by Carian Cole
In a smooth movement, he leans back against the front of the armchair, and pulls me up onto his lap. I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting to get as close to him as possible.
Tilting his head to the side, he smiles devilishly. “Christmas hasn’t even started yet.”
“We’re going to decorate the tree?”
“After our cocoa, yes.”
Earlier he dragged a huge cardboard box up from the lower-level storage room that, to my surprise, had a synthetic Christmas tree inside. When I said I assumed that he’d want a real tree, he told me the smell of pine always gave me migraines.
I, of course, had no idea, and I’d rather not find out if it’s still true.
Playing with a long lock of his hair, I’m captivated by the shadows dancing along the beautiful angles of his face. “Do we have time for a little break before we start decorating the tree?” I ask coyly.
Sliding his hands down to cup my ass, he pulls my body even closer to his, and I can feel him pushing against me through our jeans.
“Does that answer your question?” he murmurs, leaning down to press his warm lips to the top of my cleavage peeking out of the V-neck of my sweater.
Gasping, I bury my hands in his hair, embracing his head as his lips trail a tantalizing damp path over the curve of my chest. Slowly, he moves his hands from my ass up to my waist, then farther to my breasts, kneading his fingers into my flesh with want. Hooking his fingers in the neckline of my sweater, he tugs it and my lacy bra down until my breasts spill out.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, bowing his head down into my skin, inhaling deeply.
My head falls back with a low, breathy moan as his lips encircle my nipple, his wet tongue and piercing flicking, slow at first, then fast—taunting and sucking. I grind myself against him, reveling in how thick and hard he feels even with our clothes between us. He works my other breast with his hand, gently squeezing, rubbing his thumb roughly over my nipple in time with his mouth, expertly building my need for him.
Panting shamelessly, I pull his shirt up and whisper in his ear, “Take this off.”
His sexy, cocky-but-irresistible smile curves his lips as he pulls his shirt up over his head. “Take yours off too, sweetheart.”
I do, and moments later, we’re removing the rest of our clothes in a frenzy of hands and wild kisses.
“I want you right back where you were,” he growls as I lift up off him to slip out of my jeans and panties.
Lord. His voice does such things to me… melts me, soothes me, and turns me on beyond words.
His touch is right up there with his voice. Especially when his hands are on my waist like they are right now, holding on to me possessively as I straddle him.
He cradles the back of my head with one hand, my hip with the other, and pulls me down to him. My mouth to his, my hips to his. His cock nudges my wet entrance, and I slowly lower myself onto him, loving how his eyes close with pleasure as I take him deeper.
We kiss deeply, a tangle of tongues and moans as our bodies move fluidly together. Seeking, thrusting, clenching. Pushing us to the edge together.
My body certainly remembers him, just as my heart does. There’s no doubt there, no lapse, no gray area.
If only my brain would get on board.
As we make love on the thick blanket in front of the fire, a sense of déjà vu waves over me.
Or maybe it’s a memory.
Whatever it is… I’m spellbound. Swept up in the magic of the holiday and this man, and loving every minute of my life.
As we decorate the tree with the new ornaments we purchased a few days ago, the boxes of old ornaments, taped shut and labeled down in the storage room, seem to be calling me. Thinking of them down there tugs at my heart. Those carefully wrapped ornaments are sentimental. Mementos of our history together.
Our First Christmas.
Baby’s first Christmas.
A porcelain, heart-shaped frame with old Teddy’s photo, which hung by a red ribbon.
I know this because I peeked in the boxes.
It was Asher’s idea to buy new ornaments as part of our fresh start, and they’re beautiful. Shiny, bright, and new. Unlike the ornaments in the old musty boxes, which are all different shapes and colors and wouldn’t make the tree look nearly as pretty and put together as the one we’ve just finished decorating.
A little niggling ache inside me wants those old ornaments on the tree, not hidden away. It doesn’t seem fair for Asher and Kenzi not to see ornaments on our tree that hold sentimental family memories.
“I got you something special.” Asher hands me a white box. Smiling despite the melancholy feelings I have about the tree decorations, I eagerly open the box to find a beautiful crystal butterfly with colored wings.
“It’s a tree topper,” he explains. “I thought instead of a star or an angel, a butterfly would be perfect.”
It is perfect. So incredibly perfect because it symbolizes so much to me. Awakening. Change. Comfort.
“Asher…I love it.” I smile, biting back the unexpected emotion. “Will you put it up there for me?”
Watching him climb the ladder to carefully place the butterfly on top of our tree diminishes the sad feelings I felt moments ago. Asher’s totally invested in our new beginning. He’s put the past behind us and constantly shows me he accepts and loves me. That’s all I’ve wanted and needed all along.
Then why do I keep having fleeting moments of bittersweet emotions, like something is getting left behind?
Putting his arms around me from behind, he rests his head on my shoulder and gazes at the tree with me.
“Are you happy?” he asks.
“Yes. Very.” I lean back against him and put my hands on his over the front of my waist. “Are you?”
“More than I’ve been in a long time.” He turns me to face him, and I’m surprised to see the intent look in his eyes, the firm set of his jaw, as if he’s on the verge of saying something but is holding back.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“No.”
