Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(54)
The last thing she wanted to do was offend him. He’d risked his life for her. He’d abandoned his business without a backward glance in order to protect her. He’d taught her more about sex and passion in the past few days than she’d learned in twenty-eight years of life. The thought that she’d insulted this magnificent man made her heart-stricken.
They stared at each other across the room.
“I’m sorry, John,” she whispered. “Did I overstep the bounds? I thought I’d surprise you.” She was wringing her hands and forced herself to stop. “I hope I didn’t offend you if I changed a few things around. I didn’t want to insult you, I just—”
“No.” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and moved into the room. “No, I’m not offended. Of course not. Everything’s very…nice. Where do you want this?”
“Over there.” Suzanne pointed to the corner that positively cried out for a Christmas tree. “Put some water in the tub first.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He actually smiled, perhaps the third smile she’d seen cross his face. Her heart turned over. And just like that she knew. She was in love with this man.
She must have been half-way there already because the knowledge settled in her heart not as a blinding revelation, but as if there were a John Huntington-shaped place already there, waiting for him to fill it and waiting for her to acknowledge it.
Was this why she hadn’t given her heart to any other man? Because she hadn’t, not really. Oh sure, she’d dated and had had a few lovers, but right now, at this moment, she couldn’t remember a thing about any of them. She remembered everything—everything—about John Huntington.
The way his deep voice seemed to set up reverberations in her diaphragm. The way his hard, callused hands could be so delicate. The way he unerringly put himself between her and danger. The way his tongue against hers robbed her of breath. The way his penis felt, hard and hot, inside her.
Was it just sex? Maybe. Goodness knows, she’d thought of sex the instant she’d seen him. They hadn’t had one conversation that hadn’t had sex as the backdrop. It oozed out of the man’s pores and she’d fallen instantly in lust, the second she’d met him. So unlike her, the Queen of Cool.
Whenever she’d thought about finding the love of her life, she’d imagined some nice, suitable man, whose tastes were similar to hers. They’d date for a month or two, going to recently reviewed restaurants and first-run movies. They’d go to bed together, discreetly, tastefully, and find they liked the same brand of coffee and plain croissants for breakfast. They’d read the same books and vote the same party.
Nothing could be further from that scenario than John. He wasn’t a nice, suitable man. He was a warrior, a hard, tough man. They probably didn’t read the same books and didn’t have the same taste in music. And they very definitely didn’t vote for the same party.
Instead of dating for a few months, they’d had wild sex the day they’d met. In bed, he was overwhelming, a force of nature, not the gentle and tame lover of her imagination. Nothing about him was easy or comfortable or familiar.
And yet she loved him. She felt more for him, a man she’d known for a few days, than she’d ever felt for any other man. She’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he crooked his finger.
Was it sex? Maybe. God knows the sex was powerful enough to bind her to him on that basis alone. But there was more. They might not have the same tastes but she admired him more than any other man she knew. He was brave in a way she’d never seen before, never even knew existed. Astute about the ways of the world. Observant. Intelligent.
She watched his broad back as he set the Christmas tree up in its tub and shook her head. Never in a million years would she have imagined loving a man like him. But here she was, heart thumping at the mere sight of him doing such a mundane task.
“Okay.” John straightened, brushing his hands. The Christmas tree stood straight and tall. He’d chosen well. The branches were evenly spaced, a glossy forest-green pyramid. He’d centered it in the tub and it rose, tall and straight and perfect, nearly to the ceiling. “Now what?”
She walked up to him and stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss that was pure affection. What a man. He’d never set up a Christmas tree before, yet the first time he’d done it, it was perfect. “Now…we decorate,” she smiled, and placed red ribbons in his hands, hiding a smile at the look of stupefaction in his face.
She hadn’t had much to choose from in the supermarket in the way of decorations, so she’d opted for simple, natural objects in a color scheme of red and white. Red ribbons, apples, popcorn.
While the turkey popped and hissed in the oven and an a cappella choir sang “The Little Drummer Boy” and “Do you See What I See?” on the radio, they looped the red ribbons on the boughs, threaded the popcorn and hung clove-studded apples from a red ribbon bow. John was a fast learner and it didn’t take him long to get up to speed, though he’d been clueless at first about trimming a Christmas tree.
“It’s about balance and color.” Suzanne pointed to the branch where an apple should be tied. “The decorations should be evenly spaced and you shouldn’t have too many objects of the same color too closely together. Didn’t you have Christmas trees when you were a kid?”