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A sharp, quick gasp escaped her throat, and she twisted her hands together, almost needing to touch the wet paint. It was beautiful, amazing. The colors glowed, and the sensuality of her own image stared back at her.
She looked up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you like it?”
“That’s much too tame a word,” she whispered. “It’s .. . I don’t know . . . It’s more than I expected.”
He seemed pleased by her response, although she felt inadequate to express what the painting made her feel. Humbled. That was part of it, and awed—awed that a man could be so gifted.
He stepped up onto the stone hearth and lifted the heavy painting of Jillian off the wall. Gently, careful not to smudge the wet paint, he rested the unframed canvas on the exposed nails. Maddy’s heart turned over in her chest. As a grand gesture, it was a doozy.
Then he took her in his arms, his firm lips finding her softer ones in a long, lazy, exploratory kiss. He was a heck of a good kisser. They were both breathing hard when he released her.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “When we were growing up, we always got to open one present after dinner on Christmas Eve.”
She looked at him, mute, confused.
He traced her lips with his fingertip. “I want you to be my Christmas Eve present, Maddy . . . more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
She shivered. “Yes,” she said simply. “Me, too.”
* * *
And so they set about preparing the cabin for that most magical night of the year, December twenty-fourth. Maddy was light-headed with excitement and anticipation and plain, old-fashioned horniness. While she raided the fridge and kitchen cabinets for anything that could remotely be considered festive cuisine, Grant was busy transforming the living room into what he called, with a leering grin, the love nest. His cheerfulness was contagious.
The table was pushed to one side, ready to bear their holiday repast, and the sofa cushions were commandeered along with several blankets to make a cozy bed in front of the fire. The Christmas tree, lifted to a spot of importance atop an end table, shone down on it all.
Grant brought in extra wood, enough to last through the night, he told her with a chuckle, laughing when she blushed. Maddy found the last of the mistletoe and tied it in little bunches to the prongs of the antler chandelier overhead.
All in all, they created a pretty darned good holiday ambiance, Maddy decided, frowning as Grant put a small, newspaper-wrapped present under the tree. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Just a little something for tomorrow.”
When he wasn’t looking, she rolled the poem she’d written for him into a skinny cylinder and tied it with a red twist tie from the bread package. She tucked it in a branch of the tree.
Sadly, Grant’s bachelor staples left much to be desired. Maddy wanted to make cookies or at least a pie, but she had to settle for sprinkling cinnamon into a pot of boiling water. Her strategy worked, and soon the air was fragrant with the aroma of fresh-baked goodies, pseudogoodies . . . but what the heck. It worked.
Grant opened a bottle of wine to accompany their frozen pizza rolls and packaged tossed salad. He grimaced. “I’ll make it up to you when we get off this mountain,” he promised. “Prime rib . . . lobster . . . my treat.”
* * *
He watched Maddy eat, her small white teeth sinking into gooey tomato and cheese. His cock was in permanent erection mode, and had been since this morning. He’d given a damned good impression all day long of being a relaxed, congenial guy, but inside was a pathetic, sex-starved male, ready to beg if necessary.
Maddy had jumped into the Christmas preparations with enthusiasm, and he had a clear vision of spending future Decembers with her under different circumstances. . . watching hokey holiday movies, their legs intertwined beneath a plaid wool blanket. Missing the end of the picture when their need for each other won out. Shopping for Barbies and dump trucks and Cocker Spaniel puppies.
His throat grew tight. He wanted desperately to lay it all on the line for her, but he sensed she was still skittish, still not ready to admit what he knew in every fiber of his being to be true. Against all odds, they had found each other . . . And he loved her. It was that simple.
They cleared away the meal debris and Maddy suggested Scrabble. Her voice was a tad higher than usual, betraying her unease. He pulled her down into the newly made nest of cushions and leaned over her, stroking her hair. “Are you scared of me?” he asked, not entirely kidding.
That drew a small smile. “Of course not.”
“Then why do I get the feeling you’re stalling?”
Rosy color blossomed on her cheeks. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m not . . . not exactly.”
He kissed her forehead. “Want to talk about it?”
She nibbled her lower lip, a crinkle between her eyebrows deepening. “This is all pretty intimidating,” she admitted, her voice almost inaudible.
