A week. The man hadn’t been in the picture at all for nearly a full week. The realization was both exhilarating and excruciating. Particularly when Cole imagined what might have happened in the dressing room if he’d known she’d chosen that gown with him in mind.
Him. Not Andrew.
And that meant, “So, you figured out what I was up to the day we went snow-tubing?”
“Um. I began to suspect.” She darted a glance toward Haley. “I didn’t really know until the next day, and that’s when I planned my revenge. I’ll admit I had a lot of fun with that.”
Haley cleared her throat. “This is all so...weirdly sweet and cute, but it’s time to close the store. I’ll...ah...go do that, and you two do...whatever it is you’re doing.”
The instant Haley left them alone, Cole quit playing around. This was serious. This was his chance, and no way in hell was he going to screw it up again.
For the second time that day, he walked over to Rachel and cradled her face in his hands, tipped her head so that their gazes met. “I shouldn’t have pretended to love another woman, sweetheart. But if doing so brought you here tonight, then I would do it again. Without hesitation or so much as a second thought.”
“Is that so?” she asked in an almost breathless voice.
“Yes, that’s so. And I hope you’ve already figured out that what I said about Mary, about not being able to move on with her, wasn’t true. I didn’t know you knew,” he said with a grimace. “I’m sorry if I hurt you with those words.”
Relief swept into her gaze, her expression. “So, what you’re saying is that you can move on with...Mary?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Though I really do prefer the name Cupcake.” He paused then, to add weight to these next vital words. This was it. Everything he’d wanted, right here. “I love you, Rachel Merriday. I have loved you for so long, that I don’t recall when I didn’t.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she said after a beat. She smiled, paused for second. Two. Three. Hell, he needed to hear the words. Needed her to say she loved him, too. Then, with a bat of her eyelashes, said, “Thank you, so very much.”
He blinked once. Twice. Three times. “Thank...you?”
“My mother taught me to give gratitude when someone says something nice.” Rachel looked at him with the straightest darn face he’d ever seen. With the slightest of shrugs, she said, “You said something nice. So...thank you, Cole. From the bottom of my heart.”
Well, hell. What was a man supposed to do with that? “Uh. You’re welcome?”
“I.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips on his neck. “Love.” Then across his jaw. “You.” To his ear. “Too.” And then, finally and blessedly, to his mouth. “But I can do one better than you, mister. I’ll love you forever, I will never stop. And that...well, that’s simply a fact.”
Their lips met. Her mouth opened and the tiniest of moans slipped from her throat. Need and desire roared to life in his blood, in his body, in every cell, and in every nerve. Only for Rachel had he ever felt like this. Only for Rachel would he ever feel like this.
He feathered his fingers into her hair and pushed her head closer, kissing her fully, reveling in the passion that existed between them. It was, at once, hungry and satiating, longing and fulfilling, unique and...familiar. This was Rachel, the woman he loved.
The woman who loved him. His Cupcake.
Epilogue
Snuggling up to Cole’s warm, sleeping body, Rachel sighed in absolute, to her toes, blissful contentment. Had she ever been this happy? She didn’t have to consider the question for long to find the answer. No, she had not ever, in her entire life, been this happy.
Or satisfied, for that matter.
Friday night, after they’d finally put the past to rest, they’d returned to Rachel’s house. When Cole had seen the bare tree lying at the side of the curb, he’d insisted on hauling it back in. If no other reason existed, that little action right there would have stolen Rachel’s heart.
Cole had popped popcorn and made hot chocolate, stating that those were the official snack foods for the Christmas tree decorating season, and then together, they’d restrung the lights and rehung the ornaments, laughing and teasing and kissing as they did.
The evening had been filled with Christmas magic. The rest of the night had been filled with an altogether different type of magic, one of a much steamier variety.
Oh, yes, Rachel considered herself a very happy and satisfied woman.
She stroked her hand down Cole’s bare hip, rose up on her other elbow so she could see the clock. Fifteen more minutes until Christmas. Fifteen more excruciating minutes.
Darn if she didn’t feel as if she were a six-year-old little girl, waiting impatiently for Santa to arrive. This year, though, she wasn’t interested in dolls or games—definitely no games, please—or storybooks. This year, she had her heart set on one very particular, very glittery gift.
She fidgeted again, rolled over to peek at the clock again, saw that an entire sixty seconds had passed since she’d last checked and groaned loudly. Watched Cole to see if he budged. That would be a no. Hmm. She was sure, with some minor creativity, she could wake him up.
But then, they wouldn’t get to the presents until well after midnight.
“You are the most impatient woman I have ever met,” Cole said, his voice thick with sleep and humor. “I believe the rule was no presents until eight in the morning.”
“Um. You were serious about that?” She’d thought he was teasing her. “Because if so, Cole Foster, that is entirely unfair. Why, Christmas is official in—” she propped herself up again to look “—twelve minutes.”
