Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
I wrap my arm around her waist. "You’re not wrong."
She hums, pressing a kiss to the underside of my jaw. “You realize you’re still shirtless, right?”
“It’s branding.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s working.” I nod toward the Hollis & Hearth banner set up by the dock. “Guest bookings are up forty percent since I started chopping wood in cargo pants on the website homepage.”
She groans. “I married a himbo.”
“You married a man who smells like cedar and makes you cum six ways from Christmas.”
Her cheeks flush. “Still cocky, huh?”
“Still cocked.”
She chokes on a laugh, slapping my thigh. “There are children present.”
“The same children who asked this morning if babies come from a snowdrift and a mistletoe kiss.”
“That’s your fault.”
“You kissed me under that damn mistletoe.”
“And you knocked me up in a hot tub.”
“Best New Year’s ever.”
She sighs, resting her head against my shoulder again. “God, we’re disgusting.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
The sun dips behind the ridge, casting everything in blue and silver. The kids run wild, chasing the dog across the riverbank. Mack’s got a fish on a string and is trying to convince Jack it’s their new pet. The baby’s eating more snow.
I slide my hand over Noel’s knee, under her parka. She gives me a look. One I know well.
Don’t start what you can’t finish, Hollis.
But I always finish.
And I always start.
"Let’s leave the kids with Margie tonight," I murmur, mouth brushing her ear. "Take you to the cedar cabin. Build a fire. Strip you slow. Watch that belly bounce while you ride me like the queen of Christmas."
Her breath catches.
I grin.
Still got it.
She turns her head. Kisses me soft. Full of everything we’ve built.
Love. Lust. Mayhem.
And more glitter than any self-respecting man should admit lives in his beard.
“Happy New Year, Nash Hollis,” she whispers.
“Happy always, Noel Hollis.”
Because it’s not just a holiday anymore.
It’s our life.
Loud. Messy. Feral.
Perfect.
The End