“Do you really think I can’t tell?” She swallowed hard and lifted her chin higher, eyes glazed with tears. “You’re ashamed to be seen with me.”
He felt like his knees might buckle from the anger coursing through him. “Thatisn’ttrue.”
“Isn’t it? I googled you, and I saw all the photos of you with your— Of you with the women you’ve dated. But me? You’ve hidden me from the beginning. We take the service elevator to your suite where we stay in, and you took me to a remote beach just so you weren’t seen with me. And I get it. I’m the tree farmer’s daughter, and you’reyou. We areworldsapart when it comes to literally everything. So why are you pretending? You want to sleep with me? Is that it?”
“I’m not ashamed of you, Sara. I’m trying toprotectyou. Do I want to be with you? Yes, of course. You’re a beautiful woman, but that’s not— If we’re seen together, the media will hound you from that moment on. They will invade every aspect of your life. I amnotembarrassed of you, sweetheart; I am simply trying to keep you safe and to myself for as long as I possibly can because I don’t want to share you.”
She looked wary and highly skeptical, more than a little taken aback by his words as she remained quiet for long seconds. He inched closer, lifting his hands to cradle her face so that she wouldn’t look anywhere but at him. “The very moment I saw you, something clicked. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do know I feltsomethingthat night, something I’ve never felt and all for this beautiful…raccoon,” he said, smiling at the memory.
Her gaze sparkled with unshed tears as she stared up at him, her expression flashing rapidly from longing to sadness to hope to despair.
“We’re too different, though. I’m not a socialite.”
“Sweet Sara, socialites bore me to tears. I don’t want anyone but you. I want to see where this can go. Where we can go. I’ve been trying to not rush you or draw attention to us but only because I’m feeling selfish when it comes to you. That’s why, and that is theonlyreason.”
A watery sound emerged from her, and she blinked rapidly. “Rhys, I don’t even have a job. I’m not some boss babe like your ex. You’ll be bored ofmeall too soon.”
“You’re wrong,” he said softly. “I don’t care what you do. Get a new job once the lot closes or focus on your writing. I don’t care, Sara. All I care about is you.”
“I have to dosomething. I’ll go crazy if I don’t.”
“Then take time to choose. Just do it with me.”
“But whyme?”
“Because you are sweet and kind, talented and caring. So much so, you wear ridiculous costumes you hate because you know it makes your parents happy. You’regood, Sara. You are comfort and quiet and…sanity. Laughter. Sweetheart, I amnotashamed of you. If you want to go out in public with me, let’s do it. But you have to be prepared. It’s hard. Quinley hated the media coverage, even though she handles things like that for a living and knows how to juggle it. It’s one of the many reasons we didn’t work, and—I want us to work.”
He gently tangled his fingers into her hair and tugged the silky length, loving the feel of it between his fingers. “I don’t want to lose you. That’s why I’ve kept you to myself. I wantyoufor Christmas, sweet Sara. And every day afterward.”
ChapterSeventeen
Rhys wore her father’s Santa coat, hat, and boots that evening when the lot opened but purposefully neglected to don the beard that would’ve disguised his handsome, well-known face. Within minutes, the image of her as his Mrs. Claus went viral.
More guards had been called in to handle the crush once word spread, but then the police came as well due to the traffic snarl of people trying to enter the lot when so few were exiting.
And even though Rhys had tried to warn her of what being seen publicly would mean, Sara wasn’t prepared.
It was a lot. And she wasn’t as ready as she thought she would be. But she reverted to her corporate boardroom days of handling difficult clients and tried to roll with the punches that came in the form of questions.
So many questions. When did they meet? How long had they been together? What did she bring to the table in their relationship if she was a tree-lot sales girl?
Rhys had gotten angry at that and skewered the man—a reporter—with a glare. He’d taken her hand and kissed it, holding it against his chest as he’d told the crowd they’d answered enough questions, and if they weren’t buying a tree, they had to clear the lot.
The trees sold out again, with the only hold up being how fast she and Rhys could take their money and smile for photos. By the end of the evening, the lot was empty of even the smallest tree, and she and Rhys collapsed inside the red camper, still dressed as Santa and Mrs. Claus.
If she’d had any doubts about whether or not he was embarrassed of her, those had ended with his sharp shut downs to the ruder questions, and the way he’d attempted to protect her physically and verbally at every turn.
“Are you okay?”
He looked so worried, so frightened that she was going to bolt from the chaos they’d just experienced, that she got up from where she leaned against the dinette table and sat on Santa’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “That?Pffft. It wasn’t that bad. And we sold all the trees, and you didn’t have to buy them.”
Rhys chuckled softly at her words, the tension draining from him slightly as he cuddled her closer. “I didn’t have to buy them the first time. But I am glad it helped your parents.”
“They’ll be thrilled we sold out again,” she said. “Best present ever under the circumstances.”
“Good. Now I want to give youyourChristmas present.”
“Rhys, I told you I don’t want gifts from you.”
