A Lot Like Christmas (Wishful 11)

“In the grand scheme of things, I want you to have a career doing the thing you love, in a way that makes you happy. I want you to get to a point where you feel safe and comfortable getting back behind the wheel just because you feel like it, not because somebody expects you to. And in the short term, I want you to have a week away somewhere with sandy beaches and fruity drinks with little umbrellas.”

She arched a brow at the shift from serious. “I’m in need of a tropical beach vacation?”

“Well, that one might be a little more for me since I’d be with you in that particular scenario. Swimsuits optional.”

A week in an island cabana to explore every inch of that battle-hardened body? Yeah, she could get behind that. “I like the way you think.”

“I’ve been giving that a lot of thought. But that’s not the week we’ve got.”

“No, it’s not,” she murmured. His week was supposed to be about Percy. She had more houses and businesses to decorate. And he’d be leaving soon.

It’s not fair.

But life wasn’t fair. She’d had that lesson driven home in ways that had scarred her body, and she’d had to work not to let it scar her mind. That had made her a woman who lived in the now, who savored the moment, and yet, with him, she found herself yearning for the what if, and with the yearning, aching. She turned to add the rest of the ingredients to the pot, mixing everything together as she struggled to breathe past the tightness in her chest.

“Look, Hannah, I want you. I think that’s obvious. But I get that’s a big thing and maybe more than you’re willing to give under the circumstances. And that’s absolutely fine. I get it. I won’t be offended, and I won’t push. Either way, you’ve given me enough fantasy fodder to fuel me for a good, long while.”

“Fantasy fodder, huh?” She liked the idea of him carrying a piece of her back with him, of being his fantasy. She desperately wanted this to be a beginning for them. She couldn’t count on that, but her default position was one of optimism and hope, so she’d embrace it. Embrace him.

Giving the pot another stir, she put on the lid and turned down the heat. She turned back to him, settling her hands on his chest, needing to touch him, needing to feel the increasing thud of his heart under her palm. “You asked me what I want for myself. Right now, that’s you.”

Her gaze flicked up to his, and their eyes locked as his hands settled on her hips, holding her in place. But he remained silent, waiting for her to finish as the moment ran long, as the current that had crackled between them all week buzzed along her skin, and her breath all but stalled. “Instead of making ourselves crazy with the wondering or worrying, let’s just start with that and see where it goes.”

Was there anything sexier than a woman who knew what she wanted?

And Hannah wanted him.

Thank God.

Ryan drew her in slowly, sliding one arm around to stroke up her spine and into her hair as he laid his lips over hers in a slow, simmering kiss. Without hesitation, she melted into him on a sigh that fired his blood. Whatever uncertainty or worry she’d been wrestling with, she’d made peace with it. Still, he had to let her set the pace, had to retain enough control to pull back if she changed her mind.

He tugged her more firmly against him, drinking in her ready, enthusiastic response and calculating routes to more comfortable horizontal surfaces. The bed was too far. Sofa was closer, and Percy wasn’t due back for at least another hour.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he trailed kisses along her jaw, down her throat as she tipped her head back to give him access. Her little purr of pleasure had him going harder still, as her hands fisted in his shirt.

“Duke, stay.” Ryan didn’t wait to see if the dog followed his command before tugging Hannah toward the living room.

They tumbled onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and a fevered meeting of mouths. On the bottom, he shifted, gripping her legs and positioning her until she straddled him. The moment her center settled over his erection, she moaned low in her throat and rolled her hips. The breath backed up in his lungs and he started questioning his noble intentions of letting her take the lead.

Needing skin, he slid his hands beneath the hem of her sweater to skate up her back. So soft. He wanted to spend hours exploring the contours of her body, the contrast of her silken skin against his callused fingers. Hannah arched into his touch and broke the kiss to tug her sweater up and over her head, tossing it to the side.

His hands dug into her thighs as he took in the pretty red satin cupping her breasts like a gift. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Her nipples pearled against the fabric, and he reared up, taking one into his mouth.

“Oh, God.” Arm locked around his head, she began to rock against him, mimicking the rhythm of his mouth.

Nuzzling, he managed to nudge the fabric aside until he closed his lips over her, swirling his tongue around the taut bud. Her whimper of pleasure had his cock jumping, and he arched against her. Her hands scrabbled at his shirt. With one hand, he reached back to yank it off, pitching it in the direction of the tree just as she slipped off her bra.

With a reverent curse, he kissed her again, cupping her breasts in both hands as she continued to rock against him. She was soft and warm and perfect in his palms, and the sounds she made as he rolled her nipples had his last shreds of control draining right out of his head. He needed her naked and mindless. Needed to bury himself inside her. But first he wanted her to fly apart for him.

His hand was at her zipper when Duke barked, the sound of it echoing from the foyer.

Hannah squeaked, jolting so hard, she fell right off him onto the floor.

“Shit, are you okay?”

“I’m—”