Page 56 of Wintertime Love (Holiday 2)

There’s a devilish smirk in his eyes as he answers me, “Resolved.”

I sit up, blinking. “Resolved? What do you mean?”

He captures a strand of my hair and curls it around his finger, idly, his eyes are watchful. “I mean, I decided against opening a branch here. I don’t think Expresso House will be setting up any branches in Wicca Springs.”

I should be happy but my heart is sinking.

He’s going to leave.

Anguish grips my heart and I don’t know how I manage to speak in a careless tone, “Oh.”

I shouldn’t show how I feel…“Are you going to leave then?” I can’t hold back the tinge of pain in my voice or the hurt that’s visible on my face. Till a month or so ago, I could wear a poker face around anyone. But this man has broken every defense I’ve ever had to the point that my heart break is showing on my face against my will.

Finn’s eyes widen while his hands still and he says, carefully, “I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me?”

There’s an odd trace of vulnerability in the token of the man who always steals kisses from me with such confidence and comes back swaggering even after I scowl and snipe at him.

My hands clench into fists on my lap and I stammer, “I – No, I mean…” I want to get the words out but I don’t know how to say them. “I would miss you.” That’s as good as a love confession from me but I fear he wouldn’t take it that way and I try to embellish on them, “I mean I—”

He releases my hair to cup my face in his hands. “If I were to ask you to abandon everything here and come with me, would you?”

Abandon everything that I’ve worked for all these years with my heart and soul? For him?

A part of me wants to say yes and the other part of me shies away from such a cruel choice. Yet I know if I let him walk away from here, I would never find another Finn. My lips part to give him an answer.

Perhaps he sees the conflict in my eyes, and he smiles. “Well, it’s a good thing I wouldn’t ask you that.”

The words are like a heavy blow, a slap in the face and a cold feeling starts sinking in, as I try to wrap my head around what he just said.

Then he adds, “I wouldn’t ask you to choose between me and your home.”

I reel from his words, trying to make sense of them and I let out a shaking breath, “What are you saying?”

Finn studies me for a few seconds as if memorizing my face and his thumb strokes my cheek, as her murmurs, “You’re such a prickly creature, like a bad tempered little kitten. You never know how to submit unless we’re in bed. Then, you hand over ownership of your body so easily. You beg so prettily, you make me lose my mind.”

My cheeks flush at the visual image his words are creating for me, but he doesn’t stop, a wondering expression on his face, mixed with awe, “I’ve never devoted this much time and effort to get a woman into my bed. And by the time I did, I wanted more from you.”

His words are giving me hope, the kind of hope that can be very dangerous, and I whisper while feeling dazed, “What do you want from me?”

“Everything.” He rubs my lower lip with my thumb, confusion, possessiveness, desire in those beautiful amber eyes. “I want your anger, your tears, your smiles, everything. Who would have thought I would fall in love with a woman who’s so stingy with her heart?”

Even as a beautiful hope now blooms in my chest, I open my mouth to protest against the stingy part.

He cups my jaw, his fingers squeezing my cheeks, making me squawk in indignation. “Don’t even think of saying you’re not stingy. I’ve never been a masochist and yet, you have me turning into one.”

I push his hand away. “Maybe you need to reevaluate yourself.”

“Smart mouth.”

I glare at him.

He raises a brow, crowding me against the driver’s seat, till he is all I can see and smell and hear, “If you think I will walk away from you and that you’re going to get rid of me so easily, you have another thing coming. I’m of Irish blood. We’re very possessive lovers.”

“When did I say I wanted to get rid of you?” I try to mu

ster my bravado, even as my heartbeat quickens, his confession alleviating my fears.

“Well, don’t you?” He questions me, narrowing his eyes.

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