Page 30 of A New Year's Toy

“Oh, please.”

“Honest to God.” I work out the short version of tomorrow’s speech in my head. “I’m damaged. My trauma will haunt me for the rest of my life, and there’s a good chance I might never rid myself of my guilt. You see through it, and you love me still. You stay.”

“I love you,” she whispers against my skin. “I love Jolene. I even love Connie.”

The fact she mentions my deceased sister as well as Jolene, the only remaining member of my nuclear family, makes my heart lurch in my chest.

Makes me love her even more.

“I love you and your parents, too.” I snuggle her closer to me. “And that’s all that matters.”

“Really?” She finds my gaze, light flecks of happiness dancing in her brown eyes.

“Yes.” I kiss her nose. “And fuck me if I know how I got to be this lucky to have a woman who’s such a pure essence of love and light. I don’t and will never need or even think about anyone else.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so full of it.”

“Enough of this.” Her amusement consoles me enough to end our conversation for today. “Come on, now. Sit up and let me soap you up before the water runs cold.”

She listens, allowing me to take care of her from lathering her body in soap, rinsing her clean until we end up in bed where we both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nola

“Alistair?”

He’s been uncharacteristically quiet. For the past five minutes or so, the man who usually bombards me with compliments, tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, or adjusts my dress to his liking has kept to his side of the room and hasn’t said a word.

He blinks once. That’s it.

His broad frame in a black tux remains perched on the dresser of the hotel suite, his hands firmly in his pockets.

And though I could’ve looked at him forever, at the slick, brushed-back hair and the stubble he groomed an hour ago, his silence unnerves me.

Just a little.

“Alistair?”

His lips tug to the side. “How may I be of assistance, ma’am?”

I’m momentarily stumped by the dangerous concoction in his eyes that bore into my soul and his Southern accent.

He doesn’t use it much, not when he can help it. Brings up too many memories, he says. Deepens the longings for his family members who wait for him on the other side.

But when it does slip, when he’s giving me another layer of his true self, I can’t help that I’m befuddled. Glaring. Enamored up to my ears.

His.

“Nola?” It’s his turn to rouse me out of my daydreams slash drooling. “You were saying?”

“You were staring,” I blurt out, somewhat embarrassed I’ve been caught ogling.

“Excuse me?” His chuckle paints the room in streaks of elegant gold.

“You were staring at me.”

His grin widens. “You’re a beautiful woman, Nola.”

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