The Mistletoe Motive(52)

“You figured it out.” I smile at him. “We both did.”

“Yeah.” His eyes search mine. “We did.”

And for a long time, we lie there in the quiet, nothing but the soft dance of the fire’s flames, the sound of our breath and whispered voices as we touch and stare at each other, bursts of laughter and smiles, piecing together the past year, stitching every part of ourselves and our past into one glorious, promising whole.

After a sweet, slow kiss, Jonathan nods his chin toward the miniature Christmas tree nestled on the mantle of his fireplace, sparkling with tiny twinkly lights. “This is what you did to me,” he grumbles. “I have a Christmas tree. I’m an agnostic who, despite my business acumen, loathes the empty consumerist impulses of the season, and here I am, with a Christmas tree on my mantle.”

“I don’t think it’s tiny enough. And it’s definitely missing a fingernail-sized tree topper.” I kiss him softly. “It’s the sweetest thing, Jonathan, but just so you know…you don’t have to love the holidays. I love them enough for both of us.”

It’s quiet for a minute. He traces my breasts with a fingertip, turning my nipples hard and tender. “It’s not so much that I hate the holidays,” he says. “I just don’t…have many happy memories from them. My parents weren’t good together. They always fought badly, but they were at their worst around the holidays—screaming fights, slamming doors, driving off at night and not coming back until the next day.

“My sister Liz, who you met, she’s older, and she bore such a burden around that time of year, trying to offset my parents’ animosity, to make things extra ‘festive’ and ‘happy’ for me. As I got older, that just struck me as deeply unfair and oppressive, this pressure and guilt if we weren’t always ‘cheerful’ simply because it was the month of December and ‘Christmas was coming!’”

I peer up at him, gliding my fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. That makes complete sense.”

He turns his head and kisses my palm. “You don’t need to be sorry, Gabriella. And all that to say, while I don’t have many positive associations with the holidays…” He gently cups my breast, then kisses me slowly. “I think, going forward I will.”

I sigh into our kiss, but then I pull away, meeting his eyes. “I’m still sorry it was hard. For you and Liz.”

“Thank you, Gabby.” He’s kissing me more, trying to move past the moment. And I understand. But I need him to know this. Sitting up, I press Jonathan onto his back, then straddle his lap. I set my hands on his shoulders and peer down, one eyebrow arched.

He gives me an amused, affectionate smile. “I see what you’re doing. And you’re not quite there.” Gently, with his index finger, he lifts the arch of my eyebrow higher. “Better.”

“Good. Now listen up, champ.”

“Champ, huh?”

“You heard me.” I drop the act and settle my weight on him, making Jonathan exhale roughly and grip my waist. “Especially now that I know why the holidays aren’t your favorite, I need you to believe me—that, yes, I love holiday cheer and festive fun, but not as much as I love…” I search his eyes, afraid to say something so true so soon. Instead, I tell him, “I don’t want you to change for me. I want you, just as you are, Jonathan Frost. That’s more than enough.”

His eyes search mine. “I believe you. And I know you’d never expect me to change. I just think it’ll be pretty damn impossible not to love the holidays just a little, now that I get to share them with you.”

I bite my lip so I won’t cry. “That’s…absurdly sweet, Jonathan.”

Smiling, he drags me down and wraps me in his arms.

“Gabriella,” he says quietly, hiking my leg around his waist.

He’s hard again, snug and hot between my thighs. “Jonathan,” I whisper.

His lips brush mine as he tells me, “Gabriella, I love you. I don’t expect you to say it back, but I can’t go a moment longer without you knowing the truth.”

I gasp, joyful and thrilled, but he kisses me before I can say a word, a bone-melting, world-tipping kiss. “‘I cannot fix on the hour,’” he says quietly, “‘or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’”

Warmth spills from my heart into my hands, touching him, into my lips, kissing him. My love is a glowing sunrise pouring over hard, snowy ground. “Pride and Prejudice,” I whisper.

He nods. “Austen’s best.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“There’s a lot more to the romance genre, I’ll have you know, but P and P is some good shit. So much frustration,” he growls against my skin, “and longing and work—”

“Before they’re ready to set aside their judgment and preconceived notions.” I search his eyes. “To be brave and lay down their defenses. That’s when they see each other clearly. And they fall madly in love.”

He kisses me, deep and slow. I taste how much he wants me. “And they earn their happy ending.”

“No more unrequited longing,” I tell him.

“No more being brave on your own,” he says. “Now we’re brave together.”