He laughed softly. "I'm ready for that whenever you are."
I eased my hand up his shirt, and he groaned when I ran my palm across his stomach. I loved how patient he was with me, how he let me decide when things in our relationship would progress further.
"Anything else?" he asked, still stroking my arm. If he kept that up, I might fall asleep.
"I want to be kissed under the mistletoe at Christmas, and at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve. Kisses that sweep me off my feet and steal my breath."
"You're a hopeless romantic," he said, laughter lightening his accusation.
"And you're not?" I twisted to look at him, brow raised.
"I'm the most hopeless romantic you'll ever know. I just didn't peg you as one."
"Why?"
He lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "You can be very closed off at times. It can be difficult to know what you're thinking, how you're feeling. Half the time, I don't know if you like the things I say and do, or if you think I'm being cheesy."