Page 66 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
“Shut up and go,” she said. “Before I change my mind.”
I laughed and opened the door, holding it for her.
She stepped outside into the darkness, and her entire body shook as the cold hit her. “Bloody hell! It’s freezing!”
“I don’t think you’ll be changing your mind anytime soon,” I teased her, nudging her away from the door.
“Piss off,” she replied, and I almost burst out laughing at hearing that phrase yet again. It was almost like it was her favourite thing to say to me. I was going to have to start keeping a tally on how many times she said it to me.
I held out my arm for her, lightly nudging her with my elbow.
She paused on fixing her scarf and looked at me. “What?”
“Here,” I said, nudging her again. “Take my arm.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s icy as fuck out here, you’re three Sauvignons in, and I’m trying to take you home, not to the hospital.”
“Goddamn stupid good arguments,” she muttered. “Where exactly are you parked?”
“The other side of the square. Have you seen how many tourists are here?”
With a heavy sigh, she stepped closer to me and looped her arm through mine, albeit stiffly.
I glanced down at her. Her thick, fluffy pink hat with the largest bobble I’d ever seen almost entirely obscured her face from my view, and I allowed a small smile to twist my lips.
She wassofucking stubborn.
No, she wasn’t.
She was independent. Sylvie had the air of a woman who didn’t need anyone at all, but of course, that wasn’t true. Everyone needed someone, even if it was an arsehole she hated who kept insisting on buying her food and taking her home.
I wasn’t even sure she hated me anymore. She was definitely still holding onto her grudge about the whole cricket ball in the face thing, but if she hated me, she wouldn’t be anywhere near me.
Perhaps we were friends.
That was all we would be, despite how attracted I was to her. Even a little drunk and stressed out of her mind, she was still an annoyingly enigmatic ball of energy that I was ridiculously drawn to.
I’d always thought the phrase ‘moth to a flame’ was quite ridiculous, but here, I couldn’t help feeling like a moth.
But Sylvie wasn’t just a flame.
She was a wildfire.
And I couldn’t look away from her.
We stepped down off the curb onto the road, and the jerk of Sylvie slipping on ice flipped me into action, and I planted my feet while grabbing her with my free hand to keep her upright. She squeaked, gripping tightly onto my arm, and I had to adjust my footing to stop her going scooting down the road and taking me with her.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed.
“Bet you’re glad I’ve got you now,” I murmured into her ear with a smile.
She pressed her forehead against my shoulder and whispered a, “Piss off,” which just made me laugh.
I helped her steady herself again and then across the road. It wasn’t half as bad on the paths, and because the snow had compacted, it made it ever so slightly easier to get some kind of grip with our shoes.
Only ever so slightly, though.
