Page 76 of Booked for the Holidays
She turns, cheeks pink, breath fogging the air between us. “Tell me this isn’t amazing.”
“It’s amazing,” I say, but I’m not looking at the walls. I’m looking at her—lips parted, eyes bright, every inch of her soft and bundled up except for that wicked glint that says she’s thinking things she probably shouldn’t in a snow fort full of children’s laughter echoing outside.
She steps closer, pressing her palms to my chest, voice low. “You’re looking at me weird.”
I lean down, brushing my nose over hers. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Why?” she breathes, fingers fisting in my coat.
“Because you keep looking at me like that.”
She tips her chin up, grin turning sly. “Like what?”
“Like you want me to forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over her jaw, my hands bracing her hips.
She hums, shifting closer until my back hits an icy wall and she’s pressed up against me, warm and soft under all her winter layers. “Maybe I do.”
“Juniper—” I start, but she cuts me off with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, hungry and impatient in a way that makes my restraint snap like a twig under snow.
I groan, catching her bottom lip between my teeth, my hands sliding down to cup her ass through her thick coat. She makes a soft sound—half giggle, half gasp—and I swear, if we weren’t standing in a snow castle I’d have her under me in seconds.
She pulls back just enough to whisper, “What are you going to do about it?”
I let out a low laugh, voice dark against her ear. “First? I’m going to get you out of here before you push me past my limit.”
She shivers, but it’s not from the cold. Then, she tips her hips forward, testing me.
I drop my mouth to her neck, letting my breath tickle her skin. “And when we’re alone…” My teeth graze her earlobe. “I’m going to spread you out on that cozy bed of yours and taste every inch of you until you’re begging me to let you come.”
She whimpers. I catch the sound with another kiss, deep and filthy and nothing like a small-town holiday moment.
Outside, a kid squeals and someone laughs, the reminder that we’re not alone forcing me to pull back before I ruin her mittened hands on the frozen wall behind me.
She’s breathless, wide-eyed, lips swollen from my mouth. “So…” she pants, grin curling wicked at the edges. “Hot chocolate next?”
I huff out a laugh, pressing my forehead to hers. “God, Firefly. Yeah. Hot chocolate. Then I’m taking you home and wrecking every sweet thought you’ve ever had about snow castles.”
She laughs, and it’s the sound of pure mischief, before she pulls me back through the tunnel, her small hand warm in mine.
And I follow. Willingly. Like I’d follow her anywhere.
TWENTY-FOUR
JUNIPER
This is a disaster.A mess. A complete, flaming dumpster fire.
Not my event. The event is flawless.I’mthe mess.
I’ve been planning the hell out of Books & Bubbly for over two months. Every detail, every local vendor, every perfect sparkling pour of prosecco. Pinterest-level cozy, small-town holiday magic. Except I didn’t account for one tiny problem…Liam.
Liam with his cozy sweaters and crooked smile and just enough scruff on his face to be fucking delectable. And that’s just the way he looks. Never mind the fun we have together. Laughing and people watching. Sampling hot cocoa with just enough peppermint schnapps to make our bellies warm and our limbs tingly. Buying scented holiday soaps so we could sample them in the shower together. That was right after he pressed me to the tile and made me come with his mouth.
And yet…we still haven’t had sex. My body is practically vibrating with want.
I want him. Badly. Desperately. Every inch of me wants to throw caution to the wind, to give in to what I know would be explosive and magnificent.
But I can’t. Not yet. Because if I do—if I let him in fully, if we cross that line—the denial ends. And when the denial ends, there’s no going back. I’d fall, head over heels, and the idea of him leaving afterward? I might never recover. My heart would be a pile of glittering wreckage on the floor of this bookstore.
