Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) (13 page)

Harry was coming downstairs.

She sent a quick prayer to the sex gods and goddesses and turned around. For a moment, she couldn’t speak, much less find her breath. That had been happening a lot lately when Harry walked into a room. That, and she’d get all shivery and then all warm, as if she’d stepped inside from the cold to drink pear cider. She wanted to snuggle into him, to hear his breath catch when she kissed him, to know him as only a lover can. It took every bit of strength in her to hold herself back . . . to not launch herself at him and sneak kiss attack him. She’d get him drunk on her kisses.

Patience,
she reminded herself.

But it was just . . . he looked so hot. Those glasses! That light blue button-down shirt! The yellow bowtie! It was an overload of swoonworthiness. Even him carrying a yellow legal pad with pen just added onto the hot quota. God, if he even ruffled his hair right now and disheveled it, she was so going to pounce him.

“Hello,” he said after reaching the bottom of the stairs, one hand still holding onto the newel post. Oh, was that his anchor? Was that holding him steady? Was he afraid of crossing into unknown waters? She wanted to assure him it would be okay . . . that everything would be okay . . . but their relationship would change when they did this. And hopefully it would be an awesome change—and not something to fear.

Felicity started to hold out her hand to him, even though she was still in the kitchen. She beckoned him to abandon his ship and depart to this new island with her.

He still held steady, his grip tightening around the post. How cute that he was trying to resist her.

So instead she presented her back, looking over her shoulder at him, and gestured to the knotted ties. “Could you . . .”

“Yes, of course,” he said, finally letting go and heading toward her. He set his pad and pen down on the counter. Untying aprons wasn’t anything new for them. She would tie herself in knots, unable to loosen them, and Harry would always help her out. He’d take the strings, deftly freeing her each and every single time. No matter how tricky she’d tied herself up—and it would amaze her how these intricate knots would appear and tighten as she cooked—Harry would fix it.

Her apron tonight was a fun, pretty thing—a black and white polka dotted number with glittery silver strings. She loved her aprons, much like how Harry loved his bowties. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his bowtie—other than to know it was a lemony yellow—but she wondered what print decorated the fabric.

She stopped wondering when Harry stepped behind her, his fingers grasping the little bit of string remaining of her apron.

“You really did a number on yourself tonight,” he said. “How exactly?”

She laughed ruefully. “I don’t even know. I swear I just start with a loosely tied bow . . . but I think as I cook I keep tying myself up.”

“I’ll try to be quick.”

“Thanks.” She waited as he untangled the knots one by one by one.

“Dinner smells delicious, by the way.” Harry finished with the last tricky knot, and as the strings fluttered to her sides, he stepped away. “Thank you for going to the trouble.”

She turned around, taking off the apron as she did so and setting it to the side. “It wasn’t any trouble. I love cooking. Why don’t we sit down and enjoy the meal before it gets cold? There’s dessert, too.”

His eyes flicked to the apple pie as he rested his notepad on the counter and headed to the table. She placed two chairs so she and Harry would face each other over dinner. “You made my favorite.”

“Yes, and later on I want you to also try this new candy I made. It’s in the fridge.” She carried over two bowls of stew, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. But then when she started thinking about what she hoped would happen, her satisfaction was soon replaced with nervousness.

She tried to calm her nerves as she rounded the table, placing the bowls in front of both chairs.

Harry put a hand at his chair, then frowned as she started to push hers back to sit down. “Wait.”

“Wait?”

Harry rushed to her side of the table, placing his hand on the other side of her chair. “Allow me.”

And then he held out the chair for her.

She melted, standing there, just staring at him. Her heart had freed itself from her body and was dancing its way right into Harry’s arms.
Allow me,
her heart said as it settled right there, in the safety of his embrace.
Allow me to stay here forever. I won’t take up too much room, but if you keep me and give me your heart, I’d keep it always.

“Felicity?”

Oh screw it. All her plans were flying out the window. There was no plan but this.

She ignored the chair. She ignored the food. She ignored every good intention she had.

