Page 90 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
“Jack,” she squeaked.
I crooked my finger at her, the need to touch her overriding every other thought.
“Come here, you.”
She tiptoed over, brow furrowed, eyes searching mine. “Did Tori tell you what I did? Did I overstep my bounds? Do you . . . hate me for it?” she stammered, close to tears.
“Hate you?” I laughed, low and hoarse. “Are you kidding?”
I pulled her onto my lap, hard and fast, not caring that my phone hit the hardwood floor with a thud.
I leaned in until my lips hovered just above hers. Her warm, sweet breath tempted me to devour her. “I just read your love letter.”
“And?” She held her breath.
“And I love it—and you. Marry me?”
She threw her arms around my neck and giggled. “I love you, Jack. Merry Christmas.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ll answer you someday. Now, kiss me.”
I’d waited seven years for her. I didn’t need an answer now. But I needed her. My lips brushed hers once, twice, three times.
Ivy’s breath hitched as I cupped her jaw, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted—trembling, inviting, already begging for more.
My hands slid into her hair as I dipped closer, my mouth brushing hers before my tongue teased the seam. She tasted like chocolate and cinnamon—sweet, warm, completely Ivy.
She fisted my shirt and yanked me closer, as if space itself had become unbearable.
So I stopped teasing. I deepened the kiss, letting my tongue search every inch of her mouth—greedy for her, undone by her.
When I finally pulled back, my lips didn’t go far. They mapped the corners where she smiled, the curve of her jaw, the place just beneath her ear that made her shiver.
“Jack,” she whispered as I grazed her neck, voice breathy and fragile.
My name had never sounded like that before.
Like forever.
I got my Christmas wish—
Ivy.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Do I still think men and women can be friends? Absolutely. But . . . sometimes it’s good to leave the door open to more.”
Ivy Wells
Ivy
IsnuggledagainstJackon the couch. He’d just snuck down from my room since my parents were still uncomfortable with us sharing a bunk bed. So weird, but we would play by their rules. Besides, they hadn’t said anythingabout the couch.
I actually loved sleeping on the couch on Christmas Eve, although it was already technically Christmas morning. It was well past midnight. My siblings and parents had just gone to bed after putting together bikes and a dollhouse and filling the stockings. It was quite the sight to behold, with the Christmas tree twinkling and all the stockings hung carefully, overflowing with gifts. A low fire burned in the fireplace while Christmas carols quietly played on my phone. In a word, it was magical.
And after this past week, I needed the quiet time with Jack. Seriously, what a week it had been. If anyone would have told me it would end this way, I would have never believed them. Who would have ever thought I would take on Sienna, the paparazzi, and really the whole world? And admitting I was in love with my best friend definitely hadn’t been on my bingo card this Christmas. But I was glad it had snuck on there and that I got to figuratively call outBINGO!And was I ever the winner.
