Page 17 of Tinsel & Timber
“It would betraditionto help a Kensington with a holiday event,” I tease.
His jaw works as he tries—and fails—to hide the way my words affect him.
“I should go,” he says, but he doesn't move.
I glance up and begin laughing.
Graham follows my gaze. “You have to be kidding me.”
“You said…”
He doesn’t let me finish.
Graham pulls me against him. One hand goes to the back of my neck and then his lips are on me again, like he’s been waiting for this moment since our first kiss.
He kisses me like he’s starving for it—starving for me—and for a second I forget how to breathe.
When he finally eases back, our noses still brush. His voice is rough. “This is becoming dangerous.”
I swallow, heart skittering. “Because of mistletoe? Or because you actuallywantto kiss me?”
His eyes flick to mine. Haunted. Heated. Wrecked.
“Mara,” he warns, but it’s not a real warning. Not when he’s still holding me, thumb stroking the base of my skull like he can’t stop.
I smile up at him, soft and knowing. “You’re veryprotective of tradition for someone who claims not to care about all the holiday stuff.”
He groans quietly. “I care about you not being overwhelmed. I care about your safety. I care about?—”
He cuts himself off so fast I feel the words he doesn’t say.
And God, I want to hear them.
Before I can push, Mrs. Lamberton’s voice carries from the walkway. “Oh! Mara, sweetheart? I wasn’t sure if you would be here!”
The older lady with snow white hair and glasses made sure to introduce herself not long after my first run-in with Graham. A cross between the town’s grandma and a well-meaning busy body, I find her mostly entertaining.
When Graham flinches like he’s been caught doing something illegal, I have to bite back a giggle.
He steps away—barely, grudgingly—but his hand trails down my arm before he forces it to drop.
I turn as Mrs. Lamberton bustles up in her enormous cranberry-red coat, clutching a clipboard decorated with jingle bells.
“I still can’t believe you’ve come to Mistletoe Bay just in time for the Candlelight Historic Home Tour.”
I open my mouth, but she plows on.
“It would mean so much to the committee if you participated this year. Everyone’s just thrilled at the thought.”
Behind me, Graham mutters under his breath, “Menace. Actual menace.”
Mrs. Lamberton pauses, peering at him. “Oh, hush, Graham. It builds community spirit.”
“It builds liability,” he says flatly.
I elbow him.
Then I look at Mrs. Lamberton with a polite, strained smile. “I told Graham I’d think about it.”
