Page 84 of Mistletoe All the Way

He lunges for me, fingers roping through my hair, lips crashing down on mine.

25 HO, HO, HO LANE

Noah

Generally I assume people will disappoint you, since they usually do.

That feelings will prove you’re a fool.

That romance will go the way of a Christmas tree on New Year’s—discarded.

But here I am, happy to be wrong.

My fingers thread through her hair, and I hold her head in my hands as I kiss the woman who’s commanded nearly every waking thought.

Lips collide. Tongues tangle. Noses bump.

It’s messy. An unruly sort of kiss. A riot of teeth and mouths. It’s me chasing her and her seeking me, as colored lights blink from my brother’s Christmas tree, and Sinatra sings about something like longing.

Eloise gasps as she claws at my shirt collar. She kisses like she lives—grabbing opportunities, seizing them, not backing down, and I fucking love it. Love her moans, too, the breathy noises she makes with every hungry kiss. I swallow her sounds as I kiss her more deeply, dropping one hand from her lush hair, coasting down her arm to her waist. I slow the kiss as I curl my palm around her hip.

The feel of her in my hands. My god, the feel of her.

I simultaneously want to move this moment along to the next thing, and I want to live in it.

I choose the latter, savoring her taste. With our mouths barely brushing for a second, my brain goes hazy, swimming in nothing but endorphins and scraps of thought. Shards of realization.

She went to the tack shop. To uncover the mystery of my cousin’s plans. She dressed up in a disguise to get info. She went to bat… for us, for me, for the animals.

She’s too much.

I grip her hip more tightly. Kiss her more urgently. I can’t believe she has so much chutzpah. And yet, I can believe it.

What a strange feeling.

What a good feeling.

The other thing that feels fantastic? Her fingers raking through my hair. She’s running those long red and silvery nails across my scalp, and it feels outrageously good.

I’m barely aware of the house, the soft swingy music I put on as I contemplated what to cook, the dogs resting in their beds, the fire crackling. That’s all happening somewhere in the background. My world is reduced to Eloise, and I want to get lost in this woman and the way she goes after what she wants. The way she looks out for me when she chases down every last detail. She gives all of herself, and I want all of her.

I break the sultry kiss, sink down on the couch with her, and tug her toward my lap. “C’mon. Want you right here.”

“Yes, sir.” Hiking up her skirt, she straddles me, then gives me a look that sends heat roaring down my spine—a sexy arch of a brow, a glint in her eye. “I guess you’re happy to see me.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I say, an admission that covers double duty—both right fucking now and her appearance at the door moments ago.

“Good,” she says, her voice a little floaty as she rocks against me, then saws her teeth across her lower lip before she sighs.

It’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to my cock—her reaction. Letting go of her hip, I roam a hand up her back, straight into her hair, yanking on all those strands.

“Very, very happy,” I rasp out, then press my mouth to her throat, kissing the hollow of it, inhaling that citrus scent that drives me wild. That she taunted me with all day. That made it impossible to think or sell fruitcake. Yeah, I’ll blame her for my woeful numbers as I breathe her in once more. “What is this?”

“My throat. It’s a part of my body,” she deadpans.

“Smart-ass.” I tug harder on her hair, and she wriggles against my hard-on. “I mean, what is this ridiculously sexy orange scent? Shampoo? Lotion? Body spray? Some kind of Christmas magic only a jolly could possess?”

“Yes, Noah. I get it at the North Pole sex shop every year.”