Page 42 of One Foggy Christmas
Every longing glance.
Every forbidden touch.
Every flirtatious comment.
Every heartache of not being able to be together has built to this moment.
Nash is an exceptional kisser, just like I knew he would be. All his cockiness, charisma, charm, and playfulness combine in each tug and pull of his lips. The way his hands roam my neck, hair, back, hips, and waist in perfect precision leaves each inch of my body tingling from the warmth of his masculine touch.
Unlike all the ordinary kisses I’ve had, his kiss is explosive, opening my eyes to something more. It’s bright colors splashed on a stark-white canvas. It’s a black-and-white TV showing colorful hues for the first time.
And I know.
I want this unexpected excitement for the rest of my life.
“Phwoooooh-phwwwwwhhht!” Someone whistles behind us, breaking our kiss apart.
It’s Victor and Allen.
“Way to get the girl.”
I bury my face into Nash’s shoulder, a little embarrassed to be caught kissing the boss, but judging by their cheers and claps, they approve.
Nash wraps his arm around my shoulder, escorting me to his car. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I smile up at him. “Where are we going?”
“You said in your text that you wanted to go out with me.”
“I didn’t mean tonight. Just some time in the future.”
Nash leans down, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “Sadie, you are my future, and I’m tired of waiting for it to start.”
NASH
Flamespop and crackle in front of us, filling the cabin with a woodsy smell. Combine the fire’s ambiance with the lit Christmas tree in the corner, and you have the perfect romantic setting for Christmas Eve.
Sadie sits between my legs, gladly letting me massage her shoulders and back after a long day of skiing in Park City, Utah.
“Do you wish you were spending Christmas with your family instead of skiing with me?”
“No.” She gently shakes her limp head, probably trying to avoid interfering with her massage. “This is exactly where I want to be and who I want to be with.”
I lean forward, kissing the top of her spine, then let my lips travel down her neck. Her contented sighs encourage me to keep going. I tug on the sleeve of her sweater, giving me more space to trail my kisses down her shoulder until I run into unmovable fabric I can’t get around.
“But”—I straighten, continuing her shoulder rub—“have you called your parents yet to wish them a merry Christmas?”
I feel her body tense under my fingers.
“I texted them.”
“Why not a call?”
“Because if I call them, I’ll have to hear how Stetson is so brokenhearted. And how you manipulated me and brainwashed me into staying in Chicago with you, how my dad can’t retire now because there’s no one to take over his company, how I’m making Tate’s death worse because now they’ve lost two children. Basically, a phone call would be about how my life choices have ruined everything, and I prefer not to have that fight on Christmas Eve.”
“Understandable.” I lean in again, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. “I just want to make sure you’re trying to mend things with your parents.”
“Why?” She turns her head to the side, peeking back at me. “They were awful to me when I told them I was in love with you.”
