Page 16 of Second Chances with St. Nick

“That only leaves us one thing to explore… if you’d like.”

I widened my eyes, and my heart thumped in my ears, threatening to burst out of my chest.

He’d mentioned “loving…”

“Could I make Christmas better for you, Abbie?” he asked, his soft breath dancing over the back of my hand.

I stared into his eyes, blinking under their laser-like intensity. This man was so far from the shy Nick I remembered. The goofy guy I’d loved had gone, replaced by a quiet, confident rock of a man. Maybe my cruelty all those years ago changed him forever. But as I raked my eyes over his face, over the bulk of his body, my breath thinned. “What did you have in mind?”

One side of his lips peaked, and the air crackled between us. My fingertips itched to touch him—ached, even—and I leaned in, my gaze firmly on his mouth. I burned to kiss him. I needed to taste him and trace every tattoo on every inch of his skin.

Unweaving my fingers from Nick’s, I reached out to brush his face, tentatively at first, but the delicious ache low down in my belly told me all I needed to know. Our breath came fast as I trailed a slow path along the beard at his jaw, coming to restat the back of his hard neck. I gently drew him in, desperate to bring his lips closer to mine. “Nick,” I whispered.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes alive with hunger. “Remember, tonight we’re strangers.”

I bobbed my head once, and a smile split his face. “Then come and sit on my knee and tell me what you’d like for Christmas.”

My whole body fizzed. I didn’t need to be asked twice. Reaching over, he pulled me easily onto his lap, and I brought my mouth to his. Gently at first, I savored his softness. He smelled sweet and warm, and I had to wonder why I’d stayed away so long. Why had I ever been so stupid as to let him go?

I ran my tongue along his bottom lip and Nick opened his mouth to me. Our tongues met and circled, slowly at first, but soon we moved together faster, urgently. His beard scraped against my lips and with the pull of his heat, I hung on for dear life.

He tasted delicious, all cinnamon and brandy. My brain swam in a sea of sensation. As we tangled tighter, Nick circled my waist with his large hands, his thumbs working my skin through my robe. As they crept up my ribs, my nipples pebbled against the soft cotton and an ache low down pleaded silently for him to touch me.

My body wanted Nick. Needed him. Plain and simple.

I rocked my hips into his, finding his hardness. Moving my lips to his neck, I dragged my fingers over his solid shoulders and down his chest.

A guttural groan escaped his mouth and at his deep growl, my core ached even more. Emboldened, I kissed him harder—deeper—until he shifted under me.

“Stop,” he hissed, pulling away.

A burn ripped through my chest. Had I done some damage? Had I broken him? Did he have regrets? I searched his face for a clue.

“Buckle,” he panted.

“Wait, what?”

“My buckle. Hold on.”

As easily as he’d lifted me on, Nick moved me off his lap and back onto the couch. A bubble of delight sprang in my chest. Unlike some, he didn’t seem to have a problem with my “extra curves.”

With a groan, he stood, towering over me. I couldn’t tell if he was looking my way, but when he reached down and undid his belt, I felt the burn of his eyes searing me. The leather slapped as he pulled it free, and my cheeks flamed when he dropped it to the carpet. If only I could see clearly! The hazy blur of being half-blind was pure torture.

Once he freed his belt, he kicked off his heavy boots and brought his fingers to the buttons of his jacket. “It’s getting a little hot in here. Do you mind?” He undid the first, then the second, then paused.

At the delay, I bit the side of my lip. “Oh, I don’t mind at all,” I said, desperate for him to continue his Christmas strip show.

Nick moved through his buttons, one by one, taking his time, before finally shedding his jacket. He laid it over the back of the couch. Even with my unfocused vision, his body was magnificent. Strong and firm, and…

“Holy hell, you look incredible.” My voice came out raspy and thick with lust. Maybe I should have been subtler, but honestly, who had the time?

He chuckled. “I work hard.”

With a low grunt, he nudged the table away with one thick calf, before dropping to his knees in front of me. He reached out his hands, taking mine, his eyes full of fire. This close, I couldmake out his tattoos better. They covered his chest and arms like he wore an inky jacket.

“I think you’ve got some choices to make,” he said.

My stomach dropped. Was he about to go all “deep and meaningful” on me? It was all I’d wanted earlier, but couldn’t we just play pretend a little longer?

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