Chapter 27
Noel
The second I cut her free, I’m dragging her into my arms, cradling her close, breathing her in like oxygen.
Her skin’s warm, thank God, but her pulse is a terrified thrum against my chest. And it’s like this—having her back in my arms safe and sound—is my own Christmas miracle.
I press a kiss to her temple, her cheek, her hair—anywhere I can reach. Then finally, her mouth.
She clings to me, holding on, and I swear to God, my chest damn near bursts with the feelings I have for this woman.
I love her.
I am so fucking in love with her.
“I’ve got you, Tinsel,” I whisper, my voice rough. “You’re safe now. I swear it.”
I want to get her the hell out of here.
Take her home. Lock the door. Wrap her in blankets and keep her in my arms until the world stops spinning.
That’s all I can think about.
But not her.
My girl—shaking, eyes wide, still catching her breath—squares her shoulders like she’s walking into battle.
“I need five minutes to clean up,” she murmurs, wiping away a smudge of mascara with the back of her hand. “Then I have to check the ballroom.”
I blink. “What?”
“The gala, Noel. It starts in less than thirty minutes.”
She’s been locked in a damn storage room with a gun pointed at her, and she’s worried about hors d’oeuvres and table centerpieces.
I should say no. I should put my foot down.
But she’s looking at me with that fire I’ve come to worship—that quiet determination that says she knows exactly who she is and what she’s capable of. So I just nod.
What else can I do?
“I’m coming with you.”
She gives me a wobbly smile, the kind that undoes every knot inside me.
And maybe that’s the moment I decide.
The moment I know.
As soon as this night ends, I’m going to ask her. The one question I never thought I’d say out loud. The one promise I want to make for the rest of my life.
Because loving Holly isn’t just something that happened to me—it’s something I chose. Something I will fight for.
My guys have Darlene locked down and handled, and they are waiting on the NYPD to arrive.
It’s sexist, but I wish she were a man so I could do what I really want to do to her for putting my Tinsel in danger. Guess I have to trust the justice system to take care of this one for me.
But there are always other things I can do. Like getting back at my woman’s job for fostering an environment that put her in this mess to begin with. I tuck away that thought for now, but I’ll revisit it later.
I say a few words to my team, then I follow her to the service elevator, a bundle of nerves and violent need, jaw tight and heart raw.
Watching Tinsel reapply her lipstick in the mirrored wall, smoothing down that sexy as fuck silver dress like nothing happened.
God, I’m so fucking proud of her.
She doesn’t back down or fall apart in the face of threats and terrorists. She’s a goddamn gem.
A prizefighter wrapped in tinsel and shining like a star.
That gown? Looks like it was cut from the heavens themselves. Fucking covers her like a second skin.
My eyes roam over her, and I want to beat my chest like a monster and snarl at everyone who sees her looking so goddamn fine.
But then something replaces that possessive rage. Something deeper, primal still, but stronger than jealousy.
See, I get to stand beside her tonight.
And if she says yes?
I’ll get to do it forever.
And that right there? That’s the icing on the cake, or cookie, as it were.
Getting to be the man at her side is simply worth everything.
And it’s my motherfucking destiny.