Page 33 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

Is there anything better than a house that smells like cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven and hot coffee? And enjoying that scent while sitting in a kitchen decorated for Christmas with pink Santas and copious amounts of bright candy decor in shades of pink, sky blue, and seafoam green? With Wham!’s “Last Christmas” playing?

I think not.

I sit at the island in my pink button-down flannel Christmas pajamas with vintage reindeer, snowmen, and Santa all over them and take a sip of my coffee. It’s nearly five o’clock in the morning, and Beckham should be home any minute from his road trip.

I’ve gone all out to greet him. I’ve spent this week decorating the kitchen, the den, and I’ve got a spectacular display on the doorstep, too. Let’s just say there’s a big candy garland around his door, and a vintage Rudolph and Santa flanking each side of the front step.

My grump is going to hate it.

And absolutely love it at the same time.

A smile passes over my lips as I put down my coffee cup. Beckham is not expecting me to be up, but I want him to be welcomed home. I want him to have someone waiting for him, excited to have him walk through that door.

I want him to know I missed him.

Suddenly I hear the car and the garage door go up, and so does Winston, whose head pops up. Minnie is sitting in the chair next to me, and she gets up and runs toward the back door, meowing. Winston follows her inside the mudroom, and both of them wait eagerly for him to walk through.

I get up to wait with them, and soon the door swings open. Beckham—who is dressed in a black Miami Manatees T-shirt, backward baseball cap, and athletic pants with a Louis Vuitton duffel bag slung over his shoulder—stares at me in shock.

“Georgie, what are you doing? It’s five,” he says, his voice laced with surprise. “You should be in bed, sweetheart.”

“Welcome home,” I say happily, coming up to him and sliding my hands around his waist. “I wanted you to have someone waiting for you to come back. And here I am.”

His dark eyes lock on mine, and I see he’s moved by my words. He takes a moment, swallowing before speaking.

“I’m glad the person waiting for me is you,” he says, his voice low.

My heart skips happily inside my chest, and then his mouth is on mine, moving softly and sweetly against it. I lift my hands to his face, and it’s full of facial scruff, which I find incredibly hot. I stroke it, letting the scruff scratch against my palms, and savor the sweetness of his kiss. Then I pull back and put a hand on his chest.

“I know you’re on a special eating plan, but I did make cinnamon rolls if you want one.”

A playful smile forms on his sensual lips. “Are you going to lick the icing off my abs?” he teases.

I blush. “No.”

“Got it. You only do that if I’m drenched in disgusting condensed milk.”

I feel the heat creep down my neck.

“You’re adorable when you blush,” Beckham says, kissing me again.

Minnie lets out a ferocious meow.

“Minnie Pinny!” Beckham says. “Did you miss Dad?”

He drops his duffel bag on a bench, and affectionately ruffles Winston’s head before scooping up Minnie in his arms. I watch as she nuzzles her head against his chin, and he steps into the kitchen and abruptly stops walking.

“Oh God, ” he says, sounding disgusted.

I bite back a laugh as he stops and stares at the new decor. “You wanted to see me when you walked into a room,” I remind him.

“I must have been drunk.”

I giggle at that.

Beckham walks around the room, still cradling Minnie against his chest as he takes in the pastel-colored candies in jars on his island. The candy-and-sweets garland that tops the kitchen cabinets. A tray of Santa mugs with pink hats next to the coffee maker. A glass cloche over a silver pedestal filled with glass macaron ornaments in soft pink.

“Do you see me in this kitchen?” I ask.

“It screams Georgie.”

I grin at him. “Then wait until you see the den and the staircase. Oh, and the front porch. I haven’t had time to do the bedroom and bathroom yet, but those are on my list this week. After you approve my spending because I did buy quite a bit already. And it’s all stuff that makes you want to vomit, so you might want me to dial it down a bit.”

