The moment is too big, too much, but somehow exactly right.
Humbug squeezes my hand.“You okay?”
Somehow, I nod.“Yeah.I… yeah.”
Lil’ Nick steps back, clearing his throat.“All right, Jack.Finish what you were about to do.”
That’s when he drops to one knee.“Peppermint, will you be my Ol’ Lady?”
“You single?”I ask.
“Yes,” he answers, letting me know Trina finally gave in.
I say, “Yes.”And grab his collar on his way up, kiss him again, harder.
Until Frost yells, “Get a room!”
We do.
The second the door shuts, he’s on me… slow hands, careful, reverent, tracing the curve of my jaw, the line of my neck, down to the swell of my stomach.
“I keep dreamin’ I lost you again,” he whispers.“Then I wake up and you’re still here, and it damn near kills me all over… just softer.”
“You didn’t lose me,” I say.“I just had to find my way back.”
He sinks to his knees, presses his forehead to my belly.The warmth of his breath makes me tremble.“I’m sorry, both of you,” he says, voice shaking.
I thread my fingers through his graying hair.“Then stop sayin’ sorry and start showin’ me.”
He looks up, eyes silver in the low light.“That what you want, Christmas girl?For me to sleigh you?”
“That’s what I need.To be sleighed.”
When he rises, his hands are steady, but his voice isn’t.The kiss that follows isn’t desperate.It’s claiming, earned.His callused palms bracket my face like I’m the one thing in the world he still trusts.Every breath tastes like redemption.
His mouth trails fire along my throat.His hands slide down, cupping the curve of my hips like he’s memorizing every inch before the world changes forever.
“Humbug…” I breathe, tugging his shirt over his head.
He kisses me again, deeper, hungrier, and I feel him guide me backward toward the bed.
His palm spreads wide over my belly, and that’s when it happens.
A sudden, unmistakable warmth floods down my legs.
I freeze.
He pulls back instantly.“Carol?You okay?Did I hurt…”
“No,” I gasp.“But my water just broke.”
His eyes go wide.Wild.Terrified.Reverent.
“Oh, hell,” he says, voice cracking.“It’s time?”
“It’s time,” I whisper.
And then he laughs, broken, joyful, disbelieving, before grabbing his cut, his keys, and yelling through the closed door.
