39. Fade To Black

39

FADE TO BLACK

PATRICK

The ballroom empties slowly. Like with all good parties, nobody wants it to end.

How do I tell my husband that I don't want any of this to end any time soon?

"Tell me more about this outfit," I say. Because I'm unable to express anything else in this perfect moment.

"Of course," Quinn says. He moves his face closer to my ear. His voice drops an octave. "But I'll tell you when we get home, up in our bedroom. I'll tell you about each individual piece as you take it off of me."

My head buzzes. My heart rate spikes. I have never performed an exit with such gusto and expediency in my life.

"Should we really be leaving a party thrown in our honor without saying goodbye and thank you to everyone who helped put it together?" Quinn asks. I'm rushing to grab our coats from the back of a nearby chair.

"Yes," I huff out. My mind is single-tracking for the sake of what's to come. "Yes, we really should."

Before either of us knows it, we're back at the chalet. Breathless from the trip. Growing more so by the second.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind us, I scarcely get a word out because Quinn's insatiably kissing me. I can barely keep up with the high supply he's demanding. But I'm loving every second of trying as we stumble up the staircase. As we start to shed our layers.

"The gumdrops on my jacket are edible," Quinn purrs. Without hesitation, I remove my mouth from his neck. Rip one of his buttons off with my teeth. The grainy, gummy candy is ecstasy on my tongue.

"Mm-hmm." My lips pucker at the sweetness.

"The frosting detailing is edible, too." He's not even finished speaking. I'm already licking it off. Every ribbon of it. Every intricate design. It's probably unsanitary. But I don't care one bit. I'm ravenous right now.

"The skirt was left over from when we arrived," Quinn says as he undoes the zipper. Lets it fall to the floor. Leaves himself in only the thin tights that show off his delicate calves and irresistible thighs. "Like the sleep dresses, I love the flow and the freedom I feel when I wear it."

"I love you ," I growl before diving in for another gumdrop.

"The pearls are hand-me-downs, too. A previous Mrs. Claus probably wore these to dinners and galas galore. They make me feel old-world powerful and classy. Like I'm the president's wife." He lifts his chin to show them off.

"They remind me of those fake ones you used to wear when we started dating. They drew so much attention to your beautiful, long neck." I brush my hand gently from his collarbone all the way up to his striking jawline. My fingers halt in the indent just below his ear. Quinn's eyes have gone soft and dreamy with the memory. The heat between us rises. "I loved taking those pearls in my mouth while I was in—"

He presses his pointer finger to my lips. Derails my sentence. "Don't tell me. Show me." It's a command that I'm more than happy to follow.

I scoop him up in my arms like I did on the night of our wedding. I whooshed him over the threshold of the honeymoon suite at the decadent beachside inn we were renting for the weekend. There we were greeted by a king bed covered in red rose petals; every flat surface was speckled with lit tea candles.

Before that night, I had had sex. But I don't think I'd ever made love. With rings on our fingers, I suddenly understood the difference between the phrases.

Sex is about release.

Making love is about holding on.

Quinn koala-bears to my front. Kisses up and down the outside of my throat. I push our way into the bedroom, where a fire is already roaring.

I lay Quinn down on the king bed. I slip over him horizontally. I connect our lips again. My hands sink into the white fur-like texture of the throw blanket beneath us that both tickles and delights me.

"This is perfect ," Quinn whispers. He runs his tongue across the hot shell of my ear. A gasp escapes me as he shucks the last of his clothing.

Bathed in the flickering orange glow of the fire, naked Quinn is a Gehry-designed building at sunset. Ribbons of muscle and flesh fused together into something sculpturally breathtaking. You can't help but lean back and admire it.

"What?" Quinn asks. I've remained motionless above him for too long.

"It's just," I say. All that practice with words, and they're still escaping me. "You're… you ."

He must know that by you I mean beautiful, vivacious, tempting, sexy-beyond-belief. Because he pulls me into a deep, meaningful kiss that nearly knocks the wind out of me.

The proximity to the fire makes our skin slick and salty to the taste.

Love leaches out of every touch we share. Time taffy-stretches out in all directions as we become a mess of mouths and limbs. Of I love you s exchanged. They're tagged onto the ends of moans that are even more delicious than the gumdrops I devoured on the stairs.

I wish I could capture this flawless moment. Stick it inside a snow globe. Come back to it when we're old and gray and senile and I need to be reminded that we were once young and hot, wild and passionate.

But even with the magic of the North Pole, I know that's not possible. So, I settle for staying as present as possible while we celebrate our year of love while making infinitely more of it until dawn breaks over the North Pole.

183 DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS

I barely register that it's early morning. I'm sitting up in bed. Wide awake.

I'm replaying last night in my head. Quinn sleeps peacefully beside me. He's got the sheet, the comforter, and the blanket all bunched up around him. My bare legs are exposed. But I don't mind the chill that cuts across me. He looks too cozy and cute to care.

The scent of last night hangs heavy in the air. Sweat, cinnamon, us .

I know there's no going back to sleep for me. Just as I know now that there's no going back to New Jersey for me, either. This is where I want to settle.

Needing coffee, I try to get up gingerly so I don't disturb Quinn. But the traitorous mattress undulates. He lets out a groggy little moan. "What time is it?"

"Too early to matter," I say. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay." He rolls over toward me. His eyes are still closed. "Last night was amazing."

"It was." I smile at him even though he doesn't know that. I'm admiring the way his features are all half-sleep scrunched. So adorable.

"I wish we could stay here forever and ever and ever." His whisper trails off.

Hope sparks fresh inside me. "Maybe we can."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" he murmurs dreamily.

"So nice," I say to Quinn, who has dozed off again already. "So, so nice."