scent and fill my lungs with him. But he stays right here, with his hand on my face, his liquid brown eyes examining every pore and blemish.

For too long I’ve been unable to communicate with others what I want. Now, it all becomes clear.

My fingers clamor and reach, tugging at his open collar. I pull him down for a kiss. At the last minute, I chicken out, and my lips meet his stubbled cheek.

But I find my courage again and move my lips toward his. Sagan lets go of my jaw and cups the back of my neck.

Our mouths barely brush against each other’s before he lets out a soft curse.

“Shit, this isn’t right.”

He’s so close, I feel his breath waft over my chin.

“Of course it is.”

“You’re not… you’re not OK.”

I stiffen, then back away. I try to force down the knowledge of how wonderful it feels to kiss someone and to be kissed. I don’t want to remember this moment if he thinks…

“You think I’m crazy.”

Sagan shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t like that. You’re clearly going through something, and I don’t know what it is. I don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re unwell.”

I’d love to point out that he’s been calling me baby and good girl, knowing full well that would make anyone feel twisted inside in response to that rugged voice combined with the tall, dark, and dangerous vibe he’s got going on. Not to mention—hello!—we were just in the shower together, both of us naked as jaybirds. In other words, he can’t not be aware that maybe, perhaps, he’s been leading me on?

However, I don’t want to make it true by saying all of that out loud. I fear that bringing up how everything he says and does oozes sexiness in the most inappropriate type of way will somehow cheapen the memory of all of that.

It made the girl inside who was always in the way feel seen. It was the most caring and intimate I’ve ever been with another person. Even if it made me think about sex, it wasn’t sexual. It gave me life.

No. I won’t say it. I don’t want him saying something stupid like he regrets it. Because I don’t. I never will.

“Then why did you lock the door? Why would we need privacy?” Don’t make me spell it out for you that you’re giving mixed signals, Sagan.

The scruffy chin dips down, and Sagan presses his forehead to mine. I won’t melt. I won’t.

And then, Sagan lets out a long, growly sigh that turns my core to absolute lava.

I’m done. Take me to bed or leave me alone, you great, big, brown-eyed bear of a man.

The intercom on the wall crackles, and then Frye’s voice echoes through the room like a football referee. “Madam, is everything all right? Is Mr. Fisher bothering you?”

Instantly, that tender face changes to annoyance. Sagan gets up, marches to the intercom, presses the button, and looks at me pointedly.

“He’s not bothering me.”

“Good girl,” Sagan says, then presses a couple of buttons in a series. The small red light turns off.

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