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Except when he went back out into the garden, she’d stopped making snow angels. She’d made a pile of snowballs.
Luckily for him, her aim was atrocious.
His wasn’t.
In the end, she simply scooped up an armful of snow, marched over to him, and dumped it on top of him.
“That’s cheating!” he protested.
She just laughed.
Then she blew on her hands and winced.
He was still wearing his suit jacket, and she was only wearing a thin sweater. A thin sweater that was wet from the snow. She must be freezing.
He took her hands between his to warm them. And he’d honestly intended just to be nice—but he couldn’t resist dipping his head to kiss the tips of her fingers.
She let out a breathy little sigh. He looked at her. She was all wide-eyed and gamine—but there was nothing fragile about her. Ellie Brown was a strong woman who had no hesitation in bossing people around when she had to. She was a total English schoolmarm.
And she was totally, totally gorgeous.
When her mouth parted slightly, what could he do but brush his mouth against hers?
Her mouth was soft, sweet, and responsive, and it sent him into a tailspin.
And then he was really kissing her as the snow fell down around them. Her mouth opened beneath his and she kissed him back, her arms wrapped as tightly around him as his were around her.
He could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest. Lush. And he really, really needed to touch her. He stroked one hand over the curve of her bottom and settled the other against the flat of her spine.
Though it still wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
He broke the kiss. “Ellie.”
“Mitch.” Her voice was husky, deeper than he remembered. Sexy as hell. And it made him want her even more.
“I want you,” he whispered.
“I want you, too.”
This shouldn’t be happening. He didn’t get carried away like this. He was known for being focused, for keeping a cool head, for…
He gave up, scooped her into his arms, and carried her into the house.
Chapter Four
Mitch was actually carrying her up the stairs. Like a caveman.
This so wasn’t her, Ellie thought. She didn’t have sex with perfect strangers. Well, okay, with near-strangers. But what did she know about Mitch, other than that he was single and he worked for the guy who usually ran the hospice party with Betty?
Nothing.
She ought to stop this, right now.
But it had been so long since she’d been kissed. So long since she’d felt like this. So long since her blood had fizzed through her veins.
What had happened with Jeff had made her feel undesirable. Unlovable. Why else would he have looked elsewhere and found someone else?
But Mitch—Mitch made her feel the opposite. He made her feel desirable. Wanted. Beautiful.
