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When she could grasp it, she thanked him. “I can get it from here. Thanks.”Just let me go before I beg you to hold me forever.
Thankfully he released her. Now that he had, she wasn’t certain her knees would support her weight.
Her hand shook, betraying the way he affected her. Her fingers slipped off the hasp once, so she had to grab it a second time.
Finally she was able to lower it halfway before stepping off the short ladder.
Though she expected him to move and give her room, he didn’t, so when she turned, they stood mere inches apart.
Quizzically she tipped her head to one side as she looked up at him.
“I can’t help but notice…” He pointed.
She glanced over her shoulder to see what he was talking about.
Mistletoe.
Oh, heavens no.
“I may be a scrooge, but even I know what that means.”
Frantically she shook her head. Her hat started to fall, and she grabbed the brim to hold it in place.
“What do you say, Abigail?”
No.A thousand times, no.“Mr. McCall…”
“Hayes.”
With his broad chest, rippled biceps, and eyes darkened with desire, he overwhelmed her senses.
“Or Sir, if you prefer.”
She blinked. Earlier this evening, she’d called him that, along with Master Hayes. But now it seemed more meaningful, making her hesitate.
“Will you allow me to kiss you?”
Her refusal should have been instant and firm.
Maybe it was the lateness of the hour, or the magic of the holiday, or her deep yearning for connection… But a dormant, lonely part of her ached to know how masterful his touch might be.
She rationalized that tomorrow would be soon enough for regrets. “Yes.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “Kiss me, Hayes.”
He swept her hat off before easing her back inside the booth. Then they were alone in a private cocoon, and the outside world didn’t exist.
After placing the gadget-laden hat on the checkout table, he gently threaded a hand into her hair, then pulled back a little, holding her prisoner for him. It was a thoroughly Dominant move.
When he finally brushed his lips against hers, ripples of responsiveness shot through her.
“Open your delicious mouth for me, Abigail.”
When she did, he claimed her, gently at first, touching his tongue to hers. She tasted the bite of the coffee they’d shared but then the sweetness of the cream. As if knowing exactly what she needed—maybe even more than she did—he was gentle, coaxing her response.
When she relaxed into the trust he offered, he deepened the kiss.
Now it was about union and perhaps even inevitability.
She wanted him.