“We’ll wait until morning,” he said stubbornly. “That’s the Foster rule.”
“I am not a Foster,” she said. Yet. Or so she hoped.
He lazily moved his hand to her breast and trailed his finger around her nipple. Delicious heat rippled through her abdomen. He laughed a slow, lazy chuckle, saying, “You already know what all of your gifts are, so why are you in such a rush?”
She sniffed, donned a faux-sarcastic voice and said, “Well, I didn’t know they were for me when we bought them, did I? Or half of them, anyway.”
“You just want those tattoos, admit it.”
And the poodle. Oh, and she couldn’t wait to find out why he deemed a flashlight romantic. The stubborn man had refused to give her an explanation, stating she needed at least one surprise for Christmas morning. She was hoping for two.
“I’m more excited about the T-shirt,” she teased.
Rolling onto his side, he faced her. His other hand flattened on her stomach, eliciting another delicious curl of heat. “You aren’t really going to make me get up and open gifts at midnight, are you? That’s just...cruel.”
“Yes, I think I am.” There was just enough light in the room for her to make out the strong features of his face. She wondered, briefly, who their someday children would take after in looks. She hoped for a brood of tough little boys with coal-black hair and chocolate-brown eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. “So very much.”
“I love you, too.” Gripping her hips, he dragged her closer to him and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, darlin’.”
She grinned. “Thank you.”
He growled and kissed her again. Harder this time. Demanding and hot, searching and hungry. She moaned and ran her hands down his bare, muscular ba
ck, enjoying the feel of his warm skin, savoring the sensations of their bodies touching.
He moved his mouth to her neck, down to her shoulder blade and then to her breast, where his tongue swirled, creating more heat, more desire, more everything to tumble through Rachel’s body. “I want you,” he groaned. “Again. Now.”
His words, his tenor, the heat in his voice made her tremble, shiver, with her own want, her own very real need for this man. Her man. “That is a very good idea. And,” she said, glancing at the clock, “we still have eight minutes.”
“Eight minutes, huh?” His eyes locked with hers, and even in the dim glow, she could easily read his amusement mixed in with his hunger. “Now, darlin’, I’m not quite sure—”
“Shut up and kiss me,” she demanded. “The clock is ticking.”
His mouth returned to hers and she melted into the kiss, into him. Rachel forgot all about Christmas and the gifts waiting downstairs. Simply speaking, the world ceased to exist for a very long time. Considerably more than eight minutes.
It was, in fact, dawn by the time they made it downstairs.
Now, they were sitting in front of the newly decorated Christmas tree. A pile of presents—ten of them to be exact—were heaped next to Rachel’s feet. Cole had already opened the solitary present Rachel had given him—the midnight-blue nightgown she’d modeled with such delight in the dressing room—and from the look in his eyes, he was ready to drag her back upstairs. She was good with that. Really, really, really good.
But not until she opened her presents.
“I’m sorry I don’t have more gifts for you,” she said, somewhat embarrassed. Her first romantic Christmas with Cole, and she’d been so wrapped up in the glory of him—of them—that yes, she’d totally spaced off shopping. She’d make it up to him next Christmas.
And every day in between now and then.
“I believe I have everything I’ve ever wished for this Christmas, Rach.” He paused, reached over and ran his thumb over her lips. “You. You’re the only gift I wanted this year.”
She blinked as emotion welled within. Yes. Every day between now and next Christmas...and beyond. “Well, maybe later, I’ll put that on—” she directed her gaze toward the box with the nightgown “—along with some strategically placed Christmas bows, and see to it that a few more of your...wishes come true.”
“Open your gifts,” he said in that growling way of his. “Before I take you up on that.”
Staring at him, at Cole, for one more minute, she allowed the warmth and contentment to swell within her. Important elements of a relationship, yes. But also, with Cole, was this absolute surety that he was exactly the right man for her. And yes, that she was exactly the right woman for him. What a joyous gift to have, to be.
She was a very fortunate woman. On both accounts.
“Come on, Rach,” Cole said, waking her from her thoughts. “Open your gifts.”
Nodding, she focused on the presents. She could tell by their sizes and shapes which was which, and yes, there were precisely ten. For the moment, she wouldn’t let that concern her. Cole might have slid the ring into any one of these other gifts, or he might be saving it for last.
She decided to start with the silly gifts, the ones they’d chosen after she’d discovered the charade. None of those needed an explanation, after all. The tattoos were first, then the shirt, then the chocolates—she would never eat all of those chocolates—and then the toy poodle.
Holding it up, she pressed the poodle’s stomach and a “Yip, yip, yip” erupted. “This,” Rachel said to Cole, “is Cupcake. So, if you refer to ‘Cupcake’ in any way, shape or form, I will assume you want this.” She grinned and tossed the stuffed animal at him.
He caught it and made the thing yip again. “Actually, no. You are my Cupcake. This is...um...we’ll go with Cocoa. Yeah, I like that.”