Beckham sets Minnie down on the floor, and she promptly rubs around his legs, her back arched in happiness that her dad is home. He moves toward me, placing his hands on my hips. “You don’t need to ask my permission. I want you to spend as much as you want. Make this space yours. And if that involves Santas with pink hats and a stupid amount of pink, I’m here for it.”

I frame his face with my hands again. “I will do whatever makes you happy.”

He kisses me again, softly and sweetly. “How long until you have to get ready for your show?” he murmurs against my lips.

I move my hands and lock them around the nape of his neck. “I set up yesterday. I won’t have to get ready until around seven. It’s in Hollywood, at a private school, so it won’t take me long to get there.”

“Then I have time to make love to you,” he says, kissing me again.

Oh yes. Yes, you do, I think happily.

“Where’s the cinnamon roll icing?” he teases.

“Shut up!” I cry.

“Maybe I was being serious,” he says, kissing the side of my neck.

Ooh. I want to melt when he does that.

“You were not.”

Now his lips are exploring the area between my neck and my ear, and goose bumps ripple across my skin as a result of the delicious sensation of his warm mouth kissing me.

And his facial scruff rubbing against my neck, burning it, branding it.

“I need to get you out of this sexy set of pajamas you have on,” he murmurs into my skin.

Suddenly I remember what I’m wearing.

I push back from him. “Oh my God. I’m in the most unsexy thing ever!”

A satisfied smile plays on his mouth. “I am getting completely hard over it.”

My face grows hot. He chuckles wickedly and pulls me closer. “Let me take you upstairs and get you out of this seductive outfit you have on.”

“It’s not fair. I’m dressed like a frump and you’re hot.”

Now Beckham takes a step back. “Wait. I thought girls liked the hockey uniform, or the game-day fit. The suit.”

“Well, yes, but there’s something very hot about the backward baseball cap and the untied drawstrings,” I inform him.

“Really?” he asks, appearing sidetracked by this revelation.

I tug on his drawstrings. “Yes.”

“Who knew?”

“Would you like me to show you or tell you?” I flirt.

His eyes grow dark with need. “Show me.”

We begin kissing again, and then Beckham scoops me up in his arms. I giggle, and a low, sexy, chuckle radiates through him. As soon as he steps into the den, he stops walking.

“Jesus Christ, Georgie!” he blurts out. “It’s like Pinkmas was vomited up in here!”

I watch as his gaze travels around the room. It’s a complete confection Christmas in here, with peppermint throw pillows, a tree crammed with candy and sweet-inspired ornaments, and then his eyes land on the one item I waited for him to see.

I put the maniacal pink nutcracker next to the tree.

“Oh no. No, no, no, I draw the line at that, ” he says with disgust. “That creepy thing is going right back to your place.”

“What? He looks fabulous here,” I say.

“No.”

Beckham is scowling at him, and I feel my own mouth curving up into a smile.

“He stays for now,” I declare.

“He’s going in the van.”

“You shouldn’t give the nutcracker that much power. I mean, right now you’re scowling at him when you could be carrying me up those stairs to make love to me.”

Beckham looks at me. “Fair point. But I’m covering him up with a blanket when we come back downstairs.”

He moves toward the stairs and stops as he sees the massive confection garland in pink, soft blue, and seafoam green I have woven around the banister.

“It’s a good thing I don’t need to hold the rail to go up the stairs,” he grumbles. “You can’t even see it under all that Christmas stuff.”

“Isn’t it gorgeous? I have all kinds of cupcake and macaron ornaments woven into it.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Beckham carries me up the stairs, taking me to the bedroom. The bed is unmade since I’ve slept in it, and he sets me down next to it. He begins to unbutton my flannel pajama top, sliding it off my body. Then he sinks his hands into my hair and kisses me deeply.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he moans against my mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

I remove his baseball hat, running my fingers through his hair. He lowers me back to the bed, his body covering mine. I feel the muscle and heat of him pinning me to the mattress, his kiss seeking and sensual.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper between kisses. “It’s not the same when you aren’t here.”

