Page 86 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“One of us is going to get hurt,” he says, reaching up to cup my cheek, his fingertips playing with my hair. Each touch sends an electric sensation across my scalp. “It would be better if we were just friends.”

“But we’renotjust friends,” I say. “I don’t want to kiss any of my friends.”

“And you want to kiss me?”

“Yes.I’d like to spend all night kissing you.”

“I don’t know what it can mean,” he says, shoving his hands so aggressively into his pockets I’m surprised they don’t come off.

“Neither do I. There’s so much I still don’t know about you.”

And yet…I think he’s probably told me more than he tells most people. That makes me almost as sad as knowing that duffel bag contains all of his earthly belongings.

“I’m trying to be someone worth knowing,” he says. “In the past, I wasn’t.”

“Then you’ve already succeeded. Because you are a man worth knowing. You’ve only been here a week, and you’ve changed so much for the better. Not just for me, but for Joe, and even for Jeremy and Cynthia. You’re a better man than you’re letting yourself believe.”

He swears under his breath, and then he gives in, thank goodness, weaving his hand into the back of my hair. He leans into me, his mouth hovering millimeters over mine again. But this time he’s the one who presses forward. His kisses are hard and soft, as if he wants to be the one to break me and put me back together. His hand tightens around my hair, and his lips travel from my mouth to my neck, where he kisses me softly and then sucks in my flesh in a place that makes my knees want to buckle.

Usually, the world is a place of too-loud or too-soft voices, buzzing lights and machines and hundreds of unwantedsensations—too hot, too cold, too hard, too soft, too much—but at this moment, he’s captivating all of my attention. Every bit of me is focused on the feeling of his mouth brushing over me while he holds me close, pressing my body against him. He touches me like I’m something precious, and also like I’m a dessert he wants to gorge himself on, and I can’t get enough of it.

As our lips move together, he runs his hands over my body, always moving. They glide over my back and my butt, through my hair and around to the side of my breasts. My hands are touching him everywhere too, running over the hard muscles of his arms and chests, tracing his tattoo, lifting up his sweater so I can feel his hard back. They travel everywhere except for one place. The thought of touching him there still makes me embarrassed and jittery and hot. But I can feel the hard press of him against me.

I know how much he wants me.

I’m overwhelmed by him. I’m humbled by him. And yet…

This is happening fast after all of the slow dancing we’ve done over the past week. I’m tumbling into him, and I don’t know when or how my fall will be broken. There’s a part of me that doesn’t care—and that scares me most of all.

He pulls away, looking down at me, his lips pinker from kissing me. “I want you, Anabelle. You can probably feel how much I want you.”

“I can,” I admit, feeling a spike of worry again. I’ve never slept with a man so quickly before. Will I regret it if I do it now? Or if I don’t? I know there’s a chance he’s leaving, and if I don’t get to be with him at least once, I’ll always regret that.

He smooths a hand over my hair and then tucks it beneath the heavy mass, pressing his palm flat against my back. “I’m only going to kiss you tonight. Do you have any rules about where I can kiss you?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ANABELLE

Oh dear.

“What do you mean bywhere?” I hedge.

“I want to make you feel good, sweetheart,” he says, his thumb caressing my back beneath my hair, his other hand finding my hip. “I want to make you come with my mouth. But if you’re not ready for that, that’s okay.”

“You want to kiss medown there?” I ask, instantly ashamed of myself. Because I sound like a virgin. But the truth is, no one has ever done that for me before. I’m worried I won’t like it. I’m more worried that he won’t like it, and I’ll taste bad and make embarrassing sounds.

“I’m dying to kiss you down there.” He rubs his hand over my hip, his fingers brushing perilously close to where my body wants them. “I want to bury my face in you.”

My face is in flames. “You might not like it.”

“Oh, I’m going to fucking like it, Anabelle. I’m going to love it.”

“Imight not like it.”

“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.” Something flickers in his eyes. “No one’s ever done that for you before?”

“No,” I say, feeling awkward but also excited. I want to explore this side of myself with Ryan. I trust him with it.

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