seize the advantage. “Or you could just tell me now. Save us time.”
Above me, his eyes go half-lidded. He lowers until his lips brush mine. And then he shakes his head. “No,” he whispers against my mouth.
I squeeze the firm, perfect globes of his ass once more, grinding against his erection. We both moan. I almost forget my mission.
“Am I your girlfriend?” I squeeze again.
His inhale is a sharp stab of pleasure, his exhale a rumbling growl. “Yes, of course.”
“And are you moving in with me?” Again.
Beau draws back and meets my gaze, his focus snapping back. “If you’ll have me.”
I smile up at him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And then. “Final question. Do you lov—”
“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything,” he says hoarsely.
My breath is gone. Completely.
But that’s exactly how I feel. I love him more than I’ve ever loved. Period. “I love you. More than anything,” I vow. And then I grin. “Enough to let you keep your embarrassing secrets.”
He arches a brow down at me. Goddamn, he’s so sexy.
“Alexander Godunov was a Russian ballet dancer who defected to the U.S. in the seventies.”
I blink. “Why is that embarrassing? As far as celebrity crushes go, that’s pretty heroic.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “He became an actor.”
I give a little gasp. “You’re named after a movie star,” I gush. “What was he in? What was his biggest role?”
He heaves a sigh. I feel it through my whole body.
“Die Hard,” he mutters.
“DIE HARD?!” I shout, eyes bugging. “THAT’S MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIE!”
Beau eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. “Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, stating the obvious.
“It’s a cop movie,” he counters, scowling.
“It’s a Christmas movie with cops and bad guys. It’s set at a Christmas party and they replay it every year at Christmas. Just like The Grinch and It’s a Wonderful Life. Because it’s a Christmas movie.”
Beau shakes his head. “It’s not a Christmas movie.”
I gasp. “Oh my God. Your mom’s celebrity crush was one of the bad guys.” My chest heaves with excitement. “Karl. The blond one. He was Russian.”
His brows lower. “Yes.”
“HE’S MY FAVORITE BAD GUY IN MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIE!”
“It’s not a Christmas movie.” He’s trying so hard not to laugh, but his whole body quakes. I love him so much.
“Do you know what this means? It’s destiny. You were named after my favorite bad guy in Die Hard—”
“No. Die Hard came out after I was born. I was named after a dancer—”
“And we’ll get to watch it every year at Christmas. It’ll be a family tradition. And we’ll name our first son Karl and our first daughter McClain and—”
Laughing full force, Beau’s mouth covers mine. We kiss and kiss. All the while, he shakes his head.
“We’re not naming our children after Die Hard characters,” he mutters between kisses.
I nip his lower lip. “We’ll see.” But I’m doing cartwheels on the inside because he just said our children.
“God, I missed you,” Beau whispers in my ear, wrapping me in his arms and squeezing tight. “I think I forgot how to laugh after you left.”
I claim his lips with mine. Gently. Softly. “I’m glad I could help you remember.”
He deepens the kiss, pressing his erection harder against my belly. “Anything else you’d like to help me remember?” His voice goes husky with desire.
I roll my hips, and we both moan. “Seems like you have a pretty good memory.”
“Good memories,” he whispers. “Let’s make some more.”
“Okay.”
So we do.
Epilogue
BEAU
DECEMBER, THE FOLLOWING YEAR
“It’s almost time. Are you nervous?” I whisper.
Iris’s lashes flutter as she looks up at me. “Of course I’m nervous.”
I try to hold back my grin, but I think that just makes it come out crooked. “Why?”
“Beau, you know how I feel about this.” She gives me a little accusatory frown.
“But when I asked you if you wanted to do it, you said yes,” I tease.
“That was months ago.”
“And we’ve had months to prepare,” I remind her gently.
She narrows her stunning, hazel eyes at me. “In our living room. Without two hundred people watching.”
“They’re our friends and family. The same people who watched Ramon walk you down the aisle not even an hour ago,” I tell my beautiful, zany, anxious wife—to whom I just pledged my troth (as she insists on calling it) under the oaks of Jefferson Island.
Being here is her gift to me. She could have chosen anywhere for us to say our vows. Anywhere in the world. And she picked here. This