She was twenty-nine. Life was short. So many people had regrets on their deathbeds about what they wished they had done . . . what they had said . . . what they’d taken a chance on. She wasn’t going to beat about the bush. She wasn’t going to die and wonder:
What if I had just kissed him? What if I just loved him? What if I just told him?

She wasn’t going to wonder.

Not about this.

“Harry,” she said, her eyes first landing on his bowtie. Red hearts stitched in the yellow fabric. It seemed like a sign—not that she needed one. Then she lifted her gaze to his, not hiding anymore. Not tying herself up in knots. Finally being free. “Can I kiss you?”

THREE

C
AN I KISS you?

Can I kiss you? Can I kiss you?

That question kept ringing through his head. He couldn’t think. Felicity was standing so close to him. And he didn’t fail to notice that if she took one more step, her body would touch his. He would love that. It had taken everything in him to pull himself away from a naked Felicity. And her red dress was doing a number on him. Her curves . . . oh god, her curves. How would it feel to actually touch her like he wanted to? Of course they had hugged many times in the past—but those were friendly hugs, not the sort of touch that intends to become something more.

If he took one step toward her, there would be no going back. If he bent his head to her and kissed her, he would know—he would
finally
know—if her lips tasted as sweet as the candy she made. He wasn’t sure he could stop at one kiss. Or if he even wanted to.

But . . .

“You want to kiss me?” The tone of his voice sounded foreign to his ears, like he was speaking a new language, the meaning of which he was still trying to decipher. Felicity really wanted to kiss him?
Him?
“Really?”

Her gaze softened, like she was melting toward him. “Yeah. I really, really do. But . . . do . . . you?”

He did. He really did. Too many times he’d fantasized about kissing her. He had even dreamt about it. “I do.”

She smiled at him, her happiness spilling out from her. “Okay, then.”

They still didn’t move toward each other.

“There’s one thing, though,” he said, wondering how exactly he should break this to her. There was no simple way to say what he needed to say. It was best to just say it quickly. Get it over with, and hopefully . . . it wouldn’t be a big deal. “I haven’t done this before.”

She blinked at him, her forehead furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . you’re my first.” He paused. “I’m a virgin.”

“You are? Really?” She rubbed her lips together, then shrugged. “So, you’re a virgin.”

“You don’t think that’s odd?”

She frowned at him. “No. Why would I?”

“Because I’m a virgin. I’m twenty-nine. I have never been in a relationship. I’ve never even kissed anyone.”

“I don’t care about any of that stuff.” She paused, as if his words had finally sunk in. “Wait, you’ve
never
kissed anyone?”

He looked away, feeling his cheeks heat. “No. It’s not like I’ve ever been desired like that.”

“How could anyone
not
be attracted to you?” Felicity gaped at him. “You’re so hot!”

He looked at her, laughing. “I’m not hot.”

“Oh, yes, you are, Harrison Benedict Walsh. You are so hot. I want to run my hands all over you. I want to kiss you. I want to rip off your clothes and take you right here, right now.”

Her words floored him, and his whole focus zeroed in on her. She found him hot?
Him?
She wanted to rip off his clothes? God, that was . . . He never dared to dream Felicity would want to do such things to him.

“I find it hot that you waited. Why, though? Why did you wait?”

“I never wanted anyone—not like that. And then the longer I remained a virgin, the more I thought, well, why would I just have sex just to have sex? I wanted it to matter. I wanted to wait for that special someone. I know that’s silly—”

“It’s not. Nothing is silly.” Felicity took a tiny step closer to him. “I’m the one who feels silly.”

“You? Why?”

“Because it took me all this time to
see
you. To finally admit my friendly feelings were actually not that friendly and more in the ‘I want to see him naked’ way. And to make you not even tell me that secret part about yourself—that you thought you had to hide that from me.” She shook her head, disappointment evident in her gaze.

“It’s not something I’m particularly proud of.”

“Why?” Another tiny step closer. He had to swallow, but his mouth was so dry that it was a miracle he could speak. “It doesn’t matter that you’ve never done anything with anyone. Does it matter to you that I have done things?”

