Page 23 of Boats, Moats, & Root Beer Floats

“Fuck, you’re too perfect,” I growled into her mouth, fisting her hair and pulling her head back.

“No such thing,” she gasped, her body fighting to do what I wanted and trying to pull me closer at the same time.

“Just let go, Lindy. Let go of everything,” I whispered, gentling my grip a little, but still holding her in place against me.

She nodded, her breath catching, and her body molded to mine, fitting against me like a puzzle piece that had been missing but I hadn’t known. “Don’t stop?” she suggested.

That brought me back. I kissed her again, long enough to sear the taste and feel of her into my memory until she sighed into my mouth. Her fingers fluttered at my shirt, my forearms as she grew needy and restless, wanting more. She might hate this next part, but I was slamming the brakes on, if only for now.

“Coffee, minx,” I muttered. “And food, because I didn’t feed you last night while you were looking after me. I got lost in my head and forgot to look after you.”

She pushed up against me, her lips rosy and kiss bitten and so damn tempting. “Maybe I liked looking after you. I’m a big girl, Covin. One missed meal won’t ruin me. You, on the other hand…” She shook her head. “You’re clearly already a stick.”

“Thanks for that.” I slapped her ass as I pulled her off the butler’s benchtop and wrapped her back in the blanket. “Coffee.” I kissed her. “Then food.” Another kiss. “Then…”

“Picnic?” she suggested with a bright smile.

“A what?” I blinked at her.

“Picnic. You know, outside the castle. Where ghosts, not at all sorry Al, cannot watch their personal porn show with a front row seat.” She smiled at me, all innocence that was completely ruined by her filthy words.

I raised both eyebrows as I bit back a smile. “And what if I was a wait-for-marriage guy?”

She snorted at me. “You? Come on, Covin. Coffee awaits.”

Huffing a laugh to her fluffy blanket covered back I followed her clutching my prized tin of instant coffee. I shook my head at the thought of having to leave the castle I’d booked, thinking I had the place to my own for Christmas, only to find I shared it with both a ghost and the woman I was pretty sure I was going to be head over heels for by the time I left.

Broken hearted or not, this Christmas would be one to remember.

CHAPTER NINE

LINDY

My legs shook the whole time as I made two mugs of coffee. Thankfully, Covin—the reason for the leg shaking—stayed at arm’s length, though I knew the distance wouldn’t last with him. He seemed to be a tactile lover, not that I was objecting at the way he manhandled me. It had been months since my last break up and with no dates in between my heart was screaming for the missed physical contact.

This feels like so much more.

“So, picnic.” I turned to face him with a bright smile that slipped the moment I looked into his face and those eyes that calculated, his gaze that never left me.

That intensity. It was like all the dust had fallen from his lean shoulders and what was left behind stunned me. I mean, IknewCovin was good looking. Tall, lean but strong, and elegant in a way that spoke of class like he came from another era.

But the way he looked at me now? Those yellow shot hazel eyes weren’t glazed with whatever facts and research he filled his head with, slumped over that desk. That aura that lent him his nickname dissipated and left me breathless at the muchyounger but more distinguished and dangerous looking man who watched me now with no concealed degree of interest.

I’d never had someone’s attention so much in my life. It both terrified and pleased me.

My smile slipped a little as I passed him his mug, and I raised my chin, clinging to my sense of insanity that usually flowed along with me.

The corner of his mouth crooked. I followed the motion with my eyes, and missed what he said first.

“Could you say that again please?” I sipped my coffee and tried to look…something. Anything but lovelorn and lost.

His eyes twinkled at me like a reindeer high on Christmas cheer.

Fail.

“I said I think we might have to stock up with some supplies and make it a Christmas day picnic,” he repeated with an apparently endless amount of patience for flighty artists who didn’t pay attention to anything at all.

“Why’s that?”

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