Page 38 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

‘That’s what Michelle thought! It got quite interesting when I told them I was in interior design and had to talk my way out of it!’

‘It must’ve been years ago. I have no memory of saying that.’

‘And what about the other things you’ve told them? How many times have I broken my leg, or ankle, or had kidney stones or smallpox? You could’ve warned me, Ol!’ I pull back until I can look at him. ‘And constipation, really?’

He’s holding back a laugh, but his lips keep twitching and his face contorts as he tries to keep it in, but he can’t stop the giggle bursting out. ‘Okay, I remember that one. I was trying to say conjunctivitis and my mind went blank and the wrong word came out.’

I’m trying to hold onto my rightful annoyance, but the sight of Ollie’s wide, mid-laugh smile is making it nigh-on impossible. I’ve been there when talking to bosses. How I managed to get through any conversation with Patricia Calloway without mentioning constipation is nothing short of a miracle.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ollie ducks his head closer to mine. ‘They were just excuses. Spur-of-the-moment reasons for why you’ve never attended this event or that event with me. I didn’t think there’d be follow-up questions or that there’d ever be an actual person to follow them up with.’

‘Yeah, well, they seem to really care.’ I probably shouldn’t, but the movement of his head has shifted my fingers and they automatically play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he makes an involuntary noise that suggests it’s a good place for them to be. ‘They’re genuinely worried about you – and me. And now I’ve told them I’m an interior designer, do you have any idea how spectacular they’re expecting the castle to be? We’re going to have to give them a good Christmas. And cut back on the work talk. They want a family Christmas, not a bloody excuse to talk about work in different surroundings. Let’s put it out there in advance that we’re putting an embargo on work talk.’

‘That’s not fair. It’s not all work – sometimes I go as far as loosening my tie on Christmas Day.’

I laugh even though I don’t think he’s joking and then let my hands drift down until they can straighten up his bowtie while Mariah warbles in the background, and his eyes slip closed, and his body relaxes against mine. ‘If I even smell a tie anywhere near your neck this Christmas, so help me, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

His fingers curl tighter into my hips. ‘Ah, Lu, you’re the b⁠—’

I’m not sure if he was about to call me the best or the boss, but it’s interrupted by Michelle’s squeal. ‘Mistletoe moment!’

I know she means us before we’ve even stopped to look upwards. Tucked away near a corner is a bunch of ribbon-tied mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, and Ollie and I have inadvertently swayed underneath it.

His wide eyes meet mine with a worried look, and he leans down far enough that I hear him swear under his breath. ‘Believe it or not, I didn’t do that on purpose.’

‘It’s okay,’ I murmur. Can I honestly say that if I’d known it was there, I wouldn’t have done it on purpose?

‘We can get out of this.’

My fingers curl into his arms as I surreptitiously glance around. It’s like we’ve entered a cult occurrence, and everyone has stopped what they’re doing to look at us and clap in time to a non-existent beat, drowning out even Mariah’s most festive of warbles.

‘It’s tradition!’ Dand calls warningly, in a manner so grave that a curse will surely be brought upon us if we don’t comply. ‘It’s bad luck not to!’

‘They do this,’ Ollie whispers. ‘Any couple under the mistletoe has to kiss and have a Polaroid photo taken, there’s a whole corkboard of them in the staff kitchen.’

Maybe it’s another thing he should have warned me about so we could’ve both been on the lookout for rogue parasitic plants drawing-pinned to the ceiling, and I’m hyperaware that this conversation has gone on for too long, and a real husband and wife would’ve kissed by now, and honestly, a kiss from Ollie is not the worst thing I can imagine.

‘We don’t need any extra bad luck,’ I whisper. ‘It’s fine, Ol. Go ahead.’

‘You sure?’

I nod, and we’re standing close enough that I feel how deep the breath he takes is. His arms slip back around my waist and mine slide up to his biceps, curling into the silky material of his suit jacket as I push myself up on tiptoes even in these heels, and his head dips until I can feel his breath, the heat of his barely-there stubble against my skin, the press of his nose as he tilts his head to one side.

When his lips touch mine, it’s the gentlest, softest peck, almost like he’s asking permission to kiss me before a real kiss, although it never goes any further. His mouth is sizzlingly hot and when he goes to pull away, my hands tighten on his arms because I’m not ready to let him go, and he presses his lips to mine once more.

I can’t remember the last time I took a breath, and his fingers are curling into my hips almost hard enough to hurt, but I can’t think about anything other than how good it feels, and how this is nowhere near enough of a kiss.

We’ve lingered too long not to attract suspicion. I heard the shutter of a Polaroid camera ages ago, and it takes someone saying, ‘Ahh, young love!’ for me to force myself to drop down off my tiptoes and pull away, solely for the sake of the pretence, because things will fall apart somewhat rapidly if anyone realises this is our first kiss.

He pushes out the rest of the shuddery breath he took in what seems like hours ago, and his shoulders sag like he feels as unsteady as I do.

Around us, everyone has returned to what they were doing and the song has changed to ‘Sleigh Ride’, and it takes him a valiant effort to pull back.

‘Sorry,’ he murmurs, his cheeks flushed. ‘Dancing to Christmas songs is a bad idea, clearly.’

And I thought it would be the heels that were my undoing tonight.

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