A Very Grumpy Lumberjack Christmas

20. Luke

20

LUKE

F or the first time in days, bright sunlight filters through the windows, completely unobscured by the gray clouds or the constant snow that has plagued Mistletoe.

Not that I’m complaining.

That storm brought more than nasty winds and massive snowdrifts; it brought me something I never thought I would have again.

Her.

Even if it was literally kicking and screaming.

One of those beams of light falls across the bed, inching closer and closer to Noel’s sleeping form the longer I watch her, warning me that the day is slipping away even though it’s still relatively early.

Wasting any time with this woman feels shameful.

Not to mention agonizing.

Because this is my final day with her—and I don’t even know how long it will last.

How many more chances will I have to hold her? To kiss her? To hear that little hitch in her breath that completely undoes me?

I ignore the tightness in my chest as I hang my coat, untie and kick off my boots next to the door, and pad across the wood floor to her.

Temptation to let her sleep longer, to allow to her enjoy the peace she seems to have found in her dreams and in my bed for a few more minutes creeps in—especially knowing I can crawl in with her and hold her until we’re finally forced to come up for air.

But I don’t want to spend what little time I have left with her just sleeping.

There are other things we could in that bed, but I want to see her face light up with the kind of joy that it has over the last few days…one last time. Without my cock in her or my mouth between her legs.

I want to know it isn’t just lust that brings that brilliant smile and happy tears.

And that means waking her up.

This is the last time Noel will be here…

Fighting through the physical pain that knowledge brings, I climb onto the bed and slide in behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and burying my face in her neck. Smooth, warm skin that always somehow smells like peppermint brushes my lips, and I let my mouth linger there.

Inhaling her deeply.

Tasting her.

Never wanting to move from this spot.

She groans slightly and shifts back, pressing herself into me more tightly. Her firm, bare ass aligns against my cock, and if my jeans and plans weren’t in the way, I could so easily slip inside her—for just one more time. “What time is it?”

I don’t bother looking at the clock.

After spending a lifetime in Mistletoe and on this “mountain,” the angle of the sun is more than enough to tell me how much time is slipping away.

“Just after eight. ”

Her eyes flutter open, and she glances back at me. “When I fell asleep, it was still Christmas.”

I grin at her, feathering my lips across that sensitive spot behind her ear. “When you fell asleep the first time…”

If memory serves me correctly—and it does since crystal-clear images and vibrant memories flash through my head—I woke her up twice in the night to taste her again and take her.

And my entire body throbs, thinking about each time.

“You need to get up.”

She pushes up on her elbow, her eyes drifting to the closest window. “Is the storm over?”

Such a loaded question.

Noel is referring to the blizzard that changed her holiday plans and allowed us to have this incredible time together, but I can’t help but think of her as the storm.

This feisty, brilliant, funny, kind, caring, stunning blonde spun back into my life on a slick road and brought with her a cyclone of emotions I didn’t know I was capable of anymore.

And when she disappears again, the damage she will leave in her wake won’t be easily repaired.

It can’t be.

Eight years have proven that.

“Just some flurries now.” I incline my head toward the door. “The wind is almost completely gone.”

Her bright eyes meet mine. “Then I can get home to Mom.”

She starts to push up out of the bed, but I tighten my arm around her waist to drag her back down, rolling her onto her back and settling my body over hers.

“No, you can’t. You know Jolly Lane won’t be plowed until the rest of the town is done, which means probably late this afternoon or dinnertime before even my truck will get up to your mom’s house.”

Those pretty pink lips of hers purse, her annoyance making the blue in her eyes sparkle.

I chuckle, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Don’t look so disappointed, Snowflake. I have something planned to occupy our time.”

She frowns slightly. “Can we at least go down to the lot and call my mom?”

God, she’s so sweet.

I shake my head. “I tried to go down there earlier, but the path is completely gone. Snowed over. If we stepped off it, we could get trapped in a deep bank or, even worse, in a tree well. You wouldn’t make it.”

Earlier, I wasn’t even sure I could make it safely and turned back, and I have made that trek a thousand times in my life.

All it would take is one misstep to get sucked so deep in the snow that there would be no way out, and even if we were together, I won’t risk her life when, in a few hours, we can get down safely.

The corners of her lips twitch. “You could just throw me over your shoulder caveman style, like how you got me up here in the first place.”

I smirk at her and dip my head to nip at her plump bottom lip. “I could do that, but I worry with the snow as deep as it is, I could trip or step off the path, and you’d end up hurt. And I would never forgive myself.”

No matter the hard feelings I held over our breakup, or the ones I’m trying to keep at bay now, knowing she’ll leave again , the thought of anything ever happening to Noel sends a shiver through me worse than any brutal Wisconsin winter wind could.

Her blond brows rise. “So…then, how are we going to get out of here? ”

“My mom and dad will clear the path up here with the plow attachment on the snowmobile.”

“Why can’t we use that on the road?”

I bark out a laugh. “You really can’t wait to get away from me, can you?”

Her eyes widen, her mouth falling open. “No, I’m worried about my mom.”

“I know, Snowflake.” I kiss her gently. “I’m just messing with you. But seriously, that tiny little plow isn’t going to do shit for what’s on that road, and you know that. You’re just intentionally being difficult this morning.”

She offers an annoyed little harumph sound. “Fine, so we’re stuck here until at least this afternoon, huh?”

I nod, brushing the hair back from her face. “Probably, unless my mom and dad manage to shovel themselves out of the house, get to the barn to the snowmobile, and get the path up here cleared faster than I’m anticipating.”

Something seems to click in her head, and her brow furrows. “Why didn’t you bring the snowmobile up on Christmas Eve?”

