Page 106 of The Mistletoe Kisser
His hand fisted in her hair, tugging hard enough that she opened her mouth on the softest moan. Something like triumph lit up his gray eyes, and she felt rather than heard the rumble in his chest as he took her lips again.
He’d barely touched her, and she was reacting like an orgasm was on its way.
His other hand slipped under her jacket to her waist, where it curled into the curve of her hip and drew her against him in one swift pull.
Oh. God.
Her chest pressed against his torso, hips to his denim-clad thighs, and her stomach up against the erection demanding full attention.
She wanted. Was wanted. Craved. Was craved.
She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist. Wanted to run away. Wanted to stay right here in this exact moment of anticipation for the rest of eternity.
He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “I like when you look at me like that,” he whispered darkly in her ear.
“Like what?” she asked breathlessly.
“Like this isn’t just a kiss. Like this is forever.”
She made some kind of unintelligible moan.
“What was that, Sam?” he asked smugly.
She could feel the hardness of his erection where it pressed into her, and she wanted more. Friction. Skin. Sweat. She wanted to taste him and be tasted. He lowered his forehead to hers.
“How is this going to work?” she whispered.
“I’m going to take you home and strip off every piece of your clothing in front of the fireplace.”
She sucked in a breath. “I mean, you staying. What does it mean?”
“It means Number Three, we’re together,” he said firmly. “This isn’t a marriage proposal, but it’s a notice of monogamy.”
“If you were proposing right now, I’d be concerned about head trauma or hypothermia.”
“Iammoving in with you,” he informed her.
“Are you feeling feverish? Did Bruce Oakleigh come near you with a comically large mallet?”
“I’m feeling alive. And I’m not moving the whole way across the country unless it means I can see your face every morning, Sparkle.”
Swoon.
“Besides, we need to figure out how annoying the other is on a day-to-day basis. We’ll start with a one-year probationary period,” he continued.
“How romantic,” she teased.
“I punched a guy in the face for you after selling fucking Christmas trees in a small town. I’m the master of romance,” Ryan insisted.
“So one year. What happens during that year?” she asked.
“I make love to you on every flat surface in the house until I know your body better than you do. We renovate that God-awful kitchen. I buy into Mason’s practice. We launch the sanctuary. I wait a respectable amount of time before I tell you that I am so in love with you that it hurts to look at you because I’m afraid you’ll disappear and this whole thing will be a dream.”
“Ryan,” she whispered. Her heart was soaring.
“Then you’ll tell me you’ve loved me since I tried to abandon a sheep.”
“And then what?”