“No, of course not.”

“Can I ask you something else?” Felicity waited until he nodded. “Do you
not
want to do things because . . . well, maybe you’re waiting for someone, too. I mean, you said you wanted it to be special so—”

“No.” He realized how that came across—so hastened— so he added, “I want to be with you. You’re special to me.”

As in
I love you
special, but there were only so many secrets he was willing to share tonight. Anything more, and he would feel as if he was talking to a psychologist.

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. That’s all.” He pressed his mouth together. “It will probably be disappointing.”

“Oh, Harry,” Felicity said, her voice soft and tender. “That’s why we have all weekend. We’ll sort all those things out. And it’ll be a lot of fun.”

“More so for me than you, I fear.”

“Pfft. Don’t you worry about that.” She smiled at him. “Can I kiss you now?”

“There is
one
more thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“I drew up a contract.”

“A . . . a contract,” she repeated, looking at him steadily. “Is that what the legal pad has on it?”

Now that she said it like that, he felt funny about the whole thing—like it was wrong to even mention it. “Yeah, I thought it would help things. You know, so if things didn’t work out between us . . . I wouldn’t lose you.”

“Oh, Harry, you really try to plan for every foreseeable outcome, don’t you? I love that about you.” She closed the distance between them, putting her hands on his shoulders. Heat flooded his body, and he wanted more. “But, you see, none of that matters because I’m going to kiss you.”

“Just don’t—”

“Expect much, I know, I know. Stop worrying so much. This is kissing. Kissing is fun. You’re going to love it.”

He didn’t say anything else—couldn’t think of how to respond when her breasts brushed against his chest oh so lightly. Yup, he wouldn’t last two seconds.

Felicity leaned up on her heels and touched her lips to his.

Just like that they were kissing.

A touch of lips, a hello. An introduction.
Pleased to make your acquaintance. May I kiss you some more?
It was new, this sensation—feeling her soft, full mouth on his. How she did the impossible and tasted better than candy, better than apple pie with drizzled sea-salt caramel sauce. How suddenly he wasn’t afraid anymore of the unknown because this was Felicity—and kissing her was everything he had hoped for and more.

And she was right. She was
always
right.

Kissing was a lot of fun.

Especially with her.

F
INALLY,
SHE WAS
kissing him. After months and months of wanting him, days and days of wondering . . . a year of yearning . . . her mouth was finally on his. Just that. Lips upon lips.

But she wanted more.

She took his bottom lip in hers, nipping it gently, and heard his indrawn breath. Such a delicious sound—the gasp he took, the way his body stilled in awareness, and how slowly Harry was letting himself fall into the kiss. Into her.

See,
her lips said, tugging on his.
See, how good this is? And look here at what I’m doing? It’s about to get a whole lot better.

She loved his mouth. His lips were absolute perfection. Lips she could eternally sip on. She wanted to get closer to him. Her hands slid from his shoulders up to his face. Ah, so good. So very good. His face was smooth, not even one stubble for her fingers to scrape against. His cheekbones jutted out, and his chin was a little on the pointy side. But how she always loved that point in his chin, the slight triangular shape of his face seemed so much better than her round one.

His arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her even more flush against his body.

And then
he
kissed her.

Of all the kisses in the world, she hadn’t been expecting
that
type of kiss—especially not from Harry.

His kiss was
the
kiss. And a kiss that she never wanted to end. It was the kind of kiss she could get stuck on. It was a kiss that awakened sleeping princesses and turned frogs and beasts into princes. It was a kiss to end all kisses.

It didn’t say hello like hers had. No. Definitely not. It kissed its intent right on her mouth. Harry Walsh had a secret weapon: he sure as hell knew how to kiss. And she was pretty damn sure that if someone struck a match to them right now, they would burst into flames.

It was the kiss to end
all
kisses.

She broke away, panting, and gaped at him. “I—I didn’t know you c-could kiss like that. Virgins aren’t supposed to kiss like . . . like that!”