16. Ashley #2
The words settled heavy between them. Ashley focused on untangling a strand of lights, suddenly fascinated by the green wire.
Harry Connick Jr.’s voice faded and Michael Buble’s I’ll Be Home For Christmas started. Carter was silent, and Ashley was too afraid to look at him. The truth hung between them. The people she loved weren’t just her family. It was him, too.
With a deep inhale, she finally glanced up to catch him staring at her. There wasn’t pity in his gaze, but there was what looked and felt like regret.
“You spent every Christmas alone?” he asked so quiet it almost got lost to the music.
Ashley shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Ash.”
“What?”
His jaw tightened at the harshness of her tone. She didn’t mean for the word to burst out like it did, but her defenses had risen.
“It was Christmas.”
Her chest ached at his simple statement. He understood. More than anyone. Just like he always did. He knew what Christmas used to mean to her. How it wasn’t just her favorite holiday but her favorite time of year. The entire month of December leading up to the festival and the big day itself.
“If I’d known—”
“What? You would have come to New York with a Santa hat and a bottle of eggnog?” She shook her head as a deep yearning rushed through her.
It sounded nice in theory. It’s what she had dreamed about those first few Christmases when she sat alone eating chicken and broccoli and fried dumplings with a glass of cabernet and not a single Christmas decoration in sight.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know you never would have come.”
“How do you know?”
“I was alone in the city most nights, not just Christmas night, and you never came. Not even when I wished it. When I cried myself to sleep at night because another day went by where I didn’t hear from you.
” Tears pressed against her lids, and she hated that she couldn’t be stronger, but she’d been strong for so damn long.
She was tired. “Grandpa lost the love of his life, and he pushed everyone away and froze Winterridge in time. I lost the love of my life, and I abandoned my favorite holiday.”
Maybe she and Grandpa had more in common than she realized. He kept everything exactly the same because he couldn’t face a world without Grandma Lily in it.
And Ashley? She had done the opposite.
She’d stripped Christmas from her life piece by piece until there was nothing left to remind her of what she had lost.
No tree. No lights. No gingerbread houses. No spice cake. Because every ornament, every Christmas song, every twinkling light seemed to whisper his name.
It was easier to abandon the holiday than admit the person she missed most wasn’t gone at all. He was simply living a life that no longer included her.
So she convinced herself she hated Christmas. It was easier that way.
But standing here now, looking into the eyes of the man she spent nearly a decade trying to forget, she finally understood the truth.
She never hated Christmas.
She hated what it reminded her of.
A future she’d once been certain would be hers, and a love she never stopped mourning.
That same love now stood not even three feet away.
She could easily close the gap, rise on her tip-toes and kiss him, pick up where they had left off in the kitchen, but her feet were glued to the floor, refusing to move.
She knew what she wanted, and maybe she knew what Carter wanted too, but after all these years of never showing up, she needed him to choose her.
The Christmas music continued to play softly in the background. Silence stretched between them, filled with missed opportunities, regret, and remorse, yet neither of them moved.
Ashley’s heart hammered against her ribs. Maybe she’d said too much. Maybe she’d finally pushed too far. Her heart sank as she slowly accepted reality. No matter how many years or how long she held on to him, she couldn’t make him choose her.
Maybe—
Carter crossed the room, eyes intent on hers, an intensity so strong it stole the air from her lungs.
Something had shifted in his expression.
Every instinct told her to move, but she couldn’t.
Not when he was looking at her like that, with every raw emotion written plainly across his handsome features.
The distance between them vanished, and a startled breath escaped her. His arm snaked around her waist and yanked her close. His solid warmth melted into her; his chest rose and fell beneath his shirt. His gaze swept across her face.
“Carter,” she whispered.
The sound of his name seemed to have undone something inside him. His eyes searched her as if he were asking for permission or forgiveness. Maybe both.
His hand slid higher along her back, holding her closer, and every nerve ending in her body sprang to life. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and any space between them vanished as his mouth crashed into hers. She didn’t know who moved first, but it didn’t matter anymore.
All that mattered was that he was here, not in her dreams or her mind, but real, solid flesh. She dug her fingers into his shirt, absorbing his heat.
He pulled away, his forehead resting against hers, his jagged breath mixing with her own.
His hands cupped her face. “You were never the only one mourning.”
He captured her lips, softer this time, as if he didn’t want to rush a single second. And as her fingers curled into his biceps, she stopped mourning what they had lost and allowed herself to want what they might find.
He swiped his tongue across her seam, and she opened, melting into him as she did. Their tongues met in an erotic dance of give and take. Heat snaked its way to every nerve ending in her body, setting off sparks of desire.
A moan rumbled in her throat as he dipped his head, kissing along her jawline and around her turtleneck.
With a grunt, he hooked his fingers in the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head, tossing it aside.
For a moment he just stared at her as if he was savoring every freckle, every rise of her chest, every inch of her exposed skin.
Then his hand was at her waist, pulling her to him, his tongue delving into her mouth, hands roaming over her back before landing on her ass.
He lifted, and she jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist. He started to move, but she didn’t want to stop kissing him to find out where he was going.
She didn’t care. As long as his mouth was on hers, they could be anywhere.
He lowered her, her body sinking into a soft comforter as he came down over her.
He stopped kissing her and stood up, ripping his sweater over his head and discarding it.
She sat up, reaching for his pants and yanking on his zipper.
They’d been interrupted one too many times, and she didn’t care if an avalanche came through; she was finally getting what she wanted most this Christmas.
With a simple shove, his pants and his boxer briefs pooled at his feet, and he stepped out of them. His hard cock stood at attention, and she bit her lip as she looked up at him.
His eyes swept over her before they met hers, a predatory claim radiating in those blue irises as if he was saying mine in his head. She swallowed at the intensity.
“Your turn,” he said and motioned to her pants.
She didn’t hesitate, ridding herself of the constrictive material. His Adam’s apple bobbed as she sat on the bed in nothing but a red lace bra and a matching red lace thong.
He stalked toward the bed, and she scooted back. God, how many times had she dreamed of this moment over the years when her bed was cold and she was utterly alone.