Under the Mistletoe with Me (With Me in Seattle, #1.5)(6)

I close my eyes again as relief surges through me and I grip his wrist with my hand, keeping his hand against my cheek.

“Since Sophie was born, we seem different,” I whisper and open my eyes. “We’re so busy with her, you with the company, and me with the blog, and we’re always so damn tired. I just miss you. And I know that we don’t make love like we used to, and well…”

“You assumed I’d go looking for it somewhere else.”

It’s not a question. I cringe at the cold edge of his voice and focus down at his chest.

“I’ve never given you a reason to believe that, Stacy.” God, he sounds angry, and I can’t blame him.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. But you seemed to be hiding something from me, and the texts were a shock. You haven’t flirted with me like that since long before the baby.”

“I know.” He runs his fingers down my cheek before gripping my hands tightly in his. I love how big and strong his hands are. “When we were in Tahiti for the wedding, you were so relaxed and fun, and I realized that I miss you too, babe. The sex was great, and we laughed like we haven’t in a long time. It’s time to reconnect. I want to start dating again.”

“Dating?” I giggle.

“Well, yeah. I want to do things with just the two of us. It doesn’t have to be all the time, because Sophie is part of us, but we have a huge family who would love nothing more than to keep her once in a while, so I say we take advantage of it and spend some time together.”

And I melt. This is exactly what we need, what I’ve been missing.

“We only leave her with family,” I reply sternly.

“Of course, I wouldn’t leave her with just anyone. But you know our parents would love to spend extra time with her every few weeks or so.”

He’s right, they would, but it’ll be hard to be away from her. Yet, mending the connection between Isaac and me is imperative.

“You’re right. How should we start?” I ask.

“Well, right now…” he gives me that smile, the one he uses when he’s seducing me, and damned if it doesn’t always work.

“Right now?” I whisper.

He leans in and lightly brushes his lips across mine, once, then again, nibbling lightly at the edges of my lips.

“Right.” Kiss. “Now.”

Oh, hell yes.

He pulls me to my feet and yanks my blue long-sleeved t-shirt over my head, then pulls his own gray tee off and throws them aside. While I make quick work of my jeans and underwear, he swipes his hands over the bed, sending bags and boxes to the floor.

“I hope there wasn’t anything fragile in there,” he remarks with a grin and I shake my head, smiling back at him. His blue eyes light up at the sight of me naked, and he pulls me close, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me firmly against him. “Did you eat lunch?”

Lunch?

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good, you’re going to need the energy.” He buries his face in my neck, nibbling and sucking his way up to my ear and across my jawline. I reach for his jeans and unfasten them, slide my hands between his boxer-briefs and skin, and push them over his hips and down his legs, kissing his chest and sculpted abdomen.

His erection is full and hard, and without touching it with my hands, I circle my tongue around the tip. Isaac gasps, sucking air in through his teeth and I grin as I stand back up.

“God, I want you.” His eyes travel from my face down my body, over my breasts, my stomach, legs and back up again and I return the favor, taking in his amazing body. Working construction for almost fifteen years has kept him in fantastic shape, his muscles tight and firm. His skin is still bronze from our trip to Tahiti. He’s clean shaven, but he needs a haircut. His dark blonde hair is wavy, and unruly from running his fingers through it. Mine are itching to get into it too.

But it’s his Montgomery blue eyes that have always captivated me, that prompted my nickname Eyes for him, a variation of his name, and those incredibly blue eyes. They’re smiling at me now, hot and full of promise and lust and if my panties were still on they’d be soaked.

He takes my hand and pulls me flush against him, links our fingers and rests our hands at the small of my back. I trace his chin with my nose, and push the fingers of my free hand through his soft hair.

“Stace,” he whispers. I gaze into his eyes as he gently kisses my lips.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever even think about me f*cking around on you again,” he mutters, deceptively softly, against my lips, “I will spank the living shit out of you.”

My eyes go wide and I gape at him. Holy shit, this is new.

“Okay.” How the hell do I respond to that?

“I’m not kidding.” He pulls his fingers down my face, down my neck and cups my breast in his palm, worrying the tight nipple in his fingers. My head falls back and I bite my lip. “I haven’t looked at another woman in ten years.” His lips skim down my neck, and finally he cups my ass in his hands and lifts me, pivots, and lays me back on the bed. He crawls over me and rests his hard cock against my * while his mouth does incredibly naughty things to mine.

His tongue is strong and sure, insistent, dancing against my own. His elbows are planted on the bed at either side of my head and his fingers are buried in my hair. I run my hands down his smooth back to his ass and back up again. I love the feel of him. It never gets old.