Page 29 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

What’s even better? There isn’t so much as a hint of mistletoe in sight.

The rasp of his beard on my cheek is the most delicious contrast to the softness of his lips on mine. His mouth is hot and demanding, and it’s stoking a five-alarm fire in me.

I am more than happy to be burned to ash.

I match his movements, my lips doing their darndest to keep pace with his, like I’ve got something to prove. My hand grips his neck the way he’s holding my waist—firmly, possessively.

The kiss is so very Case: intense, confident, and savagely tender. I’m not sure that last one’s ever been an existing combination, but it is now.

Despite how kiss-drunk I’m feeling, I don’t miss shouts around us and someone calling, “Look at that!”

I guess we’re making quite the spectacle of ourselves. I pull back, hating the disconnection, and whisper, “I think we’ve attracted an audience.”

“Let them look,” Case rumbles, capturing my mouth again.

But we jerk apart again as someone yells, “Watch out!”

This time, Case takes a step back, loosening his grip on me, but keeping me close as we both turn. People are running for the building or around it toward the parking lot. One guy is climbing a tree. He isn’t making much progress, but I’d give him an A for effort.

The music switches to “Jingle Bell Rock” just as I see what everyone’s running from: a sheep. No, a ram—a large one, with horns curving around its head.

And this ram is NOT feeling the Christmas spirit. He barrels toward a man in overalls and a Santa hat, barely missing him as the guy jukes to the side. The ram hits the metal building with a horrible metallic smack, but a moment later, he’s shaking it off and looking for his next victim.

Considering we’re the only two people standing still, we’re it.

“Run,” Case says, giving me a shove toward the doors. Then a little more urgent as the ram barrels our way. “Run!”

And though I want to be better than Rose, who took the door for herself and let Jack sink into the icy waters, I do as Case says, and I run for the doors.

I reach the entrance just as the grizzled man complaining earlier about his ram steps out, shouting, “Get back here, Fabio!”

Fabio? This raging ram’s name is Fabio?

It is oddly perfect.

I change my mind about leaving Case. After the best kiss of my life, I at least owe him that much loyalty. If he’s going down by ramicide, I’m going down with him.

But I turn back just in time to see Fabio hit Case square in his very shapely butt. Case goes flying, arms flailing, straight into the fire pit, which tips over, spilling Case and flaming logs to the ground. Sparks shoot into the air like so many drunk fireflies.

I gasp, the ram’s owner tackles Fabio, and Wolf tosses a cooler full of icy water over Case’s smoldering back with a loud hiss.

CHAPTER 9

“I’m fine,” Case insists, limping along next to me on the way to the car.

“You were just rammed by a ram named Fabio, tossed into a fire pit, and doused with icy water while it’s freezing degrees out here. Stop trying to be a hero and let me look at your back.”

Case shivers. Wolf managed to locate a scratchy blanket covered in bits of hay, which Case draped over his shoulders. I don’t think he was burned—a Christmas miracle—but at the very least, his coat caught fire. His coat! On fire! I need to check in case we need to head to the hospital instead of the loft.

“Case, stop. Just let me look! Then I’ll get the truck warmed up and drive us back to the loft.”

He stops next to the truck, and while he’s debating, I lean in and turn it on, setting the heat to high. When we first got into Tank’s truck, Case and I got into a debate over how to best heat a car. He insists on putting it on auto and letting the car decide when it’s ready to really blow. Whereas I put everything on blast from the start. Why let tech decide for me? If I want it hot, I’m gonna make it HOT.

“You turned it all the way up, didn’t you?” Case asks, his teeth chattering a little.

“I’m driving. My rules. Take off the blanket.”

He pulls the blanket tighter. “I’m cold.”

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