Worried, I flatten my hands on his chest and tilt my head up to him. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. I have to do something, and I don’t think it can wait anymore.”
A knot twists in my stomach. Minutes ago, we were entirely wrapped up in each other. What could be wrong?
“What is it?”
His expression is unreadable. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I let him lead me to our bedroom, wondering with each step what this sudden thing is he has to do, on the night before Christmas Eve, right after we just made love.
“Sit on the bed, and close your eyes,” he says, which puts my mind at ease.
Nobody delivers bad news to someone with their eyes closed.
“Are there going to be more Christmas lights?” I tease, doing as he asks.
“Just one more.” I hear him say from the closet, along with the sound of a drawer opening and closing.
“You can open your eyes now.”
He’s right in front of me.
Kneeling on the floor.
Staring up at me, holding a diamond ring in his hand that’s so big and sparkly, it puts all the Christmas lights to shame.
I blink at him, my mouth slightly open, unable to form any word or sounds.
Is that—?
“Ember.” His voice wavers, and he grins crookedly as he clears his throat. Emotion mists over his eyes. “Will you marry me?”
My pulse kicks up. My head sways with dizzy excitement and a sense of unreality. I lick my lips, still trying to make my mouth say something.
“We are,” is all I can manage to get out as my gaze darts back and forth between him and the ring.
“Technically, yes. But we’re at a new beginning. You didn’t get that choice when you woke up.” He inhales nervously. “You kinda got stuck with me, and that wasn’t fair for you.”
I can’t imagine being stuck with any other human on the plan
et than Asher Valentine.
Big, hot tears well up in my eyes and fall down my cheeks. “Yes.” I nod rapidly. “I want forever with you.”
Our hands shake as he slides the ring onto my finger, and my heart feels like it might burst with happiness when he brings my hand to his lips and softly kisses it.
“I want to renew our vows.” His voice is husky. His eyes deep and dark, locking on to mine. Filled with love, hope, and promise.
He’s steadfast, my north star, always bringing me back to where I belong. Here, home, with him.
“It can be whatever you want. A big wedding. A private ceremony. Here. Another country. Anywhere. It’ll be your day. I want it to be everything you dream of.”
Smiling through my tears, I correct him. “It’ll be our day.”
Gently holding my cheeks in his hands, he kisses me as if he can’t breathe without me. I cling to his shoulders to keep myself steady, opening my mouth to capture his kiss.
When we part to catch our breath, he’s smiling with a mix of happiness and sexy awkwardness. “I’m sorry that was so random, babe. I wanted to make it more romantic, but I couldn’t wait anymore.”
I’m not sure what could make a girl feel more wanted and loved than a man being too impatient and excited to propose to her.
For the second time!
I hug him as tight as I possibly can, pressing my face against his chest, feeling his heart beat against my cheek. Tumbling more in love with him. “It was perfect,” I say. “You did wait. And I love you so much.”
Taking a deep breath, he bows his head down and kisses my forehead. “I love you twice, Em.”
Now and forever.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The last person I was expecting to get a text message from on Christmas Eve is Redwood. I haven’t had any contact with him since Ember told me he was the one who helped her with her transformation, and I was hoping he was gone for good.
No such luck.
Redwood: Merry Christmas, Mr. Valentine.
Me: Merry Christmas.
Redwood: How’s your wife? It’s been almost a year since she woke up. I’m sure she’s barely recognizable now. LMAO.
Me: Not funny. I want you to stay away from her. I’m not going to tell you again.
Redwood: Ooh. Threats excite me.
Me: Not surprised. Leave her alone.
Redwood: Don’t worry. I have my own woman now. If she’d just stop trying to escape, I think we’d be really happy together.
Me: I don’t want to hear about your victims on Christmas.
Redwood: Fine. I’ll give you a break since it’s a holiday. Give Ember my love. Maybe we can double date someday. I’ll be in touch.
Refusing to let him muck with my holiday cheer, I delete the texts and turn toward the click, click of Ember’s heels coming down the hall.
“Holy cannoli,” I say when she comes around the corner of the foyer. “You. Are. Gorgeous.”
My heart thuds at the sight of her. She’s all legs, curves, and luscious lips.
Meeting her at the center of the marble floor, I encircle her waist, needing to touch her, to remind myself she’s real.
“Do I look okay?” she asks nervously.
Blowing out a low whistle, I let my gaze travel over her inch by inch. Perfectly tailored black leather skinny pants. Black Louis Vuitton heels. Silver metallic silk blouse under a fitted black blazer. Glossy red nails and lips. Hair framing her face in dark, loose waves.
My favorite perfume.
My wife is hot as hell.
“Babe, you’re so beautiful, I can barely breathe.”
Her lips are begging to be kissed, and it’s killing me not to, but I refuse to let myself smear her makeup.
Not to mention, if I start kissing her, I won’t be able to stop, and we’ll never make it to Gram’s house.
Can Christmas Eve be postponed for a day? No? I didn’t think so.
She touches my shoulder and looks at me exactly like I’m looking at her—like she wants to tear my clothes off right here in the foyer.
