Page 55 of His for Christmas
“And what are you waiting for?”
He looks down at me, eyes gone dark. “Everything. You. Your heart. Your future. I want it all.”
My breath catches. Before I can answer, he kisses me. Slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, until all I can do is hold on.
When we finally break apart, he takes my hand and leads me behind the massive Christmas tree, into a small hidden alcove lit only by colored lights. It feels secret, sacred.
“I’ve been thinking about this since you started decorating,” he says, voice rough. “Having you here. Among the lights. In the middle of everything you’ve made.”
He presses me gently against the wall, his mouth finding my neck. The world narrows to touch, breath, heartbeat.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, echoing the words that started everything between us.
Instead, I pull him closer. “Don’t you dare.”
What happens next is everything we’ve been building toward—need, love, understanding. His hands are possessive but reverent, his touch both worship and surrender.
When he says my name, it’s not a command. It’s a prayer.
And when it’s over, when we’re tangled together in the glow of the lights, I know the truth.
This isn’t control anymore. It’s love.
He holds me close, his breath warm against my ear. “Tomorrow night,” he says softly, “I’ll show you something important.”
“Your surprise?”
“More than that,” he says, voice rough with meaning. “A declaration.”
And I know—without him saying the words—that what’s coming will change everything.
Because Dominic Sterling doesn’t do anything halfway.
And when he finally gives his heart, he gives it completely.
Chapter
Fourteen
DOMINIC
Christmas Eve.
Cold. Bright. Perfect.
The kind of morning that makes the world look clean again—like maybe, if you’re lucky, you get to start over.
I’ve been up for hours. Haven’t slept much lately. Holly’s upstairs, soft and warm in my bed, breathing steady. Peaceful. While I stand here at the window like some restless ghost, watching the sun turn the snow into a field of diamonds.
Everything for tonight is ready. Every last detail planned down to the second—the east wing transformed, the vintage book she loves wrapped in paper I folded myself, the cookies her mother used to make recreated by my chef until the scent alone nearly undid me.
But none of that’s what keeps me awake.
It’s what it all means.
Three weeks. That’s all it’s been since Holly Parker walked into my life with her shy smile and gentle hands. Three weeks, and everything has changed.
This house used to be nothing but walls and glass. A showpiece. Now it feels alive. Because of her. Because shetouched it—and somehow, without meaning to, she touched me too.
