Page 82 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Sighing, I head upstairs, my mind a mess. I’m thinking of that ornament, nestled in its box in the top of my closet. I’m thinking about Weston and his grudge against Anabelle and how far he might be willing to go. And, dear God, I’m thinking about Anabelle—her wavy hair and her little sighs. The dreamy expression on her face when she’s happy. The way her lips felt against mine, so soft and sweet, tentative but needy…

I need to tell her she’s a good kisser.

I need to tell her that I haven’t thought about anything else but her since it happened.

To do that, I have to talk to her privately. It could wait until tomorrow, to be sure, but she’ll want to know what happened with Jeremy, right? It wouldn’t be right to keep her in suspense.

My mind slides back to the ornament.

That’s another thing I’ve screwed up. I should have given it to her that first night, and I shoulddefinitelygive it to her now. But if I do, she might tell me to go, and the thought of leaving now, before we even know what Weston has planned, is suddenly unacceptable.

I pause at the top of the stairs, my gaze sliding from my door to hers and back. My fingers itching with indecision.

Bracing myself, I step toward her door and knock.

A few seconds later, she opens the door wearing an old-fashioned, floor-length white nightgown. It looks like the kind of thing someone in the seventeenth century might have worn. Somehow it’s also the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen, especially since she’s not wearing a bra, and I can see her nipples pressing against the fabric as if they’re desperate for someone to let them out. Now,that’sa job I’d be good at.

Saint Nick has joined her and is sitting at her feet, but he and I seem to have reached a new truce now that he’s humped me. We’ve established that I’m his bitch, basically.

“Ryan?” she says, her voice a little husky. Her eyes are heavy-lidded.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“I must have dozed off,” she says and then yawns. “Would you like to come in?”

Fuck, yes, I would. But I can tell she asked it innocently, without having any idea of the effect she’s having on me. If I were to enter that room, I’d feel like a wolf invited in by Red Riding Hood.

I shift on my feet. “I…shouldn’t. It’s just…I thought you’d like to hear about what happened tonight. I’m pretty sure Jeremy has a thing for Cynthia. A bunch of attractive women invited us over to their table, and he didn’t want to go. He would have gone over if he was unattached.”

The sleepiness has faded from her face, her eyes becoming sharper and more alert. “And didyougo over?”

I swallow, fighting the urge to back her into that room and lower my mouth to the thin, slightly translucent fabric of her nightgown and run my tongue over her nipple.

“Uh, no.” I pause, knowing I should get the hell out of there, but first I need to clear up the kiss misunderstanding. Because there’s no way I want her thinking she’s anything but the most desirable woman in the world. “I had no interest in those women. I suppose I’m still thinking about…well. Just so you know, our kiss was the most memorable kiss of my life.”

“Because it was bad?”

I can tell from the look in her eyes that she doesn’t really believe it, thankfully, but that doesn’t stop me from taking a step toward her. Saint Nick comes out and circles my legs, rubbing against my calf.

“Because it wasyou. I like you, Anabelle. I didn’t come here meaning to like you, but you’re so damn likeable, I could barely help it.”

Her hand lifts to her throat, moving over all the places I’d like to kiss her.

“Now, I knowthat’snot true,” she says with a soft, self-conscious laugh.

“Did Weston make you think that? Your father?” I take another step closer, pulled in by my need to be near her warmth.

“Life made me think it, Ryan.” Sadness passes through her eyes and she takes a step back. “Look, I’m glad you’re here. Youdon’t need to make me feel better about the kiss. I understand why you don’t want it to happen again. You’re probably right.”

I can tell she doesn’t understand. It might be better, for her sake, if she assumes I brushed her off because I don’t have feelings for her. I’m a man who messes things up. An asshole who hurts people even though I don’t mean to. A man who has nothing to offer to a woman but his body. But I can’t let her think that. Ican’t.

“Ilikeyou,” I say again, firmly. “I like you because you’re beautiful, and kind, and funny, and smart. Your father was only right about one thing in his whole life, because youarethe star on every tree. The most noticeable part. The brightest. No one is like you, and I’m happy no one else is like you, because it makes it more special to know you. But I also think the world would be a better place if everyone was like you.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything at first. She just reaches for my hand, and I give it to her.

“Come in and shut the door,” she says.

When she tugs me inside, it feels like she’s saving me from something, even though it’s only myself.

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