Page 55 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Why not?’ He stopped in front of her, his eyes alight with exertion and triumph.
‘Because it wasn’t fair. And because you were worried.’
‘About the banging?’
‘About the nose kiss.’
He nodded as he looked at her, assessing her, maybe. She hadn’t ever seen him so determined. ‘You thought I was worried about that?’ He rested his hand on the stone above her head, so he was leaning over her, and she wanted to reach out and touch his soft T-shirt, trace the lines of his torso through it.
‘I want you to know it was OK, that you’d done it.’ She gazed up at him, feeling the thrill of him leaning over her, how close he was, how commanding.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘And isthisOK?’ He was quieter now, but no less sure.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I could have another one.’
‘Another nose kiss?’
‘Another kiss,’ she confirmed, and everything inside her tightened as he slipped his free hand around her waist, squeezing her just above the waistband of her jeans, and lowered his head.
‘Like this?’ he murmured, his warm breath whispering over her chilled skin.
‘This is good,’ she managed. ‘I like this a lot.’
‘Me, too.’ He gave her one of his warm, everything smiles and lowered his lips to hers, his touch gentle at first and then, when she kissed him back, sliding her hand up his T-shirt –sosoft – to his neck, he got more demanding, and she tipped her head back, changing the angle. His kiss was like nothing she could remember, hot and sure and giving, so whole, somehow, and soon she had both her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair so that he groaned, the sound vibrating from his throat into her.
‘Oh my God,’ she panted, pulling back half an inch so she could say it.
‘Oh my God,’ Dexter agreed, and kissed her again, lifting his hand from the wall behind her, pulling her against him so their chests were pressed together, and they were touching in other places too, and she could see the blue and silver Christmas wreath on the front door shivering out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to lift her leg, to tighten it around his hip, to change angles and perhaps locations, because that living room had a lot of huge, comfortable sofas. But there were so many things about this scenario that were complicated, and while Imogen’s entire body, and a large part of her mind, were keen to keep going, there was thisothervoice.
She pulled back and cupped Dexter’s deliciously stubbled jaw. ‘Should we stop?’ she asked between ragged breaths.
‘Do you want to stop?’ he huffed out.
‘No. No, but there’s …’
He nodded, his curls chaotic – hadshedone that? – his lips pink. ‘I know, it’s—’
‘Complicated,’ she finished.
He pressed his forehead against hers. ‘I hate complicated.’
‘Me too.’ She closed her eyes in a slow blink.
He stepped back a fraction, his hand loosening on her hip. He caught her chin again, waited for her to look at him. ‘But I didn’t overstep, or—’
‘Not at all,’ she rushed out. ‘I have just had the best kiss of my life, pressed up against the doorway of a gothic manor house, after a whole lot of pigeon drama, and …’
‘And?’
‘I would like to do it again. But I wonder if we should …’
‘Have a bit of breathing space?’
Imogen nodded. ‘Just a bit. Because we need to think about it. Because there’s Lucy, and my whole London thing.’
‘Exactly.’ He nodded, and she could see he was trying to be serious, but he looked like a man who had been thoroughly kissed, and she couldn’t help feeling a bit proud about that.
‘Exactly,’ she repeated, and hoped she looked equally dishevelled. You couldn’t have a kiss like that and not be affected in all sorts of ways.
