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“I’ll introduce you in a bit,” I chuckled and winked before glancing towards the small glade hedged by pine trees. I shoved my hands in my pockets, attributing the little tremor to the cold.
“I wanted you all to myself for a moment.”
Her mouth parted.
She blinked up at me a few times, slow. Then, impossibly, she tipped her head back and laughed. The sound speared through my ribcage, impaling my heart.
“Ouch.” I clutched at my chest in mock hurt.
“I mean—” She lifted her hands in a placating gesture, which grew agitated as she stammered something.
A soft and too-easy chuckle rumbled out of me.
“I thought that was pretty smooth,” I rasped, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Yeah, it—I mean, it just…”
Her blush deepened, to the point where touching her face would come with third-degree burns. Even so, my fingers twitched at my side, eager to feel it against my palms.
“All great points,” I chuckled again, lighter this time.
God, she’s adorable.
I reached out to toy with a lock of hair, twirling it around my fingers.
“So soft,” I murmured as my knuckles grazed her cheek.
Her breath hitched and I froze.
“Shit, I—”
Our gazes locked in mirrors of surprise, and though I’d meant to pull back, my fingers wouldn’t let go.
“Sorry,” I breathed, but my hand inched higher and tangled deeper in her hair, and I watched dark brown bloom stark against my skin.
A shiver wracked her from head to toe—delicious, traitorous.
Heat kicked up my spine.
My gaze slid to hers with a knowing glint.
“Your hand’s cold.” She bristled, but her voice was all breathless and wrong.
“Is that so?” My own came out low, husky, and equally wrecked.
Her face was turning a delicate shade of red, emboldening me, making my heart race and my palms itch with the need to touch it.
Something in my expression made her swallow hard. I watched her throat bob, rolling my lip between my teeth. Then, my thumb brushed over her cheek, once, before retreating.
“I was hoping to see the famous Christmas hat.”
My gaze dragged down to her mouth, slow and intentional, to remind her of the message she’d conveniently ignored. The one I’d bitten the bullet and sent with the feeling of stepping off a cliff. The one that nearly had me throwing my phone in the lake.
“It’s a family heirloom.”
Her eyes skittered away from mine a second too fast.
I bit down on the impulse to grab her chin and force her to face me, because by the way her breathing had shifted, she was thinking about it, too.
