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much as he would give me.
    A hand left my hip and found my chin, turning my face until our eyes met. “I don’t want you, Jillian,” he said in a low voice. “I need you. Understand?”
    I swallowed hard and nodded. I did understand, because that’s how I felt about him.
    “Stop doubting that then,” he ordered in a gruff voice as his pace quickened. The pressure building in me stole my breath and with it my words, but something clicked then. I would do anything for Liam, why didn’t I believe he would do the same for me? That realization sent me spilling over the edge and I cried out, throwing my arms around his neck as his own groans began.
    When our breathing had slowed enough to talk, Liam brushed a sticky strand of hair from my forehead and kissed it softly.
    “Do you understand?” he repeated.
    “I do,” I said without hesitation.

CHAPTER SIX
    I woke up in the morning tucked in my bed, feeling like Christmas had already come. I stretched out, noticing that my neck was a little sore from my extracurricular sextivities the night before. But it was Christmas morning which meant I needed to get downstairs before my mother ate Liam alive and left the bones under the tree. A quick comb of the hair and brush of the teeth later, I was out the door and bounding down the stairs. I felt like a new person after my time with Liam. For the first time all week I felt strong enough to face Tara and deal with all of her bullshit.
    My parents sat, not speaking, in the living room. Other than their total silence it looked like a scene out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Roaring fire. Husband and wife in pajamas with monogrammed cuffs. Presents perfectly displayed under the tree. Clearly, all they needed was an overly-excited child to finish the portrait of domestic bliss.
    “Merry Christmas!” I cried as I jumped the last few stairs.
    My father smiled, but Tara’s somber expression changed to one of shock. “You are going to break your ankle, and do you even have a bra on?”
    Perhaps that explained while I felt so uninhibited. I shrugged as if it was no big deal.
    “Your boyfriend will be down here any minute,” she reminded me.
    “Trust me. They are old news to him,” I said, plopping onto the other side of the couch.
    I expected her to attack me again, but instead she was staring past me. I followed her gaze to the stairs and felt my mouth fall open.
    Liam. My Liam. My sexy, muscular, tousle-haired, blue-eyed Liam was coming down the stairs in a kilt—and every joke he’d ever made about them was true. He looked like a god, as though an old-fashioned warrior was heading toward us. I took in the firm curve of his calves and let my imagination wander up and under the kilt. I knew why Scottish boys wore kilts. Did I ever know. And if I was lucky I might find out what they wore under them later.
    “Happy Christmas,” he said in his Scottish brogue as he entered the room.
    “And the same to you,” my dad replied, standing to clap him on his shoulder. “You look dashing.”
    “Jillian’s always talking about kilts, so I thought I would surprise her.”
    My cheeks reddened as he admitted this to my parents. There was pretty much only one reason that I would talk about kilts. I shot him an embarrassed look, which he laughed at.
    “Shall we get started?” Tara asked, ignoring my discomfort and handing a present to my dad.
    There was the usual Christmas gifts—scarves, pajamas, a tie for Dad—but for the first time in my life, cozied up next to Liam, I understood where the merry aspect of the holiday came in. Tara had bought Liam a few things, which surprised me and thrilled me at the same time. She even had the good grace to pretend she liked the Olympic State shirt I brought her, and Dad acted as Santa, doling out presents at precise intervals so we could watch one another unwrap.
    “This one is for Jillian.” Dad handed me a thin envelope that looked suspiciously like a bill.
    “Finally collecting all those