Beckham pushes himself up and stares down at me, his dark eyes going liquid with emotion. “I shouldn’t feel all the things I do for you,” he says, his voice rough. “I’m crazy about you. I—I’ve never felt this way before. About anyone. Ever.”

Elation. I feel pure elation from this confession.

I put a hand to his cheek. “I have the same feelings. And I’ve never had them before, either.”

“Does it scare you?” he whispers.

“No. Not at all. What scares me most is not experiencing these feelings with you. Because I love what I’m feeling—for you,” I confess.

Beckham grows emotional before my eyes. He swallows hard, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to find the words to say something or not.

But then he lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me slowly, sweetly, with a reverence I’ve never felt before.

As we make love, I know he’s decided to speak with actions rather than words right now.

And it’s absolutely perfect.

* * *

“Georgie, I need to ask you something,” Beckham says, trailing his fingertips up and down my arm.

I’m lying across his chest, cocooned by his warm skin and his protective hold on me. We just made love, and I’m still glowing from all the feelings I just experienced.

Both physical and emotional.

This time, sex was slow. Deliberate. There were looks exchanged that left me breathless because of the silent emotion spoken between us.

We truly made love.

Because we are falling in love with each other.

“Anything,” I answer.

“Did you tell Scarlett things about me?” he asks quietly.

I shift to my side, and he rolls over to face me. I reach for his hand and lace his fingers through mine. “How did you know?”

“What did you tell her?” he asks, ignoring my question.

“The truth,” I say simply. “I told her what an incredible man you are. How you support me and believe in me and how you have already made me a better person.”

I watch as Beckham swallows. I see the same expression he had earlier in his eyes, right before we made love.

“Why do you ask?”

He clears his throat. “Coach asked me to come up front and sit with him on the flight home,” he says softly. “Then he proceeds to tell me how I’ve been everything they want as a player. Coach tells me what you told Scarlett, and the qualities that you see in me as a man is what he is seeing in me, too. As a player. As a teammate. It just cemented his opinion about me.”

“Oh, Beckham, I’m so glad. That’s exactly what I hoped would happen. I told Scarlett with hopes she would tell her dad.”

“So you did it on purpose?”

“Of course I did. But I was speaking the truth. That’s what is in my heart. You’re a completely different man now than you were when you were in Denver. But the truth is? I think this is the man you’ve always been,” I say, tracing my fingers over his heart. “It’s always been in here. In your heart. You just weren’t ready to be that man until you came to Miami.”

“No,” he says firmly.

“No?”

Beckham is quiet. My gaze remains locked with his, and my pulse quickens.

“I wasn’t ready to be that man until I met you,” he says quietly. “And Georgie? I … I’m falling in love with you.”

Blood rushes to my ears. My heart is pounding, and pure joy captures me from head to toe.

Beckham is falling in love with me.

“I know it’s soon,” he continues, the words coming out in a rush. “And I don’t expect you to feel the same way just because I do. But I want you to know this isn’t infatuation or a crush or anything like that. I know because I’ve never felt this way in my whole life. I am really falling in love with you.”

He awaits my response, an anxious look clouding his handsome face. I begin to smile, and then I can’t contain the happiness that threatens to burst through from me.

“That’s good, because I’m falling in love with you, too.”

Beckham’s eyes widen. “You are?”

I nod eagerly. “I am. And I don’t doubt my feelings for a second. Did it happen quickly? Yes. Does it make it any less real or honest or true? No.”

Now his face lights up in pure joy. “You have no idea of how happy I am to hear you say that,” he says. “I was afraid to tell you.”

I trace my fingertip over his lips. “I’m glad you did. Because I’m falling so hard for you. I should be scared. But I’m not. I trust you with my heart, Beckham. I trust you with everything.”

I remove my fingertip from his lips, and his mouth captures mine in a kiss.

A kiss telling me that trusting this man with my heart is exactly what I’m supposed to do.