He grinned. Shot his cuffs. His casual pose reminded her of a jungle cat lazing in the woods for a nap before hunting its prey. “I’m tired of waiting. I was a good boy, deciding to give you the time you need. But watching you go out with other men has been pissing me off, and I’ve lost patience. Who’s in the box, Riley?”
Her heart hammered in her chest. Excitement slithered in her veins and she was thrust from dreary Kansas to Oz in seconds. She took a step forward. “You.”
Those eyes burned hot and demanding. Her muscles softened in surrender. Finally, the truth released her and joy burst through her body. She blinked away the mad sting of tears.
Dylan nodded. “Damn right. About time, too. Now there’s just one last thing you need to do.”
She’d do it. She’d do anything for him. Because Riley knew in that moment she belonged to him as wholly as he did to her. They were a team, and she’d never doubt it again. “What?”
He gave a slow grin. “Prove it.”
“This is ridiculous. It’s the middle of the day. People just don’t do these things in the afternoon, Dylan. It’s too . . . decadent.”
He tried not to laugh at her whispered horror, because he knew she frikkin’ loved every second of it. Hands firmly clasped together, he led her around the circle of the rink while the lights twinkled, and the scent of popcorn and candy filled the air. The carousel sang merrily, the painted horses bobbing up and down as children laughed with delight. Still dressed in her work clothes, heels swapped out for skates, they glided in perfect coordination, and Dylan realized he’d never been so completely and utterly content.
He’d finally found her.
“You love it,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get married here.”
She stumbled and he caught her. “You always were arrogant, egotistical, and assuming,” she declared.
“I’m also right.”
“Funny, before the marriage part comes another element I haven’t heard yet.”
He laughed, spun her around, and pressed her back against the gate. Her nose was red, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled. Dylan lowered his head. “I love you, Riley Fox. I probably always have. It was you I was searching for all along.”
“Damn right.” She lifted her arms and buried her fingers in his hair. “And I love you.”
“About time. I have a wonderful plan already for the honeymoon.”
“Oh yeah? Someplace warm and tropical?” she teased.
He nibbled on her lower lip. “No. I intend to fill an entire room with stainless-steel appliances and fuck you thoroughly on every last one of them.”
Her body shuddered and a low moan vibrated from her throat. Crap, he loved this woman. Body, mind, heart, and soul. He couldn’t wait to see what the next fifty years would bring.
“But for now, I just want to skate with the woman I love.”
She smiled and pressed her lips softly to his.
And they skated.
chapter 1
Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
’Tis the season to be jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Urban legends. We’ve all heard of them—eating pop rocks and soda will make your stomach explode; the tourist who gets his kidney stolen in a faraway land; alligators living in the sewers. By the time you reach adulthood, you realize they’re all crocks of shit. Stories that get passed on from generation to generation to scare the hell out of us and keep us on the straight and narrow.
Well . . . except for the alligator one—I’ve lived in New York City my whole life and that’s completely possible.
But the others, yeah, all lies.
In the latter part of the last century, new urban legends sprung up that society’s all too willing to fall for: action stars who die on movie sets doing stunts; rain-forest plants that cure obesity; and Justin Bieber actually having a set of balls.
Sometime in the late 1970s, after the city’s crime rate began to drop and New York became more tourist friendly, another urban legend was started—one that annually throws a fucking wrench into the otherwise smoothly operating machine that is my life.
That would be the myth that New York City is a prime place to go Christmas shopping.
I don’t know what moron started the rumor, but I will gladly stick my foot up his ass if I ever find out. Because now, scores of people from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Connecticut, and upstate clog our bridges, tunnels, and streets from Black Friday to Christmas Eve, scurrying to make their holiday purchases like rats going after a gourmet piece of cheese. To get little Timmy a train set from FAO Schwarz and grandma a brooch from Tiffany.
Sure, they’ve heard of the Internet. Of course they know it’d be easier—and less expensive—to order online and have packages delivered right to their front door.
But for them, it’s not about what’s easier. Christmas shopping in the city is now—say it with me—tradition.