Page 21 of Her Cowboy Prince Charming

It was perfect. He was perfect.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, held his face in her hands and kissed him as he claimed her over and over again.

Mine.

She wanted to be his.

She wanted to be his more than she wanted anything in the entire world. And if she could gift herself, and know that it would last, then she would. Without a doubt. Unequivocally.

But it was Christmas. And gifts given on Christmas were beautiful right at the time. And then they were worn and faded, forgotten about before next year.

They went in boxes labeled memories. Or boxes labeled trauma. But they didn’t last.

She pushed that thought aside as another climax reached its peak, and she clung to him, crying out her pleasure in tandem with his, as she felt him pulse inside her.

And it was silent. Nothing but the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. And the knowledge of the snow falling outside.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” she agreed.

And he put the covers over her and brought her close to him.

It was a far cry from a quickie in a broom closet that ended with her running away.

But she would let herself be held. Tonight she would let herself be held, because tomorrow would come quickly enough. And it felt like a reckoning. Or maybe just a resounding clang of a silver bell.

But tonight there was this. Tonight there was maybe miracles.

And that felt good enough to her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ITWASCHRISTMASMORNING.And the morning dawned bright and cold in the cabin, because the fire had gone out sometime during the night. But the fire had never gone out between himself and Jessie.

Damien looked at the woman sleeping in his arms.

It was such a funny thing. He’d never seen a real marriage. A good marriage, at a close vantage point. His mother had always been single, and the way that she had acted about the very idea of a nuclear family had just made it something that he didn’t consider of extreme importance. But now he could see it. He could see a life with her, stretching before him. He could see hope and a future in a way that he never had before, the potential for it, with her. Yes. He could see that. All of that.

And he wanted it with such a ferocity that it nearly scared him.

And not much scared him.

But he had never been in a situation where he had anything to risk. Jessie had lost a lot in her life. A whole lot. She lost so much, and so he supposed she had always seen life as a risk. And he could appreciate fully that she had put something on the line when she tried to kiss him and he’d rejected her. He felt like an ass. Because he just hadn’t known. He did now. Now that he’d experienced loss. And now that things felt precarious. Like they were on the edge of something. Something he might not be able to get back. He kissed her forehead, and she opened her eyes, looking at him sleepily. “Damien?”

“Yeah. I’m right here.”

“Merry Christmas,” she mumbled.

Then her eyes flew wide. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, hell,” she said. “Hell and damn. Hell and damn and shit.”

“There’s that dirty mouth again.”

“It’s Christmas morning. And Dylan was supposed to get here bright and early. And it’s...” She looked outside. “It’s gone sunup.”

---