couldn’t do. You’re a force to be reckoned with, Bridget Dasher. And you’re everything I never thought I deserved.”
She pulled back and captured him with her mahogany gaze. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved.”
Loved?
The word strung with divine, beautiful pain as if he’d been convicted and pardoned at the same time.
He’d never considered finding love.
Not until her.
His heart hammered in his chest. “How do you do it? How do you make it seem so easy?”
She stroked his cheek. “I told you back in Denver, I’m not your average vixen.”
“There is nothing average about you,” he whispered against her lips as he thrust inside her.
Bridget gasped and tightened her grip as she welcomed his hard length, and he kissed her with the burning intensity of a man on the brink of redemption. Their bodies came together in a torrent of need and desire. Thrusting and bucking, the friction between them awakened a need deep within—primal and raw. He flipped her onto her back, taking complete control, just as he was on the edge of losing total control.
“Open your eyes,” he bit out between long, deep thrusts.
She complied, and he gazed into the pools of deep mahogany. And a realization struck.
He’d never had a real home—never had a place where he truly belonged. But here, in her eyes, he could see forever.
“I see you, Soren,” she whispered, her words like grains of magical fairy dust floating in the air.
He worked her body, changing the angle of penetration to go deeper, to make her feel everything. And that’s when he lost himself. There was no telling where his pleasure started, and her pleasure ended. They were one body, one soul. He increased his pace, and she tightened around him. Meeting her release and writhing in ecstasy beneath him, she dug her nails into his back as he swallowed her wild cries and kissed away her lusty moans. And then, he couldn’t hold back. Suspended in a place where only he and this extraordinary woman existed, he surrendered to wanton oblivion, flying over the edge. The power of his release sent tremors through his body. Wave after wave, they rode the tumultuous sea of mutual satisfaction until, in a tangle of sweaty limbs, their bodies stilled.
He cradled her face in his hand. “I don’t want to let go of you.”
Had he heard any other man utter something so goddamn sappy, he would have laughed his ass off.
But here, with her, he meant every corny word.
She hummed a satisfied little sound. “You don’t have to. At least, not yet. But you will need to leave this bed.”
His eyes went wide. “Why? I thought that we had something.”
Jesus! Had he read her wrong? He’d transformed himself into a pool of sappy bullshit for this woman!
She covered his mouth and chuckled. “Because you need to raid the Frosty jar.”
“The Frosty jar? Are you talking about the condom-filled Frosty the Snowman?” All those stupid nerves dissolved into a naughty grin of his own.
She raised a teasing eyebrow. “Don’t forget. I know exactly what you’re capable of, Soren Rudolph. And that was only round one.”
He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose, completely enamored.
“Bridget Dasher, you are part angel, part vixen, and all mine. And all I can say is one more thing.”
She smiled up at him. “What’s that?”
He gave her a wicked grin. “Good old Frosty better be stocked.”
16
Bridget
“When you said you wanted to play with my balls, this is not what I was expecting.”
Bridget gasped, almost knocking over the croquembouche and nearly spackling the kitchen in the hot caramel used to hold the dessert together.
Thanks to the events of Cole’s unscheduled Christmas fairy expedition last night coupled with an evening—and a few early morning hours—spent tangled in Soren’s embrace, making love like they were born to do nothing else and depleting the Frosty filled condom receptacle, she’d failed to assemble the croquembouche until now.
And even that was up for debate thanks to her sexy as sin baking assistant.
“Shh! They’ll hear you,” she whisper-shouted, glancing toward the other side of the kitchen where Delores and Tanner were prepping the Cornish hens for the rehearsal dinner.
This was it. Tonight, they’d have the wedding rehearsal, and then tomorrow, like her parents did thirty years ago, Lori and Tom would recite their wedding vows inside the Kringle Chapel on Christmas Eve.
All her planning and organizing had come to fruition along with something she’d never expected.