Page 196 of Never Fall for an Angel

Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them back. This has to be a joke, right? A place we can call home. Actually, call home that’s just ours?

It sounds like a dream.

“Phantom can run. We’ll have our own space.” His gaze shoots back to mine where I stand by the huge sofa, my fingers running over the soft material, his eyes wild and so blue they steal my breath away. “Did you see the kitchen? You could bake a horse in the oven.”

God, I can never say no to those eyes.

“I love you.”

“There’s even a hot tub in the back.”

“Christian,” I stop him. I’ve seen enough. He pauses, his gaze studying mine. “I love you.”

He freezes, seeming to finally register what I’d said. He closes his eyes for a brief second. And when he opens them, they’re dark as night.

Slowly, he steps towards me, backing me up until my ass is pressed against the back of the couch. He leans in, his arms on either side of me, caging me in, and if I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was pissed off. I can see by the slight tremor that runs through him, though, that it’s something else entirely.

“Say that again,” he rasps, his mouth hovering over mine. I smile softly, my tongue darting out to lick my lips at the heavy wash of his scent slipping over me.

“I love you,” I breathe. “And I love this house.”

He groans, the sound rumbling through our connected chests and settling between my thighs.

“Fucking hell, Mila,” he grunts, his nose trailing along mine. “I love you.”

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

“You’ve got me by the balls,” he murmurs darkly. “I’d stop the world spinning if you asked me to. You fucking own me, and you want me to behappyabout it?”

My heartbeat flutters in my chest.

“Well . . .I’mhappy about it.”

“You really like it?”

His hands roam my body, reaching down to cup the swell of my ass.

I can’t help but smile, tilting my face up to his. My heart stalls when I see the reverence in his gaze.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

He smirks, his fingers tightening on my ass. In a flash, he’s lifting me into his arms, and my legs lock around his hips. He carries me towards a chair in the corner of the room, lit by the warmth of the fireplace.

When he settles down, me on his lap, his eyes latch onto mine, glinting wickedly.

“What was that you said earlier about punishing you?”

“Christian . . .” I warn, body tightening over his when his hands roam under the hem of my sweater. I’m not wearing anything underneath, and his fingertips graze my nipples. “I love you.” Now that I’ve said it, I can’t stop myself. I need him to know with every fiber of his being.

“Now, Mrs. Cross,” he settles back in the chair, his hands resting on either side of the armrests. “Be a good little wife and show me.”

Christian Cross is the hurricane that completely destroyed my life.

He’s also the man who put it back together again.

I’m in love with him. I know it. He knows it. Hell, the man on the moon knows it for how many times he’s made me scream it in the last week when he’s inside me.

He’s everywhere. Inside me, all around me. He’s claimed me body and soul, and I’m powerless to stop it.

---