“You look so handsome.” She runs her hand along the collar of my black dress shirt. Her nails graze the side of my neck, pushing my self-control even further.
“I don’t think you’ve ever seen me in anything except T-shirts, have you?”
“I’ve seen you shirtless,” she teases. “But now I can’t wait to see you on our wedding day.”
Ember was a beautiful bride at eighteen, but, man, I can’t wait to see her in a wedding gown as a grown woman.
I grab her hand and hold it tight in mine. “I keep thinking about what you’ll look like in a wedding gown now.” I pull her closer and whisper in her ear, “And what you’ll look like when I slowly take it off you.”
Gram’s house is already buzzing with activity when we arrive. My parents, siblings, and cousins are already there with their significant others. Kenzi, Tor, and Tia are on their way. Laughter, chatter, and holiday music fill the house along with the delicious aroma of dinner and dessert cooking.
As we say hello to everyone, Ember appears overwhelmed, but happy, being around so many people at once.
I wish with all my heart she could remember that once, a long time ago, this house was her home. She sat on that very couch, under a crocheted afghan, watching old black-and-white movies with Gram. Kenzi sat on that counter as a toddler, mixing cookie batter, asking a hundred questions.
On the drive here Ember mentioned being worried about how my family would react to her face being different. As I expected, not one of them made a comment or looked at her strangely. All the girls, however, gushed over her big, new diamond ring and then proceeded to bombard her with wedding ideas.
“I married your mother twice,” my dad says as we stand to the side sipping eggnog. “Somehow, the second time meant even more than the first.”
“I feel the same. I didn’t think it’d be possible, but I love Ember even more now.”
“Going through rough times can make or break people. The older we get, the more we appreciate what we have and what we wouldn’t have.” He stares at my mother across the room. She looks elegant as ever in a red dress, holding Tia on her lap. “I think the hardest loves can be the best loves.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
It’s true. Fighting for our love, fighting for each other, has brought us even closer than we were before.
After dinner, my mother comes to sit with me and Ember on the couch.
“You look stunning,” she says to Ember, who blushes from the compliment. “I love your hair color. It makes your eyes pop.”
“I’m glad you snuck away from the baby to come sit with us. Ember wanted to talk to you about something,” I say.
“Oh,” Ember says apologetically, looking from me to my mom. “I’m not sure now’s a good time.”
My mother smiles with reassurance. “Of course it is. Anytime’s a good time. I’m all ears.”
Ember puts her drink down on the coffee table. “Sydni’s been on me to do an interview about the band, but I declined because the journalist I spoke to only seemed to want to focus on the negatives. How my accident affected the band and my life. How I lost my career. How the band struggled to replace me and how I feel about that. To be honest, I don’t want any part of it. I released a short statement last week, announcing I wouldn’t be returning to the band, that I have a traumatic brain injury with memory loss, confirming that Asher and I are still together and thanking the fans for their support. I didn’t go into further details.”
My mother listens pensively. “I think that was the wise choice. The press can really wreak havoc on your lives. You don’t need any drama or stress.”
“I’ve been thinking, and Ash and I talked about it—I’d love to write a book about my experience. To give people hope for recovery. Not just for the person who suffered the injury, but for their loved ones too.”
“What happened to you is extraordinary. I think people would love to rea
d your story.”
“I’d love for you to help me. I don’t know anything about writing or how to organize my thoughts. I don’t want it to be a story about the end of my career or the tragic tale of loss that the journalist seemed to want to spin, but about having a new life and not giving up. Embracing the second chance and not dwelling on the unpleasant parts. I don’t want to gloss over the hard parts, but I don’t want that to be the focus. I want it to be written in a positive but realistic way. We also want to donate any and all proceeds to the hospital and rehab facility that helped us so much.”
“That sounds amazing. Whenever you’re ready, you just let me know, and I’d be honored to collaborate with you.”
“Thank you. I’m excited about it.”
“Asher tells me your paintings are beautiful. I think it’s fascinating how new creativity emerged.”
“I do too. Apparently, I’ve done some sketching before, but I had no idea I could actually paint.”
“Mom, you should come over and look at her paintings. They’re amazing.”
“I’d love to. Your father and I will come by after the holidays for a visit.”
“We can all have dinner,” Ember suggests. “Kenzi, Tor, and the baby can come over.”
My mother beams. “That sounds perfect. Speaking of babies, when can I expect another grandchild from you two?”
I swirl my ice around in my drink. “Mom. We’re not in a rush to have a baby. We’d like to get through our wedding first.”
“A honeymoon baby would be really romantic,” my mother suggests, grinning excitedly, always weaving the romance plots.
Ember reaches for my hand between us on the couch. “When the time’s right,” she says to my mother.
My mom waves her hand dismissively at us and then happily continues. “I don’t believe in right times. While you’re waiting for the right time, time just keeps ticking by, and what you want may never happen. I’d rather have something at the wrong time than never at all. I met your father at the wrong time. I had most of you kids at the wrong time. My career skyrocketed at the wrong time. Guess what? It all turned out to be the right time.”
