Page 43 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“But wouldn’t you get in trouble?” I ask, scandalized, even though I know that’s exactly what he expects, and maybe wants.

“They used to go to Aspen every winter for a skiing trip. The challenge was to swim a lap in the pool without getting caught, then leave.”

“And you did this?”

“I never got caught,” he says, glancing back at me with a smile. “You’re in good hands.”

“I don’t know about that. You just admitted to breaking and entering.” The look on his face suggests I’m a goody two-shoes, which is probably an accurate assessment, but it also annoys me, so I continue, “If you’re going to break in somewhere, it’s smarter not to admit to it.”

A laugh escapes him before he swallows the rest of it, obviously trying not to make much noise, even though I know the guys are quartered on the opposite side of the house. Theproduction assistants and cameramen are all staying here too. Only Nana Mayberry and Harry are allowed to come and go.

He glances back at me before facing forward again. “I’ll bet you’ve never broken any rules, Kennedy Littlefield.”

I make a sound of affront. “Not true.”

“Oh, yeah?” He peers around a corner, then nods and motions me onward. “What rules have you broken?”

“My parents didn’t want me to come here,” I say.

“Them and me both,” he says, with a smirk. But he must have seen the stricken look on my face in his peripheral vision because suddenly he’s turning toward me and taking my shoulders in his hands. Heat soaks into me from his palms, burning through the thin material of my shirt. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I wish we could have met under different circumstances. Like, if you came to town to visit Zach.”

“You think he’d be cool with you flirting with me?”

“Absolutely not,” he says with a smirk. “But we’ve already agreed that I’m not intelligent.”

As if to punctuate the remark, he shifts his hand from my shoulder to my jaw, tipping my chin up to him. I have a moment to take in his eyes—deep blue and full of heat—and then he lowers his lips to mine. It starts out exploratory, but there’s an instant spark, like something lost has clicked into place, and I let the towels tumble out of my other hand so I can wrap my arms around his neck and draw him closer. His hand sifts through my hair, using it as a way to grip me closer. His lips are demanding, just like the man, and his short beard rasps against my skin in a way that will probably leave a mark. Is it wrong of me that I’d like it to?

He pulls back, looking at me. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Are you saying you regret it?” I ask, annoyed…becauseIdon’t regret it.

“No. That brings us back to me being stupid.”

“I wish you’d stop calling yourself that.”

He kisses me again, softly this time, then lets me go and stoops to pick up the towels. To my amusement, he folds them. “We’d better keep going. Don’t want to get caught by the hall monitors.”

I nearly snicker because it does feel like we’re children being naughty, and I can’t say I don’t like it. I wasn’t given many choices as a child—I was told which schools I’d go to, what I’d wear to them, and who I was allowed to invite over. It’s nice to have this stolen experience gifted to me, a present nearly as welcome as the Christmas tree that brought tears to my eyes. I feel them pricking at me again while I look at him. Because Rowan’s stepfather had a heart attack today, and he still took the time to think about me.

“You’re right,” I say, trying to take the towels from him. He holds on. “We don’t want to get caught before we even get to the pool.”

He gives me a weighing look. “It’s my dare. You don’t have to do it.”

A laugh tears out of me, then my eyes widen, and I lift a hand to cover my mouth. “You want to skinny dip by yourself?” I ask in a whisper.

“There’s no point in whispering now,” he says in an undertone. “You’ve already laughed loudly enough to wake up the bones this house is buried on.”

I’d be offended, but there’s a thread of amusement running beneath his words. Besides…

“Bones?”

He smirks at me. “That’s what they say. It might be a scurrilous rumor, but…”

“Wait a second, you got on my case about using the word strumpet, and here you are saying scurrilous?”

His smirk widens. “So I have bad judgmentandI’m a hypocrite.”

“Why would you want to go skinny dipping by yourself? Why would anyone?”

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