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She didn’t waste any time, running to her own patch of snow and trying to pack it like Rhuaridh was doing. After a few minutes she had pressed enough together to form a giant snowball that she could start rolling across the grass to make it bigger. She couldn’t hide her delight. Within a few minutes she was out of breath. Pushing snow was harder than she could ever have imagined.
She looked up. Rhuaridh was making it look so easy. Ratfink.
She kept going, loving the whole experience of being in the snow. Before long she had a medium-sized snowball, just about big enough to be a body.
Rhuaridh had already positioned his in the middle of the green and was rolling another. She ran to catch up, ignoring the fact hers already looked a bit smaller than his.
If he thought he had a competitive edge, he had nothing on her.
She stopped for a moment, distracted by seeing him blow on his hands for a few seconds. Just watching him gave her a little thrill. His dark hair, which always looked as if it just about needed cutting, his broad shoulders and long legs. Jeans suited him—though she’d never say it out loud. Even from here she could see the deep concentration on his face as he went back to rolling the second ball for the snowman’s head. It gave her the opening she needed. She pulled together her first small snowball and threw it straight at him. It landed right at his feet.
He looked up and smiled. ‘Given up already? What’s happened to your snowman?’
‘I’ve taken pity on you,’ she said quickly, not wanting to admit that she’d no idea how, if she rolled a second ball of snow, she’d actually get it on top of the snowman. She grinned and grabbed some more snow, trying her best to shape a snowball and throw it at him. But it seemed she didn’t quite have the technique and it disintegrated in mid-air.
‘Seems like you LA girls need some snow training,’ he said as he strode towards her. He was laughing at her.
She tried again then started to laugh too when it didn’t quite work. ‘What is it? Do they teach Scottish kids how to make a snowball at birth?’
He shook his head. ‘Much earlier. We learn in the womb. It’s a survival skill.’
He was right next to her, his tall frame standing over her. She dusted off the gloves and looked up, taking a step closer. She wanted to hold her breath, to stop steam appearing between them. His hair was in front of his deep blue eyes—and they were fixed on hers. Behind him was the backdrop of the navy sky speckled with stars, followed by the snow-covered outline of the cottage hospital. Right now, it felt like being on a Christmas card.
He lifted one hand and touched the side of her cheek, his cold finger made her jump, and they both laughed. ‘Red looks good on you,’ he said huskily.
‘Does it?’ She couldn’t help it, she stepped forward. She just couldn’t resist. It was as if there was a magnet, pulling them together. They were already close but this removed the gap between them. His other hand went instantly to her waist.
He gave a little tug at the scarf around her neck. ‘I guess I should say it now.’
She swore her heart gave a jump. ‘Say what?’
His cold finger traced a line up her neck, and across her lips. Teasing her.
His head dipped down towards her. ‘It’s a little early.’
Yip, her heart had forgotten how to beat steadily.
‘Early for what?’ she whispered.
He pulled something out of his pocket. She recognised it. It was plastic, green and white, slightly bent, and had come from the decoration box in the hospital.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is mistletoe. And I thought it was time to say Merry Christmas and introduce you to the Scottish tradition.’
She slid her arms around his waist as her smile grew wider. ‘And what tradition might that be?’
His lips lowered towards hers. ‘The one of kissing under the mistletoe.’
His lips weren’t as cold as his hands and the connection between them sent a little shockwave through her body. Last time they’d kissed had been in his front room. It had been comfortable. Warm. And had felt so right.
This was what she’d been waiting for. This had been the thing that had teased in her dreams for the last two months. Expectation was everything. And Rhuaridh Gillespie was meeting every expectation she’d ever had.
