Page 37 of Noel
Because whatever’s pulling me toward that voice isn’t fear.
It’shim.
I linger there, one hand pressed to my heart, listening to the way his sigh cracks the silence.It’s the first sound all night that makes him sound human—tired, lonely, aching.
And suddenly, it hits me: maybe Christmas reallyisthe season for believing.For second chances and quiet miracles.
Maybe I was put in Noel Kane’s path for a reason, or maybe he was put in mine.
All I know is that I’ve never felt this way before.
Not with anyone.Not with this kind of raw, magnetic certainty that he’s the one I’ve been waiting to collide with.
And if he wants me too, then why not?
I square my shoulders, take a slow breath, and pad down the stairs.
He doesn’t hear me at first.He’s standing by the fire now, comm turned off, a half-empty glass in his hand.
Whiskey—not milk.
The amber liquid catches the glow from the flames, painting gold across his fingers.
He looks unguarded.Just for a moment.
“Still awake?”he asks without turning, that deep voice curling around me like smoke.
“You’re up,” I say softly.
He finally looks over his shoulder, one brow lifting.“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
I cross the room before I lose my nerve.The air between us hums, full of things neither of us has said.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him.
I reach up, fingers curling in the front of his t-shirt, and press my mouth to his.
It’s not gentle.It’s not careful.
It’s desperate.Like all my emotions, the fear and tension and want are all colliding all at once.
He goes still for half a heartbeat—then his glass clinks softly against the mantle as he sets it aside and his hand comes up, cupping the back of my neck.
The kiss deepens.
His lips are warm, tasting of whiskey and something darker, somethinghim.His body heat seeps through my thin pajama top, and every nerve in me sparks alive.
When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at me, his breath is ragged.
“Holly,” he warns, my name a growl and a prayer all at once.
“I know,” I whisper.My voice shakes, but not from fear.“I just—had to.”
He studies me for a long moment, eyes searching mine like he’s looking for permission to believe in something again.
And for once, I don’t look away.
