Page 37 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
He exhales sharply, as if he's been holding his breath. "Kelsie, I..."
"You don't have to say it back," I interrupt quickly. "I know this has all happened so fast, and we still have things to work through. Trust to rebuild."
"That's not what I was going to say." He moves closer on the couch, close enough that I can feel his warmth. "I was going to say I love you too. Have for longer than makes any logical sense."
Joy bubbles up inside me, bright and unexpected. "You do?"
"These past three days have been hell," he admits. "Seeing evidence of you everywhere but not being able to talk to you. To touch you. To explain how sorry I am for jumping to conclusions."
"I know about insecurity," I tell him softly. "About the fear that something good can't possibly be meant for you. That's what Mason meant about being careful with your heart. Not because he told me your secrets, but because he knows we've both been hurt before."
Tom takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "I'm not good at this. At trusting. At believing good things can last. But I want to try. With you."
"That's all I'm asking for." I squeeze his hand. "Not perfection. Just effort. From both of us."
"I can promise that much." His eyes hold mine, sincerity radiating from them. "I love you, Kelsie."
I laugh, tears pricking my eyes. "I love you too, Tom."
He closes the remaining distance between us, one hand coming up to cup my face. "I've been thinking about nothing else for seventy two hours."
In answer, I lean forward, meeting his lips with mine. The kiss is gentle at first, tentative, as if we're finding our way back to each other after a long separation. Then something breaks loose between us, need and relief and love all mingled together as the kiss deepens.
His hands tangle in my hair as mine grip his shoulders, pulling him closer. Three days of longing pour into the contact, making it both familiar and brand new. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Come home," he whispers against my lips. "To our bed. Not the guest room. Home."
The simple request undoes me completely. I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat. He stands, pulling me with him, his eyes never leaving mine as he leads me upstairs.
In his bedroom. our bedroom, afternoon sun streams through the windows, painting everything gold. We undress each other slowly, reverently, relearning what we so briefly discovered before. Every touch feels heightened after days of absence, every kiss a renewal of promises still forming between us.
When he lays me on the bed, his body covering mine, it feels like coming home in the most profound sense. We move together with a tenderness that transcends physical pleasure, though there's plenty of that too. His hands and mouth map my body as if memorizing every inch, and I do the same to him, savoring the strength and vulnerability equally present in his responses.
"I love you," he murmurs against my skin, again and again, as if making up for the days the words went unspoken.
I answer in kind, in words and touches and soft sounds of pleasure that tell him more clearly than language how completely I'm his. When release finally claims us both, it feels like something sacred, a communion of bodies and hearts that leaves us both trembling.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. The sun has begun to set, casting long shadows across the room, but neither of us moves to turn on lights.
"Stay," he says into the gathering darkness. "Not just until the cabin heater is fixed. Stay."
I prop myself up to look at his face, finding vulnerability and hope in equal measure. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
"I'm asking you to make Whisper Vale your home." His hand cups my cheek. "To make this house our home. For as long as you want."
"What about my apartment in San Diego?" I ask, practical considerations surfacing despite the emotion of the moment. "My few friends there?"
"You can keep the apartment if you want. Visit whenever you need to." His thumb traces my lower lip. "Or we can find a place there too, for when you need to meet with your editor or just want a change of scenery. I have vacation days I haven't used in years."
The generosity of the offer, the willingness to accommodate my life rather than expect me to abandon it, touches me deeply. "You'd do that? Split your time between here and there?"
"I'd do a lot more than that to keep you in my life." His expression is open, honest in a way that still surprises me. "I'm not asking for immediate answers. Just for you to consider making what we've found here something permanent."
I kiss him softly, letting my actions speak before my words. "I already have. Considered it, I mean."
"And?"
"And my answer is yes." The certainty in my voice surprises even me. "Yes, I want to stay. Yes, I want to build something real with you. Yes to all of it."
