Page 21 of Mistletoe Missus
I choked. Coughed on a goddamn crumb from the bun and Mitt came to my aid. He was at my side in a matter of seconds as he knelt beside me and rubbed my back. The circular motion of his large masculine hand would be my undoing, more than choking on bread.
“Are you all right?” Mitt asked with concern.
“Yeah...” I coughed into my hand to clear the obstruction. “Yes. I’m okay.”
“Good,” he said with his warm breath fanning my face, and he took my hand. “Because I was about to ask you to join me for our first dance.”
“Right now?” I asked hesitantly. “I was about to—”
“I can’t stand one more minute of not being able to touch you...” Mitt interrupted as he took a strand of my hair and loosely twirled it around his finger. “Not smelling you...”
Mitt inhaled my scent.
“Not tasting you,” he said as his mouth brushed mine, and he licked my lips. “I want to feel you in my arms before all of this goes away.”
“Goes away?” I questioned as he locked me into his trance, and I let him lead me onto the dance floor.
“We only have so much time before we have to go back to New York and deal with everything. I want to enjoy this time with my wife before it all disappears,” Mitt whispered in my ear as he pulled me close, and I fell into his embrace.
My husband’s hands traveled down my sides until they rested on the small part of my backside. The tips of my fingers dove into the hair at the nape of his neck, and I stared up into his heated gaze. A lingering observation struck my soul and blastedthe essence wide open—filled me full of desire, mixed emotions, and something I couldn’t describe.
“This makes logical sense.” I mumbled, lost in my husband.
We slowly danced toStay by Rihanna.Our song. The one we’d remember for the rest of our lives and listen to when we needed comfort or to confide in each other. Our wedding song was like the lyrics themselves, with us needing to hold on. Both of us wanted to stay present in the moment, lost in one another and clinging to a love we knew could be there, would be there, but all we needed was time. All we had to do was stay.
The rhythm made us sway back and forth, neither one of us breaking a beat. We were joined together as we remained in motion when the song ended and replayed. Our eyes never wavered as the slow beat played on, and the world faded away with mistletoe hanging over our heads. We’d soon have to face the reality of our situation, but that wasn’t until the sun came up.
ELEVEN
Cold Reality
Tinsley
The flight back to New York City went a lot smoother than the plane ride up. Mitt was aware of my comfort level with flying, and he was there for added support. But the big diamond ring on my finger helped erase all my past anxiety.
I was married. No longer single and alone. Mitt was with me, and we’d face everything together. My wish to marry, in an uncertain leap of faith, had come true. Fate was on my side and a family was somewhere over the horizon.
The morning sunrise glared on the skyline as I peered out the limousine window, and we crawled through the busy city streets. Albert handled the vehicle with ease on the salted pavement and made me thankful to be back. He was an excellent driver, and I could see why Mitt kept him after the other careless chauffeur we encountered in Colorado.
My husband had informed Albert to head back to his mansion. I had yet to explore Mitt’s home, and I grew excited. I’d get to see the place where he was most comfortable and learn new things about my husband. I was thrilled to experience the taste he had in the furnishings around the house, the color scheme he’d chosen for paint, and which decor he had picked for his interior decorator.
Did he have garden beds with pretty flowers, or did he prefer a green landscape? Would he have a butler and maids to keep the grounds organized? Did he own expensive cars and have a massive garage? A pool to laze beside in the hot summer months or a desirable patio for parties?
All these questions ran through my mind without an answer. There was a lot left to the imagination until I saw the place Mitt Morgan called home with my own eyes. And I still had to unfold simple characteristics about him.
His favorite coffee or tea, candy and sweets. Maybe he didn’t prefer any of the above. He could be a simple man and love fewer things in life or the opposite. He loved everything lavish and over the top. This option held truth after everything I had experienced while we were away, but I was about to find out if there was any accuracy to it.
“What on earth?” I cried out, flabbergasted by people suddenly all around.
Paparazzi combed every inch of the street as Albert carefully pulled up out front of a massive mansion in a gated community. Somehow, the press had got inside, and they were hungry for their shot at a number one story—a shot at some big bucks from making headline news.
Black letters on a gray brick block spelled out “Morgan Estate.” The sign was close to being hard to read, with people crowded in front of it, cameras up to their faces and ready for their million dollar shot.
“Someone must have tipped them off,” Mitt replied with a blank stare.
If body language could talk, Mitt’s wouldn’t make a peep. He watched people crowding his limousine without a care in the world. This scenario played out in front of him and didn’t even faze him. It was a scene he had dealt with hundreds of times. Toomany instances caused him to have grown accustomed to it, and he was as cold as ice.
“Who would do such a thing?” I asked, with confusion. “No one knew about our abrupt elopement.”
