Page 85 of The Cost of Silence

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly stupidly aware that it’s just us now.

Just me.

Just Nico.

His gaze is on the tree, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. For a second, doubt whispers: maybe this was too much. Too bright. Too chaotic for his perfect, controlled world.

Then he looks at me.

And I know, instantly, I was wrong.

His eyes move slowly, from the lights to my face, down to where my sweater has slipped off one shoulder, then back up again. Heat rolls off him in waves, the shift from quiet to hungry so subtle I feel it more than see it.

“It looks…” he starts, then stops, searching for the right word. “Better,” he finally settles on. “It looks better.”

Something in my chest flutters wildly. “Yeah?” I ask, voice a little too soft, a little too hopeful.

“Yeah.” His gaze darkens. “But I think I know how to make it perfect.”

Oh.

My pulse jumps. “How’s that?”

He takes a step toward me. Then another.

By the time he stops, he’s close enough that the lights are reflected in his eyes, tiny stars caught in ink-dark irises.

His hand comes up, knuckles brushing my jaw, thumb tracing the corner of my mouth like he’s memorizing it. “Easy,” he murmurs. “You. Naked.” His gaze flicks toward the tree, thenback to me, heat and promise in every line of his body. “Under my Christmas tree.”

Air leaves my lungs in a shaky rush. “Nico,” I whisper, the word half warning, half invitation.

He smiles, slow, wicked, devastating. “Belle,” he says, voice dropping to that gravelly register that turns my bones to liquid. “I think it’s time we unwrap you properly.”

My heart is a drum in my throat.

The tree glows. The room spins, just a little.

And as he bends to kiss me, deep and claiming, one thought threads through the chaos of my desire: I’m so, so far gone, I can’t see a way back.

24.Nico

She’sbreathless from my kiss, lips swollen, eyes wide and shining in the glow of the tree. I’m not sure she has any clue how beautiful she is, or how spellbound she has me. I never would’ve considered covering my penthouse in decorations before her. I’ve never even had a tree before now. We always spent the holidays at the house with my father, and I never even considered it. Yet here we are, almost Thanksgiving, and my home looks like the North Pole.

I place both hands on her hips and kiss her again. I don’t rush, enjoying the sweet taste of her and soaking in the feel of her soft skin.

I drag my knuckles down her jaw, slow and deliberate, savoring the little shiver that follows my touch.

“Come here,” I murmur.

Her breath catches as I take her hand and guide her beside the tree. The lights spill across her skin like scattered gold, flickering over her collarbone, her throat, her parted lips. She looks like something holy and I want to do dirty, unholy things to her.

“Stay still and hold on to my shoulders.”

I lower myself in front of her, one knee on the rug, one hand on her waist, steadying her.

“Look at you,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “You glow.”

Her pulse jumps in her throat.