Page 57 of Puck the Holidays

"Of course not, you idiot,” she says giving me anI can’t believe you fell for thatlook.

We both laugh, and I pull her towards me for a kiss that I hope somehow conveys everything I need to say to her, but don't quite have the words to vocalize it at the moment.

"Your turn," I whisper, kissing her once more before pulling away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hattie

Seeing Connor's reaction to my gift is enough to make me love Christmas and forgive all of December's past indiscretions against me. I was honestly a bit nervous to give it to him, wondering if he would think it was stupid or be upset that I trespassed into his past like that, but I should have known better.

Now he smiles softly, waiting for me to open my gift, and though he seems relaxed I think he's the tiniest bit nervous too. I arch a brow at him, but he rolls his eyes and tells me to hurry up. I shrug and start unwrapping my gift. I add my bow to Connor’s shirt beside his own, and pull the paper off—in a far more civilized manner than he did, I’d like to add. When I open it, I stare.

"It isn't…" I whisper.

"It is. Took me forever to track a decent one down."

I gingerly take out the old book and run my fingers along the worn cover. I open the front and my suspicions are confirmed: It's a first printing of Charlotte's Web—my favorite book when I was a kid. I'd told him about it after he helped me get the chair into my living room, when he'd noticed my built-ins full of books. And heremembered. He remembered how much I loved it, how I'd gotten lost in my memories and in all the feels of my mom reading it to me almost every single night before bed. Just a handful of pages a night, of course, but as soon as we'd finish, we'd start back over again. It was the first book I ever read on my own once I learned how—though to be fair, I think it was like ten percentactualreading, and ninety percent reciting it from memory.

He'd not only remembered, but he'd been thoughtful enough to find a way for it to become a gift. A treasured gift. One of the best I've ever been given.

And he said it took him forever to track it down, meaning he's been working on this since the day I told him, back when we were merely friends. He's…God, Connor Shepherd might just be the best man I've ever known. I mean, I was already fairly certain of that fact, but this just cements it. My eyes water—apparently it's the night for tears, but for once, they're happy ones in December.

"Do you like it?"

"Connor, I can't believe you did this for me."

He hikes his left shoulder, still having a hard time moving his right one easily. "It's nothing."

"It'snotnothing. Con, this is—"

"I love you," he blurts, and then winces. I blink. Once. Twice. Did I hear that right? "Wow, that was…smooth." He laughs a little nervously. "But, there it is. I know it's fast and it's ok if you don't feel the same yet—or ever—but after everything that happened, I just…I was tired of not saying it, of having to fight to keep the words inside every time I saw you. I love everything about you, Hattie Jane McNamara. Even the things that drive me crazy, I love,” he says with a grin, and my lips twitch. “I love that you have thirty-four different coffee mugs and add to that collection nearly every time we go anywhere, but you drink out of the sameFox and the Houndone every single day. I love that you are always thinking about other people, constantly doing little things that may not seem like much but mean the world. I love that you can cuss like a sailor and drink half the team under the table. I love how much you love Ollie,” he whispers. “I love how strong and brave and determined and sexy you are. I love…I loveyou, Hattie. So fucking much.”

I swallow hard and take a few deep breaths. The crackling of the fire sounds so very loud in the silence now.

"Hattie?" he asks, sounding worried that I haven’t responded. I stare at him, gripping mamaw’s diamond around my throat.

"You're likeThe Order of the Phoenix," I tell him. His brows draw down in utter confusion.

"Uhh…what?"

"Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenixwas the first book I remember staying up all night to read. I couldn't put it down, and after I finished, I thought ‘wow, that was a good book.’ I was drawn to it from the beginning, but it was just another book that I enjoyed, you know? But the more I thought about it, the more I couldn'tstopthinking about it. It was constantly floating around in the back of my mind, even without me really realizing it. Then I went back and read it again. And again. And again. Each time, I would pick up on details I hadn't noticed before, appreciating the story for entirely new reasons, seeing it in new lights and finding new ways to connect to it. And then suddenly, it was my favorite book and I couldn't believe I thought it wasjusta good book at the beginning."

I meet his eyes, the firelight reflecting in the green and making them seem to glow from within.

"From the minute I met you, I couldn't get you out of my head. You were always there, always in the background, even before we became friends. Then we started hanging out and I knew you were going to be a good friend, that we had a great connection—and you were. You were an amazing friend, one of the best ones I’ve ever had, but the more I got to know you, the more I’d find all these new little details and facets of you, find new ways that we connect, sometimes on levels I can’t even really understand. Half the time, it’s like you can read my mind. And soon enough, you went from one of my best friends to so, so much more.”

He lets out a long, shuddering breath.

"So, what my weird book metaphor is trying to say," I murmur as I place my beloved gift on the coffee table, placing his beside it, and moving to straddle his lap and wrap my arms around his neck, "is that I love you, Connor. A whole fucking lot."

He chuckles, low and deep as his lips crash to mine, his left hand cupping my cheek before sliding to my nape. His right hand settles on my hip, fingers clenching tightly. I know it still hurts him to move his right arm much, but apparently the pain is far from his mind at the moment since slides his hand up under my sweater with no hesitation. I shiver at the touch, his rough palms scorching my skin in the best possible way. He pushes the fabric up and I pull back so that I can tug it over my head and quietly scold him not to use his dang arm. He mutters a quietyes ma’am, but my bra quickly follows, being tossed somewhere across the room. He groans, completely ignoring my chiding about his arm, and palms my breasts as I kiss him again, unbuttoning his flannel and sliding it gently off of his shoulders, careful of his bandage.

The kiss is deep, but languid, like we're both savoring this moment. I run my hands over his warm skin, over all of his tattoos, all of the scars and marks that I've come to know like the back of my hand. I grind my hips slowly over his lap as he leans forward and kisses my throat, and soon we're both desperate for more, though we keep things slow and steady. Things are always combustible between us, but this is a different kind of burn, slow and deep, but with enough heat to lay waste to everything in its path.

He lifts me up and maneuvers me out of my leggings and panties with an efficiency that I'll have to give him shit about later, and I undo his belt and pull his cock free. He hisses in a breath, but then his lips are on my breast, licking and twirling and sucking and I'm pressing up on my knees to position him beneath me. I’m already wet, already needing him so badly I can barely stand it. I slide downward in one long, slow glide, and we both moan at the feeling. His cock is so thick, filling me up so tightly it’s the most amazing pressure. His piercings hit spots that I can't even understand, wasn't even sure existed honestly, and this angle is like heaven.

I pull back as I start to move, up and down in a tortuously slow rhythm that's agony and ecstasy all at once. His right hand rests on my hip, helping to glide me on top of him, and the other cups my face, forcing me to hold his gaze.

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