Page 71 of Her Royal Christmas

Julia shifted, turning fully toward her. She took Vic’s hands and placed them flat against her own chest, over her heart.

“Something already went wrong,” she said. “You forgot this is allowed. That we’re allowed. That you’re allowed to feel good even if the turkeys are late and the centrepiece died a dramatic death.”

Vic let out a choked laugh. “It really did die dramatically.”

“Very on brand,” Julia said.

Vic swallowed hard, eyes searching her face. “You really think I’m allowed to… switch off? Tonight?”

“I think,” Julia said, lowering her voice, “that if anyone has earned one night of not being in charge, it’s you.”

Something flickered across Vic’s expression at that. A quick, sharp flash of vulnerability — and under it, a spark of heat.

“You’re going to be in charge then?” she asked, trying for lightness and only half-succeeding.

Julia smiled, slow and sure. “If you’ll let me.”

Vic’s breath stuttered.

She didn’t answer with words. She leaned forward instead, closing the distance between them, and kissed Julia.

It was soft at first. Testing. Vic’s lips were cool from the air and tasted faintly of sugar and salt. Julia exhaled into the kiss, her hands sliding up, framing Vic’s jaw.

Vic made a small sound — relief, or need, or both — and leaned in harder.

The kiss deepened.

Julia felt Vic’s shoulders drop under her palms, tension melting in increments. The trembling in her hands eased as she clutched at Julia’s waist.

Heat unfurled low in Julia’s belly, coiling, familiar. She let it build slowly, carefully, like feeding a flame.

She parted her lips, inviting. Vic followed, the kiss growing wetter, warmer. Less careful. More need.

When they broke apart, both breathing unevenly, Vic rested her forehead against Julia’s.

“I needed that,” she whispered.

“I know,” Julia said. “So did I.”

Vic’s eyes searched hers. “I’ve been so in my head,” she said. “For so long. I felt like if I let myself want this, I’d never stop wanting, and there wouldn’t be time. Or space. Or?—”

Julia silenced her with a brief, decisive kiss.

“There’s time now,” she murmured against her mouth. “There’s space. Just us. Right here.”

Vic made a helpless little sound. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Incorrect,” Julia said. “And I am not accepting faulty data tonight.”

Vic laughed, the sound dissolving into another kiss. This one started messy — a collision of mouths and teeth and too much feeling — and then settled into a rhythm that made everything else fall away.

The schedules. The turkeys. The pumpkin. The pressure.

None of it existed in this room.

Only them.

Julia eased back long enough to tug the towel away and drop it to the floor. Vic was left in nothing but a pair of soft cotton underwear and the lingering tension in her shoulders.