Gizelle was... so much. She was so much person packed into her small frame. She was shy and she was excited, and she was curious. She badly wanted to be helpful, and when she was uncertain, she was adorable, and when she was passionate, her enthusiasm and focus were entirely complete.
Conall had never met anyone as unpredictable, or anyone half as fascinating.
It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—which she undeniably was—it was that she was a whole world in a tiny bottle.
Dialed up to eleven, his mother used to say. But she had said it about Conall, and he couldn’t hold a candle to the intensity in Gizelle.
He desperately wanted to know if that intensity translated to the bedroom, but he knew he had to continue being patient. They’d gotten this far, they’d get the rest of the way. Eventually.
Conall paused at the gate to his cottage as he realized that he was considering it a done thing.
He was wholly prepared to set the business adrift and stay here to bask in the golden presence of the strange, wild woman who had captured his own heart along with his elk’s. He was ready to wait as long as it took her to accept him, even if that was weeks or months of awkward courtship.
It would make a fine Christmas present, his elk mused.
I hate Christmas, Conall replied out of habit.
There was a neat pile of fabric on the table just inside his cottage door. Conall unfolded it curiously to find a sundress, definitely not in his size.
There was a new bowl on his bedside table as well, overflowing in condoms. There was a second stash in the bathroom.
The staff, at least, had some optimism about this whole complicated affair.
He found two over-sized beach towels in a cabinet and went to ‘get the beach.’
Chapter 23
Chef was singing in the kitchen.
It was one of the Christmas songs that Saina had sung the day before, when Lydia was taming her hair.
Could I sing? Gizelle wondered. She moved her mouth when Chef got to a chorus she recognized, but she wasn’t brave enough to make the sounds.
“What are you up to, buttercup?” Breck asked, suddenly appearing around one of the counters with a tray of dirty dishes. “Can I get you something from the buffet?”
Sometimes, when she wasn’t feeling brave enough to go out into the restaurant, Breck would get her a plate of her favorite food and bring it to her behind the restaurant, or out to one of the picnic benches by the lawns she liked.
“Do you have a basket?” Gizelle asked. “We’re going to have a picnic on the beach. Me and Conall.” Probably that was unnecessary to explain.
“You’re moving right along,” Breck said approvingly. “You going to let him kiss you?”
“Oh,” Gizelle said, stunned by the idea of it.
Conall’s mouth, on hers. His lips, touching hers. She was suddenly weak-legged and too hot.
“Don’t look like that,” Breck teased her kindly. “He’s a gentleman. He’ll wait for you to wave him over. I’ll pack you a lunch you can feed each other. Nothing breakable, so Bastian won’t grouse about messing up his beach.”
“Yes, please,” Gizelle said faintly.
She was still imagining what Conall’s lips might feel like when Breck returned with the heavy picnic basket.
“Too heavy?” Breck asked, putting it carefully into her hands.
“Of course not,” Gizelle scoffed. Whatever else she was, she was not weak. Even if her knees did insist on feeling a little insufficient when she thought about Conall’s mouth.
“Go get him,” Breck told her with a wink and a grin.
Gizelle smiled cautiously back, but the leopard shifter was already hurrying back to his duties. She had a moment of envy—not just because he was so easy about things that were so hard for her, but because he was useful.