Page 87 of One Foggy Christmas
Nash steps a little closer, and the glimmer in his eyes turns into something warm and loving. He wraps his arms around my body, pulling my chest against his. Instantly, heat rushes through me. I don’t know if it’s real or from a flicker of desire, but I like it.
“You look beautiful tonight.” His gaze skitters around my face. “Did I tell you that yet?”
“Only about four times.”
Slowly, he leans forward, and my breath catches the moment his warm lips press against the scar on my head. They linger overthe jaggedness like a reverent tribute to my recovery. As he pulls back, his fingers brush my cheek lovingly.
“Your hand is cold.” I lean away from his body, opening up my jacket, inviting his arms into my warmth.
A subtle smile tugs the corner of his mouth upward at my invitation. He readjusts his arms, slowly sliding his frozen fingers around my stomach and waist. The sheer fabric of Annie’s shirt is a blessing and a curse. I feel his hands on me as if I were wearing nothing.
“Can I hug you?” There’s something really sweet and innocent about his question that moves my heart.
I nod, and suddenly, I’m encircled by Nash’s body. His face buries into my neck and hair. Hot breath spills over my ear as he sighs in contentment. My eyes close, and I melt into him. In return, he squeezes me tighter, like I’m the only thing in his life he holds dear.
We stay in that all-encompassing hug for a long time, both taking something we need from the other. For me, it’s the safety and comfort amidst so much uncertainty. And for him, it’s me. Justme.
His arms loosen, letting me know he’s pulling back. “I better get you home. I’m sure you’re tired.”
His hands glide over my waist again on his way out from underneath my coat. I don’t know if it’s the curiosity about whether or not we have chemistry, the genuine care and concern Nash has for me, or even the fact that Stetson has a girlfriend, but I grab his wrists, stopping him.
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were going to seize your masculine moment, dip me back, and kiss the crap out of me.”
He stares at me, debating like only a gentleman would.
Both hands cup my face in preparation, and my heart buzzes with apprehension. Softly, Nash caresses my cheeks, still gazing longingly into my eyes. “Your last first kiss?”
My heart pounds, bringing anxiety with it.
I only remember kissing Stetson. Would this really be my last first kiss?
The softness behind Nash’s gaze eases my concerns, and somewhere deep inside, I feel secure giving him this intimate piece of me.
Anticipation builds and builds, and just when I feel like I’ll snap in half, his hands wrap around me, tilting me to the side. It’s a dip like he promised, but not in the traditional way. His arms cradle me against him as our bodies slant to the side together. My hand goes to his neck, and the other holds his back. His movements are deliberate, as if he knows this situation requires patience and time. The tender smile covering his lips is the last thing I see before his mouth presses to mine. I close my eyes, giving myself to his kiss.
It’s a gentleman’s kiss—soft and slow—a token of something real, pure, and ideal. I feel the warmth of his love and affection from my toes all the way up to my treacherous, forgetful mind.
His arms pull me in tighter and tighter like a treasure he never wants to lose. The way he holds me says so much about how he values me. It’s achingly beautiful—something every woman should experience in their lifetime. I’d consider giving up another three and a half years of my life just to be kissed like this again.
Nash brings me up straight again, tugging and brushing his lips over mine a few more times before he pulls back.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers between us.
His words pierce and squeeze my heart in ways I can’t understand. I don’t return the sentiment, because I can’t. I’m still just trying to figure it all out.
But there’s one thing I do know: Nash Carter has set the standard high.
NASH
“You’rein a good mood this morning.” Lynette smirks from her spot at the stove.
My cheerful rendition of“Santa Bring My Baby Back to Me,”in my best Elvis Presley voice, probably gives me away to Sadie’s mom.
“Things must have gone well on your date last night.”
