Page 34 of Make You Mine This Christmas (Holly Ridge #2)

Brody

Even fresh out of the shower, I’m still shaking away the fog of a late afternoon nap.

I haven’t slept well since I got back to New York.

The party last night was a success, and Mr. Hudson Senior himself told me their largest donation yet would be arriving next week.

I joined in with the Santas visiting the children’s hospital this morning, hoping that keeping myself busy would allow me to forget, for at least a couple minutes at a time, how miserable I am.

It almost worked, bringing joy to those kids who don’t get to be at home on Christmas.

But an aching feeling in my gut lingered in the background.

I felt a migraine coming on after I got home, so even though it likely means another sleepless night, I took a late afternoon nap.

Waking up in the dark is always disorienting, even more so in the evening.

I need to hurry to be sure I’m not keeping Grams and making us late for whatever party it is she has us RSVP’d to.

My tux is hanging in the closet in my room at her place.

I keep it here, rarely having a need for it outside the city.

The stark black pants against the crisp white shirt feel all wrong after weeks of red velvet and white fur trim.

I fish a red bow tie out of my top drawer, one with a pocket square to match.

Maybe a pop of red will help ease me back into formal society.

A mirror hangs over my dresser, and I take in my reflection.

Perfectly put together, with a beard that will become more pepper than salt as the beard coloring fades.

My eyes are hollow and bottomless, which isn’t the most festive of expressions.

I try on a smile and grimace at how forced it looks.

Neutral presence that’s not a downer is probably going to be the best I can do tonight.

I make my way down the stairs to the main floor of her penthouse apartment, the snow-covered park appearing through the windows as I descend.

The waiting figure of disapproval isn’t in the foyer like I expect.

“Sorry, Grams, didn’t mean to hold you up.

Is the car outside, or is this the party that sends a horse-drawn carriage to pick up their guests?

” My eyes roll as I ask it. Everyone knows you’re rich. Is flaunting it really necessary?

No answer, which is strange. Maybe she went into the library for a pre-party drink? I walk past the opulent Christmas decorations lining every surface—garland, holly, and golden ornaments large enough to fall off most tree branches if you tried to hang them.

The door to the office is open, the glow of multicolored lights shining out into the hallway.

Grams would never have a tree with colorful lights out in the open.

But in her office, she made sure to put up a tree with the ability to display both white and multicolored lights, depending on her mood and whether she’s alone.

“I wasn’t that late, but if we’re having drinks, I’ll have . . .” My words trail off as I take in the room around me. My grandma is nowhere to be seen, but instead Santa is standing next to the tree, his back to me, looking out the window.

I pinch my thigh. Am I still dreaming and this is my mind’s way of saying I’ve maybe taken the Santa thing far enough?

Then, Santa turns around, and my heart rises into my throat.

“Austin?” I breathe out, not sure I put enough volume into my voice to carry across the room.

“Hi, Brody,” he says, holding his arms out to show off what he’s wearing, like I could miss it. “What do you think?”

Even before he asked, my eyes were drinking him in. The few inches and muscle mass he has on me helps him fill out the suit better than I expected. The way his eyes are trained on me, a hopeful light shining within them, and his small smile is what I really notice though. Austin is here.

“How? Why?” I ask, hoping the power of complex sentences comes back soon. I have a lot I want to say, something I very much need to say.

Austin shrugs, all nonchalant, but the way his smile grows reveals just how proud of his plan he is.

“I’ve always heard great things about New York at Christmastime.

Thought I might check it out for myself.

” When I don’t say anything, he takes a step closer.

Like a magnet, I take one too. “But as for logistics, I called Blaire to get your grandma’s address and phone number off your emergency contact form.

” I bark out a laugh, and he chuckles too.

“Turns out I didn’t need to ask her to break her strong code of ethics, because you added a local emergency contact a few weeks ago. Right after your migraine. She felt comfortable sharing those contact details. Since it’s an emergency.”

My cheeks heat, and not from the warmth of the electric fire crackling in the fireplace. “I probably should have asked, but since you were my roommate at the time—”

Austin crosses the rest of the space between us in an instant. “You were never my roommate. You were always so much more.”

I reach out to caress his face, still not believing he’s standing in front of me. “But your mom and Christmas? She’s okay you’re here?”

He laughs again, the joy in the sound untying the knot that’s been wedged in my gut since I got on the train.

“I’m confident in saying she may not have let me into the house tomorrow if I showed up there instead of coming here.

I need to say I’m sorry for pushing you away on the car ride on Sunday.

I didn’t believe you’d want to keep me around once you got back to your life here. I should have taken a risk.”

I tangle my other hand with his, needing to keep him here. In this moment with me. “Every day for the last two weeks, I’ve wanted to talk about what happens next. But we were in such a good place, I didn’t want to ruin it with talks of the future.”

“I know it was supposed be just sex, but—”

The rest of his sentence is lost, my lips meeting his, his mouth on mine like coming home. I pull back enough to see his eyes, to make him hear me. “It was never just sex. With you, it’s always been everything.”

Our lips meet again, and he lets go of my hand to slide his arms around my back and draw me flush to his body.

The kiss slows, and we stand there, breathing each other in.

“I also should have told you on the ride,” I say, taking a deep breath and a leap. “I love you. I’m don’t think I ever stopped.”

His eyes crinkle with the width of his smile. “I love you, too. There’s a fine line between love and hate—even when I thought it was the latter, not all of my heart was able to cross that line.”

“That may be the most romantic way someone’s ever told someone else they hated them,” I say, and lean in to take his lips again when my phone beeps in my pocket. As much as I don’t want an interruption, I assume it’s a message from my grandma.

Grams

You were late, so I left without you. I think you’ll be happy with the alternative plans for your evening. Breakfast is at 9:00 a.m. sharp. There are pajamas for you both under the tree.

“What’d she say?” Austin asks, his lips trailing over my neck while my attention is on my phone.

“She’s out for the evening and expects us both at breakfast in the morning. In matching PJs.”

He laughs, his breath tickling my ear before he pulls back so I can see his face. “I think I’m going to like your grams.”

“I’m certain she’s going to love you, which will cause all sorts of hell for me.”

Austin shrugs. “Worth it.”

“Absolutely,” I say, without a drop of irony.

We stand there, taking in the moment in the glow of my favorite tree in the entire apartment.

“Well, if we have until 9:00 a.m., how will we pass the time?” Austin asks, his voice wicked.

“Oh, I have some ideas,” I say, taking his hand and leading him down the hallway. We walk back past the large tree in the living area with the presents underneath it and up the stairs to my room. “And you won’t be needing those PJs quite yet.”

“Mmm,” Austin hums, and I’m grateful Grams gives the staff Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off. “I know I have a thing for the Santa suit, but this tux is really working for me too. What other types of suits can you inspire an obsession with? Bathing suits? Maybe a clown suit?”

Make that very, very grateful.

Soon enough, we’re behind the closed door of my room. There’re so many ways I want to show this man how much I love him—I’m not quite sure where to start.

He steps forward and envelops me in a hug. Our bodies press together at every matching point we have, and he squeezes me tight. It’s a hug full of love and affection, and I can feel his relief at having me in his arms, of being back in mine. And in that instant, I know exactly what I want.

“Austin,” I start.

“Hmm?” he hums, the noise content.

“I want you to fuck me.”