Page 36 of Mr. Mistletoe
He shakes his head, capturing both my hands. “I used to, you know… get around.”
I drop my gaze to his lips. “I’ll bet you did.”
His brow rises. “You’re not mad?”
I sigh, leaning forward to kiss him. “You had a life before me. I had a life before you. None of that matters now.”
His palm cups my neck; our lips meet in an emotion-filled kiss. “My God, Jess. You’re so…” He peppers kisses across my cheek to my ear. “You’re everything I’ve ever imagined.”
My fingers delve into his wavy hair. “I never even dared to imagine you. But here we are.”
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmurs against my neck.
“You would have,” I whisper. “Eventually.”
“Eventually isn’t good enough.”
He kisses me again, slow and deep, tongues dancing in a rhythm that makes me cling to him. My fingers drift to the front of his shirt, clutching him closer until there’s no space left between us.
Firelight flickers over the room, painting his jaw in gold, eyes dark with desire. I nearly climb onto his lap when he scoops me up, hooking my legs around his hips as he carries me to the bedroom.
He sets me down gently in front of the door, lips finding mine again—gentle, then hungry. His hand slides to the small of my back. My pulse thrums; every nerve alive.
He pulls back, gaze soft. “What did you want to tell me?”
I place my hand on his chest. “I don’t know if I should… you might not like me anymore.”
He looks like a Greek God in the lamplight. “Nothing could make me change my mind about you.”
I’ve never heard anything sweeter. “It’s silly.”
“I like silly,” Clark says, squeezing my waist. “Especially if it’s you.”
I snuggle closer. “Remember the little girl who tackled the skating Santa years ago?”
He chuckles, vibrating against my chest. “Of course. No one can forget that scarf—”
“The red one with the giant pom-poms?”
He leans back, eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me. That was you?”
I duck my head, cheeks burning. “That was me.”
He lifts my chin. “You’re famous in this town. Even more than me.”
I close my eyes. “Can you keep this between us?”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, kissing me slowly. “If you tell me your Christmas wish. What do you want, Jess?”
All I want is him. “You.”
His lips graze mine, then slide lower. “I think Santa can arrange that.”
His beard is soft against my neck; his teeth nip lightly. Oh God, his tongue… I think I’ve died and gone to heaven as he scoops me up and carries me to the bed.
Chapter Sixteen
Clark