Shit.

It isn’t a bad question, and one I hoped she wouldn’t ask.

“Because I was afraid you’d remember how to unlock the deadbolt on the door, manage to get out of here, jump on it, and be reckless enough to try to get all the way home.”

Her eyes widen, her jaw gaping open. “You really did kidnap me and try to hold me captive.”

I shift my knee between her legs and press up until she issues a little gasp at the contact of my jean-clad thigh on her bare cunt. “Was it so bad being my captive?”

She shakes her head and grins. “No, you are a very accommodating captor.”

“I do my best.” I twist a strand of her hair around my finger and tug lightly. “Now, as for our plans today…”

Noel looks at me through thick lashes. “I’m so interested to know what you have in mind.”

The sultry tone in her voice tells me exactly what she’s anticipating. But this isn’t about getting where my thigh is right now.

It’s about giving Noel a gift she doesn’t even know she needs.

But despite how long she’s been gone, I still know this woman, what lies deep in her heart of hearts.

I shake my head. “Not that. We’re going out.”

Her brows fly up. “Outside?”

I nod. “The temperature is actually perfect, and…I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one, besides the beautiful holiday meal you cooked me last night?”

The playful barb lands, and I snort and shift back, holding out my hand to tug her up and against me on our knees on the mattress.

“You know”—she feathers her fingers through my hair—“I don’t think I’ve ever had Kraft macaroni and cheese for Christmas dinner before.”

I chuckle and kiss her gently. “Well, I would have had a whole plate of food for myself from my parents’ house under normal circumstances.”

Her brows draw low. “You don’t eat with them anymore?”

Arguments I’ve had with Mom about this very thing replay in my head.

Years of her begging me to spend Christmas with them, to come for dinner and open gifts.

Too many rejections of her offers to count.

Almost a decade of staying in this cabin pretty much the entire months of November and December, locked away from any potential “contamination” by Christmas spirit .

I swallow thickly as I avert my gaze from hers. “No, I can barely stand to be in their house this time of year.”

“Shit.” Any humor she has disappears. “I’m sorry, Luke, I didn’t mean—”

“Stop apologizing.” If I hear her say I’m sorry one more time, I might snap. “Get dressed. You’re going to need your mittens and your hat, too.”

She pulls that plump bottom lip of hers under her teeth. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Her gaze narrows on me as I slide off the bed and make my way over to the door. I tug my boots back on and pull my jacket off the hook, then shove my arms through.

She watches me intently for a moment, like she’s about to argue and try to get information from me.

That won’t happen.

Something she seems to accept with an annoyed sigh before she climbs to her feet.

I tug on my gloves as she snags her pants, socks, underwear, and sweater from where they’ve been sitting near the fire. She takes them into the bathroom with her while I lean against the door and wait.

This could backfire, big time.

After our breakfast conversation yesterday, it may not be the smartest idea I’ve ever had, but it was always one of our traditions after a big snowfall, and I know she hasn’t been up there even once in the last eight years.

She must miss it.

It’s impossible not to miss something when you love it so much.

When she opens the bathroom door again, her hair has been somewhat tamed and spills around her shoulders over that silly, ugly Santa sweater. The big man stares back at me, looking jolly as fuck.

I can’t fight the smirk that pulls up my lips as she approaches.

One of her blond brows flies up. “What’s that look for?”

I grin and swat her ass as she bends over to tug on her boots. “That sweater.” Leaning over her, I wrap my arms around her waist, growling low into her ear. “So many new memories to add to the ones of that day with the sweater and the ringing sleigh bells.”

She releases a sharp laugh and pushes back against me to get me to stand and release her, then turns to face me. “My mom can make you one, you know.”

“She has. Many times.”

“And I’m sure those are in the trash somewhere, aren’t they?”

Hell.

They are.

And that makes me feel like a real fucking asshole for having literally thrown away the sweaters her mom hand-knitted for me over the years.

Even if Mrs. J made me a new one, once Noel is gone again, God knows, I won’t want to put it on.

Still, I force a tight smile, sidestepping the question. “Maybe she will make me a new one.”

Noel slides on her jacket, and I reach up and grasp the deadbolt, pounding gently to the left of it so that it will slide more easily when I twist.

Her mouth gapes open. “So that’s how you do it.”

I chuckle as I tug the door open. “It’s a good thing you didn’t remember, or you might be frozen solid on the side of the road somewhere between here and your mom’s place.”

She scowls as she pulls on her mittens and then tugs the hat down over her wavy, blond locks. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“There aren’t many places to go up here, Snowflake. ”

And if she really thought about it, I bet she could guess.

Eight years might have passed, but Noel still knows this mountain and the special places that hold a piece of my heart—and hers.

I usher her out in front of me and pull the door closed behind us.

Noel sucks in a sharp gasp as she takes in the winter wonderland spread out before us.

The icicles dangling from every tree branch.

An endless landscape of snow as far as the eye can see, glistening, pristine, and white, so fresh that not even the animals have moved across it yet.

A few soft flakes still flutter from the sky, which is mostly sunny for the first time in days.

This is why the mountain will always be home.

This is why people flock to Mistletoe this time of year.

It isn’t just because of the cheesy decorations, the town name, or the celebrations we host.

People come because this place is still pure.

Made the way God intended it.

Relatively untouched by the hustle and bustle of modern society.

No noise and pollution.

Nothing pulling you in a hundred different directions or distracting you from the truly important things in life.

Mistletoe is from another time.

One I don’t want to forget.

“It doesn’t look like this in Toronto, does it?”

Even with her big parka on, I can see Noel’s back stiffen, and she swallows audibly before she glances over at me. “No, it certainly doesn’t.”