Page 47 of Peppermint Bark

“Yeah, now I mostly feel embarrassed.” She rested her head on my forearm.

“If anybody should feel bad, it’s me,” I brought my hand to stroke her bicep. How was her skin so soft? “Mallory said your reaction was out of your control. No reason to be embarrassed, ok?”

She nodded but wasn’t convinced, averting her eyes. I racked my brain for a subject … but laying here in her warm bed, I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to kiss her for real, no more of those shitty little Santa kisses.

Usually, I would make the first move, but she was always so nervous. I didn't want to betray that cautious trust.

Remembering what Dad said about the men who thought they knew her body better than she did, I hesitated, not wanting to move too fast and freak her out. So what was I supposed to do?

Her eyes shifted to the kitchen and her hips tilted away from me.

“I have a confession,” I blurted out. Her wary eyes found mine. “I didn’t expect to like being Santa, but the kids’ reaction was worth it, seeing their eyes light up with joy. I’ll do it again, whenever you ask. But Grace …” I let my hand fall from her bicep to rest lightly on her waist, “Your coworkers were right. I only volunteered for the second time to kiss you again.”

Her eyes widened and she let out a shaky breath. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I said, weighing how much to reveal next and deciding to go for it. “I wasn’t pretending in the sensory room. You were right to stop me, but I was only thinking about how beautiful you looked.”

“After you teased me to my coworkers, I thought …” She lifted her top hand to run over her open mouth in surprise. The flush of her cheeks spurred me on.

“And I wanted to kiss you at the tree farm last night … until Mallory pelted me with that snowball. Aside from my sister’s face being an instant boner killer,” I complained and her full smile appeared, “I wondered why you two were yelling about dogs.”

Her laughter resonated down to my groin. “It’s from Elf.”

I ignored all my negotiation training about playing my cards close to my chest. If I was going to strike out, I’d go down swinging.

“I can't tell if you want to kiss, and I don’t want to overstep. So the ball’s in your court.”

Her smile faltered. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then roamed back to my eyes, testing my sincerity. While she considered, I didn’t mind having my hand at the swell of her waist against the soft fabric of her tank top. Her hands tensed to push me away, and I braced for rejection.

Then her hand rose up to my neck, and she leaned forward to skim her lips over mine. Her kiss was sweet and sensitive, cautious but curious, tentative yet tender. Just like her.

Chapter 18

Grace

This was unbelievable. Alexander Clarke was kissing me.

When he arrived last night, I thought he’d been motivated by worry tinged with pity. When he settled in for the movie, curling me into the crook of his arm, I thought he was lonely on a Saturday night. When he held me tenderly while I cried, I assumed I’d wake up alone.

But he stayed.

I’d woken abruptly, startled by his snoring. Once I’d settled my racing pulse, assuring my overactive amygdala that there wasn't a freight train in my apartment, I’d appreciated his face in the faint beams of moonlight sneaking through my curtain. His skin was smooth, the tight worry lines around his mouth less pronounced.

His long eyelashes fluttered softly as he slept, and I wondered what a man like Alex Clarke would dream about. Would he be steeped in memories, focused on his future, or caught somewhere in the ether?

I drifted back off with his arm wrapped around my waist, enjoying a night of the safety and warmth of not sleeping alone.

When he woke, I’d expected him to make an excuse and leave right away, but he’d lingered in my bed. He’d coaxed me to join him and confessed that he wanted to kiss me … but he didn’t know if I felt the same. How could he not know how completely kissable he was?

So I kissed him.

I ran my hands through his thick mane of hair, brushing it off his forehead like I’d wanted to do when I first laid eyes on him. I let my hands rest at the nape of his neck, twirling the hair there, as my tongue danced over his lip, causing a quick inhale of his breath. I did it again, eliciting a low moan.

His hand gripped tighter in the fabric of the shirt at my waist, showing his restraint. I’d leaned on him the whole way out of the tree farm last night, and he’d carried me to bed … I wondered if he thought I was fragile.

Did he think I couldn’t handle more?

He would be wrong. I wanted more. Needed more.

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