by Alexis Anne
I took one last large step so that I stood right in front of her. I’m not sure what I expected to happen. Most likely she was going to slap me or just run away. But instead she blinked up at me with those green eyes, dropped the leash, and kissed me.
It struck me somewhere between the zing of electricity and the complete loss of air in my lungs that this was our third first kiss. The first one being the first. We were eighteen and in our first week of college. I knew the minute I met her I wanted to kiss her. She was just . . . everything. Gorgeous, funny, snarky. She called me out on my bad flirting, then turned right around and flirted with me. Ten minutes later I asked her for a kiss and before I finished my question her hands were on my face, her lips on mine.
The second first kiss was our senior year. I’d broken up with her after a fight about popcorn. Don’t even ask. (It wasn’t really about popcorn.) But a month later we ran into each other at the library and boom. First kiss number two happened between two rows of books on mythology.
We never broke up again. Not until our divorce. I guess you could count our first kiss as a married couple as a first kiss, but I didn’t. Mostly because it didn’t feel like this. There was something about being apart and coming back together for the first time that made those kisses more intense.
And just like both of those first kisses, this one blew me away. I swear fireworks had to be coming out of my head. I wrapped my arms around her because we were both swaying. Also because I really wanted to feel her in my arms again. Her warm body was so much smaller than mine. So much more delicate.
How had I not realized how important that detail felt? Like it was an intentional design that someone like me with a big personality would need to feel that the woman who chose to love me was impossibly strong but also fragile. It felt important now. She would always be light in my arms to constantly remind me to treat her carefully. She put up with me. She stood up to me. But when I pushed too hard I could crush her.
I almost had three years ago.
So I kissed her with everything I had. I knew it was my one and only chance to show her no other man could love her the way I could now. I cupped her face where I knew she was sensitive, ran my thumb over her cheek. I held her close. When she whimpered I drank it in, I turned and kissed her even deeper. Then, just when I thought I might pass out, I pulled back, gasping for air.
“Jack,” she panted, eyes screwed shut.
“I love you.” Three words that meant everything and yet were completely inadequate to describe how I really felt.
She shuddered, then opened her eyes. For a minute we had a very silent, very important discussion.
I love you.
She blinked back tears and, I don’t think she realized it, but she nodded. She didn’t hate me.
I ran my thumb back and forth over her cheek, panting, pleading with her to see me as I was now. Lucky bastard that I was, she searched my eyes, her gaze sweeping over my face before locking back with mine and holding.
Holding.
Begging me to be different.
I am. I love you so much.
Just like my mom said, sometimes Berlin and I had entire conversations without saying a word. It had been entirely too long. Maybe since the early days of our marriage.
“I have to go,” she whispered. She didn’t move though.
I could see her pain. The questions she wanted to ask but wouldn’t. But most of all? I could see that she still loved me.
So I kissed her forehead and released her. “You are hereby freed from the mistletoe.”
She staggered backward, right into Doug. “Ooops!”
He barked.
“Sorry, buddy.” Then she scooped up his leash and moved away from me. “Have a nice Christmas, Jack.”
I stood under the spotlight. I watched her leave as a strange sense of peace settled over me.
Berlin still felt this.
I knew this wasn’t over. I’d just fucked it up was all. She was smart to get rid of me.
Didn’t mean it had to be permanent.
I was three years older. Three years wiser. Three years more determined to win back the woman I knew without a doubt in this world she was the only woman for me.
I just had to prove to her that marrying Ryker was a mistake and that she should marry me instead.
Third time’s the charm, right?
Third Times the Charm (Mistletoe Key #3) is coming Summer 2018!
But you can read Lindsay and Alexandra’s editions now!
(Yes, THE Lindsay and Alexandra from the book you just read!)
Resisting Santa by Lindsay Emory
Blue Christmas by Alexandra Haughton
About the Author
Alexis Anne is the author of the steamy The Storm Inside series and the sexy Tease serials. A recovering archaeologist, she loves writing stories about passionate people overcoming mistakes and finding where they belong (amidst some equally passionate sexy-times). Her heroines are smart, her heroes are strong, and her stories are always close to her own life experiences. She lives in Florida with The Sexy Editor, their two superheroes, and a dog who would be much happier in the snow (although he seems okay with the beach). AlexisAnneBooks.com
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