Page 86 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
Thomas laughed, and something about the deep, husky warmth of it twisted my insides in a weirdly good way. “We were friends anyway. You were just being stubborn about it.”
“You’ve certainly cheered up,” I pointed out. “You were a right miserable git after I told you I’d forgiven you. I was half tempted to throw my buckets of water over your head.”
“I know, but I was a bit shocked. You’ve been pretty clear you still hold that whole cricket ball thing against me.”
“You threw a cricket ball at my face. I had to get stitches. I still have a scar there. Did you think I’d let it go easily?”
“It sounds like you haven’t.”
“I’m willing to try.”
“That doesn’t sound like forgiveness.”
“My elbow is at a great angle to stab you in the ribs, you know.”
He laughed again, and it did more than twist my insides.
It twisted, turned, somersaulted them. Warmth built deep in the pit of my stomach until it flooded my entire body with such a vivacious wave of attraction that it sent a shiver rocketing through me.
Thomas tugged me closer. I guess he assumed I was cold, and I had no intention of telling him otherwise.
What was I supposed to tell him? Oh, sorry it’s snowing like shit out here, but that shiver wasn’t actually because I’m cold, but because your laugh is justso perfect.
Jesus Christ.
I needed help.
Ugh.
The middle of a snowstorm was not an ideal time to figure out you had very real feelings for someone you thought you hated.
“Are we there yet?” I muttered, tucking my hands inside my sleeves like it was any warmer in there.
Spoiler alert: it was not.
“Almost. End of this lane,” he replied, like that was going to make it better.
Unlike the road we’d broken down on, the snow on this lane was not compacted in any way by cars. It was all loose, dusty, drifting snow, and the lane itself was like a bloody wind tunnel. It was gusting through and into us something chronic, and I had to reach up to hold my hood over my hat before the wind blew it off.
Thomas was doing the same thing, and it felt as though an hour had passed by the time we reached the gates that would grant us entry to his estate.
He dragged me over to the intercom and pressed the button. It buzzed to life, and several long-arse seconds passed before the speaker crackled.
“Hello?”
“Mum?” Thomas said. “Can you unlock the gates?”
“What? I thought you were home. What are you doing at the gates?”
“For goodness’ sake, Mother. Can we have this conversation in a minute? We’re freezing out here!”
“We? Who is we?”
“Open the gate!”
“Oh, goodness, of course. I’ll be at the door for you. Hurry, hurry.”
Thomas released the button and shook his head. “She’s got a heart of gold, but the common sense of a blind donkey.”
