Tropical Holiday Tails - Zoe Chant Page 0,18
screened in greenery sporting a Jacuzzi the size of some swimming pools looking down over the last rows of the resort to the ocean. It had been so freshly renovated that there were still scents of new paint.
Magnolia could have stayed here forever, she thought wistfully, making friends with other travelers. But Chet wouldn’t last long. Maybe they could find a college town that was friendly to shifters, somewhere he could take more classes and search for purpose. Perhaps she could persuade him to stay here through the New Year. It was only a week to Christmas, and though they had enjoyed green Christmases, they’d never done a truly tropical Christmas in all their years of travel.
The staff had already been here; their luggage was laid out in the central sitting room.
“I’ll get us unpacked,” Chet said gruffly, and he went to open the first of Magnolia’s trunks. There were beautifully carved solid wood dressers in the bedroom, in an early colonial style.
“Wait,” Magnolia said, and he did, of course. “Maybe we should do a structure test of the bed before we get settled in.”
“It would be a shame to go to all the work of unpacking if the beds are insufficient,” Chet agreed with a grin that chased away all of his previous gloom.
Magnolia smiled back in delight and stepped closer. “I reek of airplane,” she said apologetically. Bears had excellent senses of smell.
Chet closed the little distance left between them and buried his hands in her loose hair. “All I smell is you,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.
Nothing felt wrong with Agneta—Magnolia, for now—in his arms. Chet could forget his betrayal, his doubts. More than twenty years with this woman, this amazing, beautiful woman, and he only fell more in love with her as they went.
He still wanted her irresistibly, every time he saw her, still hungered for her kisses and took pleasure in finding new ways to make her gasp and shudder. He was still awed by her courage and her grace.
He still found moments of nirvana, buried deeply in her, making her rise beneath him like a force of nature. The taste of her kiss exceeded any of the gourmet food they had ever enjoyed, and when she cried out in pleasure, Chet thought he might perish from happiness.
The bed survived their test, though it gave many alarming creaks that suggested it might not weather anything more vigorous.
“Oh, my darling,” Magnolia murmured in his hair as he lay at her generous breast. She called everyone darling, but there was something special about the way that she said it to him.
She made everything wonderful.
He unpacked her clothing while she showered, hanging the fine dresses and arranging the assortment of shoes. The resort was clothing optional, something Magnolia had giggled over like a girl when she read the brochure, but she never arrived anywhere unprepared for formal events. There were already a few packages in wrapping paper neatly tucked away. Magnolia loved to give gifts and Chet refrained from squeezing or shaking them with iron will.
His own clothing required considerably less time: a few good suits, some khaki pants and silk shirts, some nice shoes, a few discrete weapons in holsters that he fingered with regret. He had a few gifts for Magnolia in his own luggage, but he frowned at them, not satisfied. Everything he could find for her seemed insufficient for the happiness she’d brought him. He vowed to spend some time finding something better before Christmas actually arrived. Maybe he could make something.
“There is plenty of hot water,” Magnolia told him, emerging from the steaming bathroom. Bath towels would often not reach around her, but the resort had managed to provide two thick terry cloth bathrobes that would actually fit them and Magnolia was snuggled into one of them, nearly purring in delight. “I am already half in love with this place.”
She kissed him tenderly and went to rifle through her new closet.
In unpacking, Chet had convinced himself that there was no danger at their cottage and he left her to take his own shower, marveling afterwards in the generous cut of his own bathrobe; he usually had trouble getting his arms into them.
His shower was brief, because his guilt came swimming back with the hot water. He’d broken his vows, he’d betrayed his king…
He dried and dressed swiftly, trying not to dwell. It should seem like it was long ago, but the wound still felt fresh when there was nothing else to