Page 45 of The Twelve Days of Christian
I can’t name this feeling I have for Haley—infatuation, obsession, adoration—maybe it’s love. I don’t know her well enough to be sure of that yet. But I want to. If she’ll give me a chance. I haven’t ever loved a woman, not in the way the songs, or poems, or books tell it. But from the moment I met her, something screamed at me; this might be the one. A person who love could grow with.
In this song, I pour out all of my hopes, my longing, and my frustration, because back then she seemed out of my reach. Not only because of the Ollie thing. I suppose I’ve put her on a pedestal, and never felt I’d be worthy of her. Now here she is, right in front of me, hearing my words.
As the last strum vibrates beneath my fingers and the sound wavers, I drop my head. I’m such a coward, afraid to face her with the memory of my song hanging so close in the air. My fragile hope held tight inside my vulnerable heart is like one of those spun glass baubles dangling from her over-dressed Christmas tree. She could crush it with a look, a word. I hold my breath, waiting.
Her voice comes low and husky.
“I’m not, you know,” she says. “Untouchable.”
I put down my guitar and reach for her.
Chapter 22
Day Seven
With my invitation clear,Christian is on his feet, towering over me. His eyes are unnaturally bright, the blue almost incandescent, like the dangling Christmas stars in my bedroom window. But more beautiful for the raw emotion glowing in them, the wanting, his longing for me held in check now allowed free.
Christian’s large hand seeks mine, and I reach for it like a lifeline. I grasp his long fingers, feeling the calloused tips wind around mine, skin hardened from the pressure of fingers on strings, yet so soft as they caress my hand, like the way he strums the guitar, a reverent touch that elicits something of beauty from the ordinary. There’s a gentle questioning in their tentative movement. He’s still unsure, but I’m not.
I’m ready to explore this thing with him. Maybe it’s what I’ve needed since my relationship with Jack crumbled. While Christian is learning, as Jack did, I don’t need his protection; I’m stronger than I appear; he also understands what Jack—and my so-called friend Paige—never did. Even the strongest people can have a vulnerable heart. I trust Christian not to hurt mine like they did. This is someone who really cares for me, even if my feelings for him are still hazy. And that is why I need to remember there are two vulnerable hearts involved here.
I stumble to my feet and crash into him, our bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. I loop my arms across his shoulders, tilting my head upwards. He searches my face, looking for something in my expression, and when he finds it, drops his head to press his forehead gently against mine, eyes shut, a little of the tension ebbing from his body.
I let my eyes fall closed, drinking in the warm reassurance of his bulk, and the smell of him, his musky maleness with a subdued woody undertone, the same fragrance that lingers in the bathroom long after he’s gone.
The one I realise I’ll miss when the twelve days are up, and he really is gone.
We stand together in silence; the only sounds our soft breathing and the crackle of the fire. Even the dogs sleep, oblivious, happily snoozing, undisturbed by this development.
His arms settle around my waist, pleasantly heavy, our heartbeats thudding like the insistent rhythm of a bass guitar underlining the sweet melody of desire surging between us.
When his eyes open with a flicker of those thick lashes too pretty for a boy—there is truth in his brothers’ old taunt—he pulls back alittle, studying me. There’s still a question there, and I answer with a smile. He responds with a teasing brush of his nose against mine, his eyes so close I can barely focus, but I see the silver flecks and the pupils huge and dark, feel his own face lift, the smile reaching his eyes too, as they soften.
He drops his mouth, lips brushing mine oh so gently, restrained and tender. One kiss, two; more.
His fingertips sneak beneath the neck of my pyjama top, gliding along my collarbone, and then skimming up my neck. He pauses, his finger finding a tantalising spot behind my ear. The touch is exquisitely sensitive, and my breath hitches as he circles it, making my nerves hum and sending shivers through me. I sigh against him with pleasure and he responds with a more demanding kiss, capturing my mouth.
Christian threads a hand through my hair, tangling his fingers in its length. The subtle pressure urges my lips back to his, and I yield to it, desperate for more. At the same time, his other hand drifts low, fingers skimming across my back, caressing the base of my spine, cupping my bum, and I melt into him.
He tastes so damn good, sweet and spicy, like the cookies, and just as delicious. His tongue parts my lips and I give way to it, allowing him in, as he devours my mouth.
He walks me backwards, and my knees buckle against the edge of the couch. He breaks my fall, catching me in his arms and lowering me onto the soft leather. And then he’s above me, a knee nudging between my thighs and I allow him in close. My body aches for more than the delicate kisses he showers on my neck. I want to offer him the rest of me, to take me as boldly as he possesses my mouth.
“Haley,” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck, when I clasp that firm butt under my hand, making it mine.
He’s hard, the erection straining against his jeans, the heat between us burning me up. I grasp him tighter to me, rolling my hips against him, shameless in my need. My rational brain is offline, and animal desire has me in its grip. I want him. Badly.
My hand fumbles between us, fingers snaking under the waistband of his jeans, gliding across the muscles of his stomach, following the groove of his hips, tracing the line of hairs that leads downwards.
I’m licking at his collarbone, where two buttons of his shirt are undone—I don’t even remember undoing them, but the access to his beautiful body swamps me with desire—when, with a groan, he slides off me.
Christian props himself up on one elbow, long body stretched along the back of the couch, an amused smile blooming on his face. He trails a finger along my nose, hovering on my lips, where ragged breaths huff out.
“Not tonight.” The husky whisper is mesmerising, the tone capturing me, blurring the words he’s saying. “Much as I’d like to. We shouldn’t go there tonight.”
Realisation dawns, sending me tumbling down off my lust-crazed high. I colour a little, hot embarrassment creeping up my neck and spilling onto my cheeks. I look away, dropping my chin, burying my face behind my hand. What must he think of me? I bet this wasn’t the sweet little Haley he was expecting.
“And I thought it was me with all that pent up need.” He chuckles as his finger brushes a delicate tease at one of my nipples, which still proudly advertises my arousal.
