Rob Byrne, do NOT put your hands on her waist.
Along with using my sternest inner voice on myself, I ball my hands into fists. She’s only this close to me because she’s trying to help me, and I can’t take advantage of that by putting my hands on her.
Pressing the palms of my hands flat on the tops of my thighs, I close my eyes and try to breathe normally. It’s not easy, and I hope I don’t pass out. That would be awkward to explain to her, plus there’s the possibility Whitney panics and calls 9-1-1. That would certainly be a mess.
“I think I’ve got it,” she mutters. “But I’ll have to work out a way to keep the fluff out of the zipper or it’s going to keep happening. Okay, stand up.”
I’m launched into yet another cycle of relief followed byoh no, this is worsebecause Whitney’s pushing the coat off of myshoulders and, in guiding the heavy fabric, she has her arms around me.
I know the exact second Whitney realizes the position we’re in—her arms capturing me while her breasts press against my chest—because she freezes. The heavy coat slides down my arms and thuds to the ground, and now my arms are free.
She doesn’t back up.
Her head tips back until I’m looking into her eyes. Then my gaze drops to her lips, which are slightly parted.
When her hands rest on my upper arms, the contact is like an electric current, energizing my body and making my arms move. In the space of a heartbeat, my hands are on her waist.
I don’t know which of us moves first, but our mouths meet and I’m kissing her like a man who’s waited his entire life to kiss the woman in his arms.
It hasn’t even been a week, actually, but it certainlyfeelsas if I’ve been waiting my entire life.
Whitney’s hands move up my arms and over my shoulders to cup the back of my neck. One of my arms wraps around her waist, holding her tight against me, while I slide my other hand up her back.
She moans, her body arching against mine. The sound inflames me and I shift my head, deepening the kiss.
The movement causes the hat to shift on my head and the dangling bell jingles. Suddenly, she’s giggling against my mouth and then we’re both laughing, still tangled in each other’s arms.
“I’m kissing Santa Claus.” Whitney says, swiping at the bell dangling near my cheek. “This is so wrong.”
“Oh, you’re definitely on the naughty list.”
I’m about to toss the hat in the corner and resume kissing her when we hear the distinctive sound of boots coming up the old wooden stairs. Whitney moves away, reaching down to snatch the coat off the floor.
“Hey, Chief, I picked up some—” Tim lifts his head and sees Whitney. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“This is Whitney Forrester. She’s helping out with the Christmas fair this year. Whitney, this is Lieutenant Tim Johnson, the guy who holds everything together with me.”
“Sure,” Tim says, reaching out to shake Whitney’s hand. “You work for Donovan, right?”
“I do. It’s nice to meet you, Tim.”
My lieutenant just met Whitney for the first time, so hopefully he won’t notice the slight tremor in her voice. And maybe he can’t see the way her neck and cheeks are a little rosier than usual. Oh, and the way her lips look as if she’s just been thoroughly kissed.
“I stopped by to help you get ready for the storm,” Tim says. “But I can come back later if you’re busy.”
“No,” Whitney says, far too quickly for my liking. “We’re done here. I’ll take the suit back to the inn and finish getting it ready for the parade. I have some other work I need to get done, too.”
I don’t want her to leave like this, but she’s backed me into a corner. There’s no way I can argue with that without cluing Tim into the fact that, yes, he’d interrupted a lot more than a business meeting.
Clearly flustered, Whitney shoves all the parts of the Santa suit back into the tote and snaps the lid on. Before I can step forward, Tim lifts it off the floor.
“I’ll carry this for you,” he says, and Whitney smiles before making sure she has her bag and her keys.
“I hope the storm goes easy on you,” she says to me, though she’s looking at my mouth and not my eyes. “I’ll be hanging around the inn once it starts because I don’t mind driving, but my winter-weather skills are a bit rusty.”
I want to say something—anything—about the kiss, but I can’t because Tim’s standing there holding a heavy tote, waiting for Whitney. I could take it from him and walk her out, but I’m not sure what I’d say and she looks eager to exit the situation.
“If you need anything, just call or shoot me a text.”
