LEAH
Jarrod's final condition clanged through my mind on repeat. I couldn't decipher if the voice in my head was warning me or seducing me, which was probably problematic in itself.
You belong to me and me alone.
The possessive glint in his eyes set off a chain of fireworks in my stomach. I had never thought of belonging to someone. It sounded patriarchal and dominating, which logically warned me that his proposition was dangerous. No one should be owned by anyone but themselves.
But I couldn't deny the flutter in my pulse and catch in my breath when I imagined giving myself to this man. I'd never been with anyone who wanted me so much and it terrified me.
Was this one of those explosive flames that burned hotly only for a moment and then fizzled out?
I already felt so attached to Jarrod. After losing Danny, I didn't know how I would handle being left again.
Then, there was the possibility that our chemistry and the comfort he brought me were signs of something real and enduring. Could the rules he laid actually become the foundation for a strong, committed relationship?
I was afraid to give in to him, but I was also afraid to let him go.
To say the least, this conversation did not go how I expected. If anything, I thought he would be done with me after the drama that erupted Friday night.
Yet, here we were. Despite his exhaustion, he prioritized me. The first thing he did upon return was seek me out. He genuinely cared about me.
What else could I possibly want from him?
Cradling the mug between my palms, I took a long sip from the latte to further stall. I wanted to look up into Jarrod's beautiful bronze eyes but they intimidated me. They showed his emotions rather plainly, whether it be pleasure or disapproval. I didn't want that to sway my decision.
"What about my conditions scare you?" he asked, patient and thoughtful as ever.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I met his gaze. His eyes were intense but gentle. He wasn't pushing me; he just wanted to understand me.
"Commitment just feels like a lot right now," I admitted. "I want to trust you, Jarrod. I really, really like you. But I also feel fragile."
He studied me for a moment before pushing his coffee away. "Why don't we take a walk? I think fresh air might help."
Nodding eagerly, I followed him out of the cafe.
I snuck an appreciative glance over his backside as he held the door open for me.
His dark jeans hugged his sculpted thighs and spectacular ass. My fingers itched to smack it, but I managed to control myself. I followed the frame of his body up to his tapered torso. His expansive shoulders rippled under his collared shirt. A faint whiff of subtle but masculine cologne trailed behind him, further spurning my desire.
"See something you like, Miss Harris?"
Ducking my face, I scurried after him. His throaty chuckle reverberated through me as he wrapped an arm around my waist. I felt instantly safer in his strong hold.
As we walked and the buildings around us parted, a bitter wind raced down the street. I shivered and snuggled deeper into his side. In hindsight, a coat might have been a good idea, but this gave me the perfect excuse to cling to him.
"Are you looking forward to Christmas?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said with a shrug. "I like the festive spirit and holiday traditions as much as the next person. What about you?"
"Personally, I am traumatized from putting up decorations for my mother as a kid, so I never get too into things anymore. It is fun to see other people's decorations, though."
I laughed. "Fair enough. My mom always made me help, too. I usually throw up a tree and hang a cute wreath on the door, but that's it."
"Do you usually celebrate the day with your family?"
"Every year. You? Does your family have any traditions?"
"We haven't gotten together for Christmas in a few years," he said, sighing. "Since James and I left for undergrad, we avoid going home as much as possible. Our parents are a bit . . . demanding, you could say."
"I know what you mean. My mom can be overbearing sometimes."
"I usually pick up multiple shifts around the holidays so I have an excuse. Pretty pathetic, huh?"
I shook my head, patting his chest. "Not pathetic, no. I think we all have to do certain things to protect our peace."
He chuckled and repeated my words. "'Protect our peace.' I like that that. Definitely going to use it."
I beamed. "You're welcome to."
"So, what does your family do when you get together?"
"We do the typical gift exchange and my mom usually makes a huge breakfast. Mostly, we sit around drinking eggnog and gossip," I said, laughing.
His smile was warm but didn't reach his eyes. "Sounds like a good time."
"Yeah, it is. Maybe you can join us this year if you still like me by then."
He scoffed and flipped me around, holding my front to his. His gold eyes brandished mine with their intensity.
"There is no doubt in my mind that I'll still like you by then," he said.
My cheeks heated. "We'll see, I guess. My mom will probably scare you off with her expectations, so I'll hold my breath."
"I like your mother very much, actually," he said, mocking offense. "She seems like she's got life by the balls."
"That's one way to put it," I muttered.
"What kind of expectations does she have for her daughter's boyfriend?"
Boyfriend!
My heart skipped a beat. I tried to play it cool so he wouldn't notice the mix of panic and elation I felt at that title.
"Well, she thinks I should have a PhD from Harvard, a successful career, and five children by now, if that's any indication."
He coughed, playfully hammering at his sternum with his fist. "Five? Jesus."
"Right?" I said. "Can you imagine more tiny drunk Leahs running around?"
Now he was laughing. "We'll keep them away from alcohol for as long as possible, that's for sure."
We?!
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. He needed to stop saying all of the right things before I gave up and married him right now.
"Not to say I'm a professional at charming parents," he said, "but I am a handsome, generally likable physician. It's pretty hard for parents not to like me."
He slid his hand down to mine, lacing our fingers together, and tugged me forward.
"I imagine that's very true. Honestly, they'll probably like you more than me," I joked, at which he pinched my side. I squealed and tried to jump away from him.
"Impossible," he said, drawing me into his chest again. His gaze lowered to my mouth and mine did the same. "May I kiss you?"
He placed his hands on my hips and looked at my eyes, begging for permission. I placed my palms on his chest to steady myself. Our connection was so strong at this moment that I couldn't fathom doing anything but stretching onto my toes and planting my lips on his.
The heat from his hands traveled up my body until he was cupping my jaw, pulling me closer. Our mouths pushed and pulled against each other. I wanted him so desperately that I might die without it. His tongue swept across my lips before dipping between them, tasting me.
I moaned and clutched his shirt in my fists. My toes were curling in my shoes. Tilting my head, he pillaged me with confidence and authority. Like he had known my body forever and knew that it belonged to him.
When we parted for air, I realized we were standing in the middle of the sidewalk and passersby were staring. I buried my burning face into his chest. He laughed and hugged me tightly.
After a few seconds, he managed to pry me off and nudged my chin up until we were staring at each other. I couldn't describe the familiarity and comfort I felt with him. It felt like we'd known each other all our lives.
"Have dinner with me," he said.
Excitement bubbled in my chest. I didn't hesitate to follow my desire this time, still drunk off his touch. "Where and when?"
"My place at six."
I arched a brow at him. "You just want to get me in your bed again."
"No," he countered with a sharp look. "I certainly would love to bury myself between your thighs tonight, but that's not the end goal." He raised his fingers. "Scout's honor."
Grinning impishly, I insisted, "Provino's Italian at six."
"You don't trust me?" he gasped, hand over his heart.
"I have to play a little hard to get, Doc. Can't make it too easy or you'll get bored."
He cradled my jaw again, brushing his lips faintly against mine. "I'll never get bored of you . . . but fine. Provino's Italian at six it is."