Page 83 of Mistletoe All the Way

What else was I to do? “Go big or go home.”

He scrubs a hand across his beard. “You’re telling me. And what did you learn?”

It’s a miracle I haven’t blabbed everything already. “Stephen’s a liar.”

He scoffs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“No, I mean it. You know how he brags about his bar? How he’s the owner? How it’s his place?”

“Yes,” he says, like a question.

I shimmy my shoulders. “Turns out he didn’t weather the rough patch with hard work and determination, like he led your grandfather to believe. Mr. I Did This All On My Own isn’t the sole owner of St. Nick’s Hangout. He’s been pretending he is, but he has some crypto bro silent partner who bailed him out a few years ago,” I say, then tell him everything.

“Holy shit,” Noah says, jaw dropping. “He acts like he knows exactly what it takes to run a business even in hard times. Like the place is so successful just because of him, his charm, blood, sweat, tears, and equity. But it’s not just him.”

“Which makes you wonder if he can run the farm after all. Or what he’d do if he had a rough season.”

Noah’s eyes narrow. “Gramps isn’t going to want him to sell half of it. Or give away sleigh rides like he gives away beer and peppermint bark. What if he drives the place into the ground and then covers it all up?”

“It does seem to be a pattern,” I say, still excited that I uncovered Stephen’s dirty little secret.

Noah blows out an irritated breath. “Do you know what he said to me the night our grandfather said he was going to give the farm to one of us?”

“Tell me.”

“Stephen said, and I quote, ‘This is a hands-on business, just like St. Nick’s Hangout. It has to be when you own a business in a small town.’ ”

I burn with annoyance, but also vindication. “I knew it from the second I spotted the suits! Is this enough to go to your gramps?” I ask, champing at the bit.

Noah tilts his head, studies me for a beat, then something shifts in his brown eyes. His gaze lingers on me, but he’s no longer annoyed. “You know what? There’s a beautiful woman here with me who went undercover tonight. I don’t give a damn about my cousin right now.” He pauses, licks his lips. “I’m more interested in the fact that you spoke fluent horse lingo,” he says, and this time he’s smiling. It’s all lopsided and crooked and far too sexy for my own good.

I swallow, trying to get a handle on the ping-pong of sensations in my body. The heat from the fire, the tingling from his gaze, the hazy, heady feeling of being watched so closely. “I learned it from listening to you.”

He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing a strand from the wig. I can feel his touch, even though it’s not my hair, and my eyes flutter shut before I open them again.

“And you had this whole costume.” He draws a big, deep inhale.

I feel like I’m on the edge of the world. “I wanted it to work.”

His hand coasts from the ends of the fake hair to my cheek, the backs of his knuckles brushing my skin, lighting me up. I’m vibrating everywhere. My veins are humming with want.

“And you even got brown contacts,” he says, and there’s amazement in his voice.

Wait. Nope. It’s desire.

“I did.”

He pauses, taking his time. He’s never been a man to rush things. “I wasn’t sure why you left the market at first. But it made me realize something.”

My chest rises and falls. “What did it make you realize?”

“How much I wanted to see you again tonight,” he says in a raspy voice, then drags his thumb along my jawline. “And how certain I am.”

The air is charged, electric with possibilities. “Of what?”

He licks his lips. Cups my jaw. “That I want to kiss you again. That I want to touch you. That I want to take off this wig and run my hands through your hair and kiss you so thoroughly, so deeply, because you are the sexiest spy ever.”

My whole body feels shimmery. My bones feel deliciously heavy. My heart is dangerously light. And I let go of all the reasons I clung to on the drive over—the partnership, the contest, how far apart we live. None of that matters tonight as I help him along by tugging off the wig.