Page 68 of Mad About Yule

“You know that from personal experience, do you?”

“Ha ha.” I trail behind him down the driveway, a tiny but very loud part of me wishing he would bridal carrymearound like that. I’d probably weigh nothing in his arms, too.

When he gets to his truck, he sends a saucy look over his shoulder like my brain is an open book and he just dogeared his favorite page. He hooks a bungee cable across the nutcrackers’ legs so they won’t tumble out on the drive back to the warehouse. “If you’re hoping to keep this under wraps, you’d better get that look of yours under control.”

I straighten. “What are you talking about?”

He grins even wider, because we both know what he means. The hearts in my eyes are bright shiny beacons outing me as totally smitten with the man.

He leans closer and drops his voice. “You look like you want a little fire in your life.”

Oh, he did not just say that. And it didnotmake me shiver like poor Karen riding on the refrigerated car with Frosty. He closes up the truck’s tailgate, smirking so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t pull something.

I gather a big handful of fresh snow from the pine trees along Cherie’s driveway and pack it tight. Griffin turns toward me, and I debate for about half a second before I chuck it at him.

The snowball hits his left shoulder with a satisfying wet smack, half of it raining down onto his boots. He looks at the clump of snow on his jacket and then looks at me, that fierysomethingback in his gaze that makes my insides flutter. This was either the worst mistake…or the best. I’ll know in another minute or two.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” he says low. “I was a pitcher, Hope.”

I have horribly miscalculated. I’d wanted to get him back just a little, but the light in his eyes is all confidence. The fluttering inside me cranks up to something frantic, and I take a step back. “I think we can agree it was an innocent mistake and we should just move on.”

“I don’t think so, boss.”

He stalks toward me, and I shriek with laughter. I try to run down the sidewalk, but if I pick up any actual speed, I’ll just slip on the slushy cement. I scamper along, trying to keep my footing and get out of snowball range. From everything I saw in his old baseball games, I can’t run that far.

Three seconds later, a snowball hits the center of my back, and I laugh even harder.

I peek over my shoulder, but instead of prepping another snowball, Griffin’s chasing after me, his boots kicking up fresh snow. My stomach dips and floods with heat even as my fight-or-flight instinct has my feet scrambling for purchase on the sidewalk.

“As your boss, I command you to cease and desist,” I shout at the sky.

“You picked the wrong guy for a snowball fight.”

He’s right behind me now, and I shriek again, knowing I’m doomed. What will it be? A few more snowballs to the back? Wash my face with snow? Worse?

His arms wrap around me from behind, and he lifts my feet off the ground. I cackle like a witch—it’s not a bridal carry, but he’s lugging me around like nothing, and I love it.

“Do you want to rethink this?” His voice is at my ear, his warm breath playing over my neck until I shiver again.

I’m not sure I’m thinking at all, to be honest. I only know I’ve never been good at backing down from anything when it comes to Griffin McBride.

“I’ll never surrender.” I sound pretty jaunty for a woman being carried to a guy’s truck for some unthinkable snow-related retaliation.

“I know.” His voice rumbles through me, but it’s practically a whisper. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

He has? I want to pepper him with questions about that, but I’m a little too busy squirming in his arms to ask for specifics.

At his truck, he sets my feet back on the ground, but he keeps his arms locked tight around me. I can’t think of many things I like more.

“Look at all that snow in the bed of my truck.” He sounds like a nature documentary narrator commenting on the lion that’s caught sight of a baby gazelle. “It’d be a shame if some of it went down the back of your coat.”

“You fight dirty.”

“You fired the first shot.” Keeping hold of me with one arm, he scoops up a handful of snow with his free hand. His hands are already pink from cold, but it’s obvious he won’t let a little thing like finger frostbite stop him now.

I squirm more, but he’s got me braced firmly against him. My fight would be a lot more believable if I weren’t laughing so hard. And, you know—actually trying to get away. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would dare.”

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