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“Thank you,” she says on a long, relieved exhale.
“We still have a while yet, and I plan on having a nice family dinner, so Wade, if you wouldn’t mind, go wash up. You smell like cow shit.” Grandma scrunches her nose and lightly shoves her husband out of the room. He tips his head back and barks a laugh, nodding in silent agreement.
I spin Anna to my chest and tip her chin back to make her look at me. My heart tries to bash through my rib cage at the glimmer in her brown eyes.
“Welcome to the Steele family, Buttercup. Buckle up and enjoy the ride.”
The storm hitstwo hours later, rocking through the ranch with a vengeance. We had just finished cleaning up dinner when the lights flickered twice and then gave out completely, banking us in darkness.
The generators took a few minutes to get started, but once they were up and running, I was bundling Anna up in her jacket and sitting her in my truck. She didn’t argue as I drove us back over to the guest house or when I helped her inside, insisting she stay the night. It was for her safety. Mainly. And my own selfish wants. The desire to sleep beside her in my bed.
I make quick work of starting my generator and then a fire in the fireplace, all too aware of the way Anna’s shivering from her place on my couch. The generator might be on, but the time with no heat kicking through the house has left it fucking freezing.
The small flames come to life before growing into a blaze, warm and bright. I’m moving toward her in an instant, gathering her in my arms and squeezing, soaking in her touch. I spin us around and sit on the couch, pulling her onto my lap, her legs wrapped around my middle.
It’s overwhelming, the strength of my feelings for her. The intensity of my affection and desire to have her by my side. She’s everything I never knew I needed. The laughter that fills my quietest moments and the finishing notes in a melody I’ve always thought would be left incomplete.
Fuck. She’s just . . . everything.
I press my face into her neck, my lips curving against her pulse. Happiness rattles through me. This right here is what I was missing these past few years. What I was chasing in Nashville but could never quite find.
I’m not letting it slip away. I’ll do everything in my power to revel in this happiness for the rest of my life.
“You’re smiling,” she whispers, palming the back of my head before stroking it softly.
“I’m happy you’re here.”
“Me too.”
Leaning back just enough to bare my face to her waiting stare, I thread our fingers together and rest them on my thighs. She watches me intently, like she’s trying to get inside my mind. If only she knew that the only thing I’ve thought about recently is her.
A soft humour glows in her eyes as she asks, “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“’Cause I feel lucky. I’ve got my Christmas present in my lap. The best one I’ve ever had. And if you let me, I’m goin’ to spend a damn long time unwrappin’ you.”
ANNALISE
My pulse thunders in my ears, throat drying like a sponge in the hot sun. I shift my hips, an almost subconscious movement to soothe the ache between my legs. Jean on jean, I grind on the bulge beneath me, my lungs on fire.
I palm the soft material of his old hockey tee, the team logo too worn to recognize, before pressing harder, firmer, wanting to feel the ridges hidden beneath. The heat from his skin burns into my fingers, but it’s still not enough.
“You can unwrap me under one condition,” I murmur, tucking my fingers beneath his shirt, thumbing the trail of hair leading into his jeans.
“And what’s that?” he grunts, his body so rigid beneath me.
It thrills me to know I can make him this way. As overloaded with desire as I am.
I drag his shirt up his chest and stare transfixed at the exposed muscle. Abs thick and prominent enough to be counted, one after the other. And that’s exactly what I do, sweeping my nails over the ridges just like the first time in the hotel bathroom. He’s breathing hard through his nose, grip brutal on my waist.
“You let me unwrap my gift first,” I whisper, shoving his shirt as far as it will go before he’s leaning forward and tugging it off for me. “Holy abs.”
His laugh is choppy. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Please.”
I’m too focused on touching him, greedy for this look and touch without anything in the way, to register his plea. The black ink on his chest takes me by surprise, a beautiful mix of designs that he’s kept hidden.
On his right pec, two dates rest beneath a horseshoe drawn with such vivid details it almost jumps off his skin. The initials L.S. lie inside the horseshoe, and my heart pangs, knowing who they must be for.
Cautiously, I trace the design before moving to the next, a thickly sketchedSteelebeneath his left pec. It’s a proud declaration. A visible representation of the love he has for his family.