“Brat,” she said, before reaching for and opening the red negligee.
“And when you wear that,” Cole added with a wicked gleam in his eyes, “I’ll call you Jezebel...or maybe Bambi. Both would work, don’t you think?”
She wrinkled her nose and threw the flimsy piece of silk at him, as well, before appraising the remaining gifts. Probably, the photo album—if Cole had, indeed, filled it with pictures of them—would make her cry. The flashlight, depending on his reason for purchasing it, might also pack an emotional punch. She’d save those for last.
After opening the small bottle of perfume, Rachel spritzed it on her wrists and behind her ears. “This one really ticked me off, by the way,” she said. “The thought of you loving some other woman was bad enough. The thought of her wearing my scent around you?”
“Didn’t like that, huh?”
“Uh. That would be a no.” Moving on, Rachel selected the snow globe next, and she and Cole spent a few minutes reminiscing about the day they’d met.
It was, she decided, very fortuitous that her gaze had landed on Cole and his brothers before any of the other groups of children. One look at them whizzing snowballs at each other had resulted in the desperate longing to join them.
Yes, very fortuitous.
The camera required zero discussion, so she set the gift aside with the idea she’d snap pictures of Cole and his family later that day. Hmm. Photo album or flashlight?
She had to go for the flashlight. The big, honking flashlight that would easily light up an entire room. “Okay. I have to know,” she said, holding the flashlight by its handle and waving it in front of her. Ha. It was heavy enough so that she could use it to exercise with. “Why is this romantic?”
“That’s easy,” Cole said, leaning toward her and removing the flashlight from her grasp. “I don’t like the idea of you driving alone at night. This flashlight offers the practical use it’s intended for, but also...well, if you were to run into trouble, it’s heavy, so you can use it to bash some guy over his head, giving you long enough to run away and call for help.”
Rachel blinked, taking this in. Yeah, that was romantic. Her heart softened and swelled. He wanted to protect her, even when she wasn’t with him. She shook her head, laughing, loving the way his brain worked. “Practical and romantic. I see it now. Thank you.”
His voice turned gruff when he said, “Welcome. I always want you to be safe.”
And with him, she was sure she would be. He’d see to it.
The last gift, the one that Rachel was certain would bring tears flowing from her eyes, remained. Reaching for the wrapped package, she picked it up and peeled off the tape slowly, and then the paper, trying to prepare herself for whatever photos Cole had included as part of “their journey so far.” An incredible journey, fraught with ups and downs.
When the last bit of paper was removed, she stared at the closed album for a few seconds, and then slowly opened the first page. “Oh,” she said, smiling. There they were, a young Cole and a younger Rachel, sitting on his parents’ front porch. “I remember that day. Your mom made us shovel the driveway because we were driving her batty in the house.”
“Yup. Keep looking, Rach,” Cole said, his voice warm, holding a nuance of anticipation.
One by one, she flipped the pages, seeing herself and Cole grow up before her eyes. Boating in the summer. Sledding in the winter. Grouped in front of the Fosters’ Christmas tree with Cole’s brothers and sister. Building snowmen and snow forts.
Year by year, picture by picture, her entire relationship with Cole was represented. It was, Rachel refl
ected, the sweetest, most thoughtful, most romantic gift she’d ever received.
The last page that held pictures—he’d left several pages open for them to fill with new photos—was from the prior Christmas. One of them, a photo Rachel hadn’t seen before, was of the two of them sitting next to each other at a table at Foster’s. She remembered this moment, as well. Vividly, in fact.
Cole’s mother had taken the photo. Rachel was leaning against Cole, his arm was wrapped over her shoulders, and they were looking at each other, rather than at the camera.
She’d been leaving that day, Rachel remembered, disappointed that the visit hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped. Hell. Disappointed wasn’t the right word. She’d been devastated. And now, she knew he’d been the feeling the same.
“We lost so much time,” she whispered. “So much time we could have spent together.”
“I know,” Cole said, his voice heavy with every emotion Rachel was experiencing. “But sweetheart, those days make up our past. They’re part of who we are now. And I don’t know about you, but it’s because of that past...because of the time lost, that I know I will count my blessings every single day from here on out. No more lost time. Not for us.”
With those very intelligent words, Rachel let go of her regret. She closed the photo album and leaned her head against Cole’s shoulder. “You’re right,” she said. “No more lost time. I like the sound of that. Very, very much.”
They kissed, deeply and passionately. Then, Cole whispered in her ear, “We have a few hours before going to my parents. Feel like modeling that gown for me again? Upstairs?”
Okay, so there wouldn’t be a ring. There wouldn’t be a proposal. Rachel put away her disappointment. What was important, what mattered, was that she and Cole were together. She loved him. He loved her. Maybe next Christmas. Or the one after. Or, the one after that. Whenever he was ready to ask, she was ready to say yes.
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