Christmas Kisses

Epilogue

CHRISTIAN

Almost a year later…

The crowd goes wild as the cast returns to the stage for a final bow. The musical is the one Angel signed on for before she pushed her dreams aside to make sure her neighbors and friends weren’t wrongly evicted. It just isn’t on a Broadway stage.

This one is better because the pews are filled with family and friends, and her apartment is only a short walk away.

It is also void of the elevators Angel will never ride so close to Christmas.

It’s taken a lot for Angel to remember she isn’t to blame for a faulty elevator, but she is getting there—slowly. Reminding her is as strenuous as her constant attempt to add a sex toy to our lovemaking at the start of our relationship.

It isn’t all bad. Women often say jealousy sex is the best sex. Angel disagrees. Proving the only apparatus she needs to get off is on my body sees her orgasming more often than the occasional times we’ve introduced a sex toy into our once-daily marathon fucking sessions.

I’m hard now just recalling how many times I made her lose her mind the morning my visa expired, so she had no choice but to drive me to the airport. The rebuild was over, and I had a nephew I’d never met in person, but it was still a struggle to leave.

So much so that I’ve returned months earlier than planned.

Isaac doesn’t solely own Angel’s building. He has a majority share in most of Ravenshoe’s residential and commercial properties. Partnering with him means my construction company will be busy for years to come, but that isn’t the motive behind me accepting his five-year contract.

I’m here for one reason and one reason only.

I am coming home for Christmas.

My saying has nothing to do with Angel’s apartment and everything to do with the name of its rightful owner.

As the curtains close, the crowd slowly disperses from the theater. I head toward the stage instead of the exit. After dipping my chin in greeting to Pierre, I do the unified signal for silence when his excitement almost spoils my cover.

Tahlia had initially purchased a front-row seat for opening night, but I swapped with a scalper an hour before the theater doors opened. I couldn’t sit in the front row and surprise Angel backstage. She would have spotted me in an instant. My ego will never allow me to believe differently. So I sat toward the back and marveled at every perfect line she delivered.

I’m not lying when I say my girl has talent. She is a star who will light up the billboards of Broadway within months of forgiving herself.

If her smile backstage is anything to go by, that could be soon. She’s loving her first foray back on the stage, and I am so fucking glad that I didn’t miss it.

The thrill of the chase runs rampant through my veins when I say, “Aren’t you meant to invite your boyfriend as your plus- one to your debut before knocking him on his ass with a stellar performance?” Angel’s head cranks my way so fast that my neck muscles feel the strain of her whip. “I don’t mind if you’ve decided to mix things up.” I hit her with a stupid wink she’s faced thousands of times over the past twelve months. “I can only imagine waiting in the wings of the stage is the most infuriating part of being a Broadway star’s lackey. I have no patience.” As I quote the words she spoke to me exactly twelve months ago today, I slowly pace toward her. “None. Zilch. Zip.” As my fingers weave through platinum-blonde curls, I brush the tip of my nose down hers. “So if you want to start the show within a minute of me arriving, I’m all for it.”

Angel rolls her eyes when she notices my tie before she proves she is a star worthy of a Tony. As she batters her lashes at me, she croons, “You think I’m a Broadway star?”

I frown, faking confusion. “What do you call a Broadway star in the US?”

Even with the backstage area filled with performers, directors, prop coordinators, and media personnel, my dick turns to stone when she peers up at me and smiles. “I’m reasonably sure the same thing you call them in the UK.” She tugs me closer by the tie I’m confident she will call hideous the moment she gets over her shock of my arrival, and then arrows the lips I am dying to taste toward my mouth. After giving up only the slightest sample of her cherry-flavored lip gloss, she says, “But I could be wrong. Perhaps we can discuss it further over dinner?”

“Sounds good,” I answer, desperate to get her alone even with the chaos forever fading to white noise the instant our eyes lock and hold. “My apartment or yours? We’ll never get a reservation this close to Christmas, so my vote is in.”

“Whatever do you mean? They are one and the same, aren’t they?”

I freeze as unease makes itself known with my gut.

The transfer of her apartment wasn’t meant to occur until the new year. Bureaucratic tape I never considered when I agreed to Isaac’s proposal forced me to purchase Angel a last-minute gift at Heathrow airport. It is nowhere near as extravagant, but just like our first Christmas together, I refuse to let the day pass without exchanging gifts.

When the heavy sentiment in Angel’s eyes gives everything away, I ask, “How did you find out?”

“Danny.” A blistering smile stretches across her face. “He is still convinced joining our apartments will double their combined value. He can’t knock down walls without the owner’s permission. Isaac’s lawyer pushed through the documents to get Danny off his back.”

I scoff while pondering how often Danny has been at her apartment in the past two weeks.

He was there as often as me before my visa expired.

“Why are you scoffing?” Angel asks. “I’ve hardly seen Danny in the past two weeks. He’s too busy sulking over your absence from his life to comfort me.”

I’m torn between banging my chest like an ape and cringing. I hate that she’s missed me, but it is better than her being happy to see the back of me.

I go for the latter when she says, “He was sulking because I broke his heart by telling him you wouldn’t be interested in anything he’s selling.” She speaks as if we’re not surrounded by people. “I might have mentioned after one too many spiked eggnogs that you refuse to try a teeny-tiny little butt plug, so what chance would a full-grown man have to breach your ginger freckle?”

“Angel…”

Everything stiffens when she laughs—including my cock.

It only makes it to half-mast before she tries to hand back the gift I haven’t officially given her yet. “I appreciate the gesture, but it’s too much. I can’t accept it.”

“That apartment is your home.” Before she can interrupt me, I press my finger to her lips. “And my home is you. If anyone is getting out of this exchange cheaply, it is me.” A thousand wishes to deny my offer blaze through her eyes, but not one spills when I say, “You either accept my gift or put up with me being your landlord for the next eighty-plus years. You thought Mrs. Richler was bad.” I scoff. “She ain’t got nothing on me.”

She gives my offer too much consideration before murmuring, “I think I could handle a landlord from hell.” With her hand curled around my tie, she tugs me toward the dressing rooms. “It couldn’t be any worse than the roommate I was forced to endure last year. His bathroom habits were atrocious, and he didn’t seem to own a single shirt.” She hits me with a riled stare. “Anyone would swear he owned the place with how he helped himself to my favorite shampoo and pubic hair sweater.” I gag, and she laughs. “I doubt he’ll last a week before offloading his apartment onto another unsuspecting fool.”

Upon spotting the challenge in her eyes, I ask, “And if he does?”

Tension burns thickly as Angel replies, “Then I guess it will only be fair that I let him?—”

I smile against her lips before interrupting. “Home for Christmas.”

The End!