“You’re something else, Ivy,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, and her eyes flicker, a blush rising in her cheeks.
“Good to know I keep you guessing,” she replies, her voice a little breathless, and I can see the struggle in her eyes, the way she’s trying to keep her composure.
“Guessing?” I let my hand slide up her arm, feeling her shiver under my touch. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth, and I feel the tension snap, like a cord pulled too tight. Before I can second-guess it, I lean in, brushing my lips against hers, soft at first, testing, and then deeper as she melts into me, her hands coming up to grip my jacket.
The kiss is slow, deliberate, every movement a challenge, a dare, and she meets it head-on, her mouth warm and inviting, tasting faintly of peppermint. I feel her hands slide up, curling around my neck, pulling me closer, and I let myself get lost in her, in the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the faint hint of her perfume that drives me wild.
When we finally pull back, she’s breathless, her eyes wide and dazed, and I can’t help but smirk. “Guess that’s one way to get on the Nice List.”
Chapter Five
Ivy
The warmth of Cole’s workshop is a relief after the biting chill outside, but as I step inside, my cheeks flushed from the cold—and maybe a little from the memory of our drive here—I can feel a different kind of heat creeping over me. Cole’s presence lingers close behind as he shuts the door, trapping the warmth, the scent of wood smoke, and something else in the air between us.
“Careful there, Mrs. Claus,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper, as I step forward, catching the sharp tug of something snagged in my hair. I stop, reaching up, my fingers brushing against a bit of greenery tangled around my curls. I twist, trying to see, but all I manage to do is create a bigger knot.
Cole chuckles, his gaze fixed on me, every inch of him screaming confidence.
“Hold still,” he says, stepping in close, his broad shoulders blocking out the light as he reaches up, his fingers skimming the edge of my hair.
“It’s just mistletoe,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly shaky.
“Mistletoe, huh?” He gives me a look that’s entirely too amused, his fingers working through the tangle as his gaze holds mine, unwavering and intense. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
I try for a careless laugh, but it comes out as a faint breath. “I’m not falling for that holiday cliché.”
He smirks, his hand slipping lower, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just behind my ear. “Then why are you blushing, Ivy?”
I open my mouth to answer, but the words evaporate when he steps closer, his warmth folding over me, his hand tilting my chin up until I’m looking directly into his dark, smoldering gaze.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice a low growl, yet his grip on my chin is gentle, as if he’s giving me an out. The problem is, I don’t want one. I feel the pull, the electric thread snapping tight between us, drawing me into his orbit until everything fades but the feel of him, the way his eyes linger on my lips, the way his chest rises and falls in sync with mine.
I shake my head, barely a whisper. “I’m not telling you to stop.”
His mouth curves into a dangerous smile, and then he closes the distance, his lips capturing mine with a slow, measured intensity. His kiss is anything but gentle; it’s deliberate, a claiming that leaves me breathless, his hand sliding down to the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
I feel myself melting into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing him like he’s the only thing keeping me standing. His lips move against mine with a sensual rhythm, every touch, every stroke sending sparks skittering down my spine.
When we finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard, his hand still tangled in my hair, his forehead resting against mine.
“Ivy…” he murmurs, his voice rough and thick with something I can’t quite name.
“Yeah?” I manage, my voice a whisper.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his gaze locked on me, searching. “It’s snowing out there. I had my buddy haul your car to my garage so I can check it out after your little off-road excursion, but…I don’t think you should risk driving back tonight.”
The logical side of me knows he’s right, that the road down Copper Mountain is treacherous even in the best of conditions, let alone with snow swirling like it is outside. But the part of me still buzzing from his kiss, still caught up in the weight of his hand on my hip, knows there’s more to this invitation than just the weather.
I swallow, nodding slowly. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
His mouth lifts in a small, satisfied smile, and he steps back, holding out a hand. “Come on, let’s get you settled.”
He leads me back out into the cold for a moment before guiding me to the cabin beside his workshop, a rugged place that’s as much a part of him as anything else. Inside, the warmth of the wood-burning stove fills the air, and he sets about lighting a few lamps, casting a cozy, flickering glow over the room. It’s small but sweet, and lacks a single Christmas decoration.
“Make yourself at home,” he says, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over a leather chair. I watch him, unable to look away, captivated by the unfiltered confidence in his movements, the ease with which he fills the space.
