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‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ he said fiercely, consumed with a protective anger at all the fools who hadn’t wanted this bright, shining woman. ‘Nothing at all.’

She blinked again, her amber eyes full of tears. ‘You really think so?’

‘Yes, of course I think so. Why else would I have said you were perfect?’ He stroked her cheek again and then bent, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ‘Or do this?’ He pressed another kiss to her cheek, beside one eye, and then another on her nose. ‘Or this.’ And down again to the side of her jaw, peppering little kisses along it until he came to her mouth. ‘Or this.’ Then he kissed that pretty mouth, the deep, primitive male beast he was deep inside growling satisfaction as she melted instantly. Her mouth opened, letting him taste all her heat and sweetness, and he wanted more, exploring her, tasting her.

She shook, putting her hands on his chest, kissing him back hungrily, and suddenly all he wanted was to show her exactly how perfect she was. That any fears she might have had about herself were baseless, and most important of all, he wanted her to know that she was wanted very much, at least by him.

He pulled her down onto the soft rug in front of the fire and got her clothes off her, then ran his hands all over her luscious body, mapping her curves with his fingers and his mouth, making her tremble and shake. When he spread her thighs and lay between them, putting his mouth there, she gasped and arched beneath him. She tasted so good, he could have lapped at her, nipped and explored her all day, but her hands were in his hair, curling tight into fists, and the delicious flavour of her orgasm was bursting onto his tongue. He kept his mouth there, lapping at her as he helped her ride out the climax, and only once she was quiet, did he move away and start getting rid of his own clothing.

‘You are perfection, Libby,’ he said, the shortened sound of her name coming out automatically. ‘A ray of glorious sunshine.’

She flushed, beautiful and gloriously naked, and he was so hungry for her he almost couldn’t wait to put on the condom he’d found in the pocket of his jeans. But she was reaching for him, lifting her arms to him as if she’d been doing that all her life, welcoming him, and when he finally slid inside her, she let out a breathy sigh that sounded like relief.

He paused, deep inside her, taking a moment to look at her, and she smiled up at him, her face alight. She touched his cheek with gentle fingers, looking back as if she thought he was perfect, too. As if he was miraculous, as if he mattered, and he loved that more than he could say.

Did Neve ever think that you mattered?

The thought cut deep but he ignored it. He didn’t want to think about that, not here, not now, with Libby under him and her arms around him. So he shoved it away and began moving, deep and slow at first, then a little faster, making her moan and enjoying every second of the sound.

‘Kai,’ she whispered, her golden eyes alight, burning with hunger and passion, and heat. ‘My Kai…’

And in that moment he did feel as if he was hers. Hers in a way he’d never been Neve’s. Neve had viewed him as less a person than an investment. It had never been about him. But the way Libby was looking at him, as if she saw him, made it feel deeply personal and deeply special.

Also Libby was his in a way that Neve hadn’t been. Neve had been too much her own person—she’d never let herself be anything as simple as someone’s—and being with her had felt like constantly reaching for a cold, distant star and never quite touching it. Never quite reaching it.

But the warmth of Libby’s voice, the way she said his name, made him feel claimed in way that being with Neve had never done. Neve hadn’t claimed him. She’d only turned him into a male version of herself.

That realisation came to him, then vanished under a wave of heat, and there was only Libby beneath him. Only Libby surrounding him, her hands on his back, her golden eyes shining up at him, the sweetness of her scent everywhere. Only Libby and the building pleasure that rose inside him, vast and relentless as a tidal wave, pulling at him and then dragging them both under.

Afterwards, he lay on the carpet with her in his arms, thinking of nothing at all, staring up at the Christmas tree they’d made decorations for. He liked the snowflakes and paper chains, but it needed more. It needed some sparkle, and as she’d already pointed out, he wasn’t at all given to whimsy, so why would he have anything that sparkled?

A memory floated up from the depths of his mind, the same one of himself drawing an angel for a little girl, and using glue and some golden glitter for the wings, then passing it back over the table to her, watching her face light up as the angel sparkled…

Libby was missing out on the Christmas she’d been expecting with the children she quite clearly adored at Worthington. She was missing out on sparkle and fun, and all because of him.

Because you lied to her.

Yes, he had. A small lie, though, to keep her here so she could decide whether to accept his marriage proposal. Which he still hadn’t got an answer to. She shouldn’t have to miss out on some sparkle, though, not because of him.

Let her go back to the home.

She turned her face into his neck, her warm breath ghosting over his skin, and his arm around her tightened. He couldn’t let her go back home, not when he didn’t have an answer. Also, he wasn’t done with her. He wanted more of this, of her lying in his arms all warm and soft, of her smile and her sunshine.

So no, there would be no going home for her. But he could deliver some sparkle for the tree, that’s what he could do. It would expose his lie to get a few things delivered to the lodge, but surely that wouldn’t be too much of a big deal. She was enjoying herself being here with him, that was clear, so she must not regret being at Worthington too much.

Yes, that’s what he would do. Sparkle for the tree and a present for her. A big present. ‘What would you like for Christmas?’ he asked into the silence.

She sighed, nestling against him. ‘You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.’ Her voice was husky with the aftereffects of passion, and he didn’t detect any note of hurt in the words, but still, he didn’t like that no one had ever asked her.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m asking you now.’

‘Money for Worthington.’ She traced idle patterns on his chest with a finger. ‘That’s what I always wish for, for Christmas.’

He glanced down at her profile as she watched her tracing finger, studying the curve of her cheek and the straight slope of her nose, the swell of her bottom lip. ‘I meant something for you,’ he said, gazing at her. ‘Just you.’

She looked at him briefly, and he could see the surprise in her amber eyes, then a flash of confusion. As if she didn’t know what he meant. But she did know, he was sure. What she didn’t know, he suspected, was what she actually wanted for herself. Was that because she’d never actually thought about what she wanted for herself? Did she ever think of herself? Of her own needs?

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘If there was one thing you wanted for yourself, what would it be?’