Page 94 of Babies for the Christmas Grump

Sunny’s smile brightens up my mood. She always has that effect on me.

“Yeah, just about.” I lean back against the counter, taking a long breath. “I’ve got a few more things to wrap up, but I’m close enough to calling it.”

She tilts her head slightly, that curiosity she always wears creeping into her expression. “You sure? You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

I give a tired half-smile. “That’s an understatement.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just looking forward to being done.”

She studies me for a moment, and I can tell she’s not buying it. But then her smile shifts, softening into something more understanding. She doesn’t press.

“You got time for dinner?” she asks, shifting the subject. She’s always so good at doing that. “I was just about to ask Andre to send something up to my room.”

I blink at her, surprised. “Oh, really?”

“Of course.”

“Actually, that sounds good. Thanks, Sunny.”

She heads toward the elevator, and I follow, the sound of our footsteps the only noise between us. I can feel the tension from the day slowly draining as we talk about anything but work.

“So,” she says, as the elevator doors slide shut, “today with your mom… interesting.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Honestly, it would be funny if it wasn’t so insane all the time.”

“Do you ever get used to it? Or is it just a permanent chaos machine you’re stuck in? Because while she’s here, I’m stuck in it as well…”

“Oh, like Claire said, she’ll get bored and move on.”

“I really like Claire, you know? She’s nice.”

I grin. “Well, from what she’s told me, she likes you too.”

I’m not surprised. They both have the same fire. Claire’s just a little more used to using it. She has to be, with our mother.

As we reach her floor, I reach for her hand without thinking.

The contact feels natural, comforting. It’s the most normal thing in the world. Her fingers slip into mine, and I think it might be the most perfect fit I’ve ever felt.

The second we step off the elevator, I pull her close to me.

There’s no hesitation, just a raw, primal urge to close the space between us. I slam her back against the wall, the breath catching in her throat as she gasps, but she doesn’t pull away.

In fact, her body shivers, and her eyes widen with something I don’t need to ask about.

Her lips part slightly, and before I can stop myself, I’m crowding her space, pressing my chest against hers, my body so close I can feel her heat, her pulse. She’s trapped between me and the cold, unforgiving wall, and she doesn’t try to escape.

Not even an inch.

I’m drowning in her scent, the warm vanilla and gingerbread mixed with the heady rush of her breath. I grip her waist, pulling her tighter into me, pushing her back harder against the wall.

Every curve of her body, every inch of her feels so damn good, so right, pressed up against me.

She meets my eyes, a challenge, an invitation. Then she’s pulling me down, her lips crashing into mine.

The kiss is hungry, desperate, and everything I’ve been holding back is crashing to the surface. She doesn’t wait for permission; she takes control.