my chances with you.”
“Oh,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek, the track left by the tear chilling her face in the cold night air.
“I love you, Amelia. And that scares me. So I figured I would protect myself by saying I couldn’t love. By believing I couldn’t love. Anger is safer,” he said, his voice rough. “And I was so walled in my anger I felt very little else. No pain or disappointment. But no joy either. And until you, no love. But what you said before you left … that it was always me, I think I’ve just realized that for me it was always you. Why else would I enjoy your singing? I hate singing,” he said. “I don’t like Christmas, or Christmas carols, and somehow you make me enjoy them. You make me like things I never thought I would. You make me like … life. You’re right, I’m a grumpy bastard, but you make me less of one.”
She laughed, letting her head fall back, before straightening and looking him in the eyes. “Well, that is quite a declaration.”
“It’s true,” he said. “I called Blaise. I made things right with him. Or, I at least started taking steps to make things right with him. Because you’ve done something to me. Changed me. Made me want more than just a protective coating of anger and a life that’s simply livable. You make me want everything. And if you can live with me, put up with me, love me, even though I don’t deserve it, I will do everything I can to make you happy.”
“You don’t have to do much, Luc,” she said.
“I don’t?”
“Just love me.”
“I do. Now and forever, I promise you.”
“You’re my very own Christmas miracle,” she said.
“And you’re mine.” He bent down and kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close, reveling in his touch. In the fact that they’d finally realized what they had, after spending four years in each other’s lives.
“You know this means we’re having a Christmas wedding next year,” she said.
“Did I propose?” he asked.
“Oh! Crap. That’s embarrassing,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder. “You didn’t.”
“Well, I will now. Amelia, will you marry me?”
“Yes!” she said. “Christmas wedding?”
“Of course,” he said.
“I think we’ll have to play a little ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.’”
He smiled and for the first time in her memory, he sang. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.’”
“‘Comfort and joy,’” she sang with him. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.’”
“Yes,” she said. “That is happening.”
“I would never even try to stop you.”
“You’re marrying this, Chevalier. Think you can handle it?”
“I intend to spend a lifetime trying.”
She laced her fingers through his and tugged him up the front step.
“What?” he asked.
“I think it’s time you met my family.”
“Are they like you?”
She nodded. “They are exactly like me.”
“Then it is a very good thing I love you.”
“For more than one reason, Mr. Chevalier. For more than one reason.”
* * * * *
Joss Wood
To Tess, my own Christmas angel. Love you, Belle.
JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Fuelled by coffee, her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, Christmas is her favourite time of year, especially when it’s crazy with family and friends and ranges from refined to raucous! Joss lives in South Africa with her husband, children and their many pets. Visit her website at www.josswoodbooks.wordpress.com.
July …
WELL PLAYED, TEQUILA, well played.
It only took three margaritas to get her to drop her guard around James but, because she was Riley Taylor, when she messed up she messed up big. This time by hopping into bed with one of her oldest friends.
Her best friend’s brother.
And her boss.
Again.
In her defence, she doubted that few women between the ages of eighteen and eighty would say no when James Moreau crooked his finger at them, kissed them senseless and dragged them off to bed. But she knew better. It was all that witch Tequila’s fault, she decided—the cactus juice had definitely lowered her inhibitions and cancelled out a few brain cells.
One tequila, two tequila, three tequila … yes, James, more!
As the morning sunlight slipped in from behind the curtains, Riley, still lying on top of James—morning sex had her on top and her face was now pressed into his very broad shoulder—turned her head and met his fabulous green eyes. Oh, those eyes. They were the rich green of bottle glass and they held a whole lot of panic. A deep frown creased his forehead.
Riley knew that a puckered brow after many bouts of amazing sex spelt trouble. Then again, wasn’t that the perfect word to define the relationship she and James had? Trouble worked, she thought, as did difficult and complicated and … messy.
Yeah, messy worked really well.
Time to face the music …
She slid off him, stood up and reached for a nightgown that lay folded across a wingback chair and quickly pulled it on. Riley saw her reflection in the free-standing full-length mirror and winced—mussed hair, stubble rash-covered jaw and languorous, satisfied eyes. Yep, no guesses as to how they’d spent the last ten hours.
After a polite greeting at the beginning of the evening and—admittedly—many, many intense
