Page 18 of Tinsel & Timber
Mrs. Lamberton clasps her hands like I just announced world peace. “Wonderful! I knew you would. I’ll put you down as astrong maybe.”
A strong maybe. Fantastic.
When she finally bustles off, Graham exhales like he’s been holding his breath for ten minutes.
“You really shouldn’t?—”
“Graham,” I interrupt, stepping back into his space without thinking. “If I do the tour…” My voice drops, soft but sure. “You’ll help me. Won’t you?”
He closes his eyes like he can’t stand how much he wants to say yes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m already yours.”
Something sparks in my chest—hot, bright, impossible to ignore.
“And what if I wanted you to be?” I whisper.
His eyes fly open, storm-dark and hungry.
“Mara,” he breathes, and it sounds like surrender.
And then he’s kissing me again—because apparently mistletoe, history, tradition, and neighbors with clipboards don’t stand a chance against whatever this thing between us is turning into.
four
. . .
Graham
The momentI kiss her again, the world goes quiet. It’s just the two of us. No nosey neighbors, no blueprints and plans. Justus.
Mara makes a soft sound against my lips, and it does something catastrophic to me.
I don’t even realize I’m moving us until we bump into the doorframe.
“Inside,” I hear myself say. My voice is low. Rough. Nothing like the orderly man who lectured her about preservation guidelines the day we met.
Her eyes widen—surprised, yes, but not scared. Not hesitant.
She nods once.
The second we cross the threshold, something in me snaps all the way through.
I slam the door shut behind us. The echo vibratesthrough the old house like a warning. A reminder of a thousand and one reasons why this should be a bad idea.
Mara gasps in anticipation. Every inch of her is flushed, her breath is coming quick, lips kiss-swollen from what I’ve already done to her.
I cage her against the inside of the door, my arms braced on either side of her head. Her chest rises and falls as she stares at me like she’s daring me to make the next move.
“Graham…” she whispers. My name rolling off her tongue sounds like a goddamn sin.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I murmur back.
