That little monkey… All I can see is the green sprig with its white berries, hanging like a dare above the doorway. Denton has frozen mid-step, his gaze locked not on Tabby, but on the mistletoe.
My cheeks are on fire. I can’t look at Denton. I can’t look away from the mistletoe. Tabby’s expectant gaze bounces between us, her smile wide and hopeful.
“Tabitha,” Denton begins, his voice low, gravelly.
“You have to!” Tabby insists, bouncing slightly on the step ladder, making it wobble. “It’s the mistletoe rule! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” She starts a little chant, clapping her hands.
Panic flutters in my chest. This is a joke pushed too far by a five-year-old who has no idea what she’s just done. I force a shaky laugh, trying to diffuse it. “Oh, Tabby, sweetie, that’s just a silly tradition, and?—”
Denton reaches the ladder Tabby is on and gathers her in his arms. He walks into the main part of the bakery and I hear him talking to Charlie.
What is he doing? Is he leaving? Is he that disgusted by the thought of kissing me that he’s going to leave without even saying goodbye?
All of a sudden, Denton reappears without Tabby and closes the space between us. The intensity in his eyes pins me in place. All the careful distance, the rigid control, the guarded walls…they’re gone. Replaced by something raw and undeniable. He stops inches from me. I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
For a heartbeat, he just looks at me. His gaze sweeps over my face – my eyes, my cheeks, lingering on my lips. My lips part on a shaky breath.
Then, slowly, his thumb brushes gently across my cheek. His touch is warm, slightly rough with callouses, and it sends a shockwave of sensation cascading through me. He’s brushing away a smudge of flour I hadn’t known was there.
“Flour,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp.
And then he lowers his head and his lips meet mine.
The world stops.
The first touch is tentative. A question whispered against my mouth. The faint taste of sugar and dark chocolate from the cookies he’d been sampling. It’s gentle. Exploratory. The barest brush of his lips against mine.
And it shatters me.
Every thought, every worry, every ounce of confusion evaporates in that instant. There’s only this. The warm pressure of his mouth. The solid, real presence of him so close. A soft sound escapes me, a sigh I didn’t know I was holding, lost against his lips.
The tentative pressure deepens. His lips part slightly, molding more firmly to mine. One hand comes up to cradle the side of my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone, his fingers tangling gently in the hair at my temple.
The other hand settles firmly on my waist, pulling me closer, until our bodies are flush against each other. I can feel the hard planes of his chest against mine, the powerful line of his thigh pressing against my leg.
The kiss deepens further. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry, and I open for him without hesitation. Thetaste of him intensifies – chocolate, yes, but also something darker, richer, uniquely Denton. Coffee. Winter air. Desire.
My hands, which had been hanging uselessly at my sides, find him now. One fists in the soft fabric of his shirt at his side, the other slides up the strong column of his neck, my fingers threading into the thick, dark hair. I pull him closer, deepening the kiss even more, meeting his hunger with my own.
It could be seconds. Minutes. An eternity wrapped in the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, the feel of his hands on me.
He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s finally found something he didn’t know he was searching for. And I kiss him back with everything I have, with all the hope and the fear and the exhilarating joy of this moment.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulls back. Just enough to break the kiss. His forehead rests against mine, his breath coming in ragged gusts that warm my skin, mingling with my own unsteady breathing.
His eyes are still closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks. His hand remains cradling my face, his thumb slowly stroking my cheekbone. The other hand is still firm on my waist, holding me close, as if afraid I might vanish.
Denton opens his eyes and meets mine. They’re filled with a dazed wonder that mirrors my own. He searches my face, his gaze tracing my lips, then back to my eyes. The question hanging in the air isn’t about mistletoe rules anymore.
What now?
Chapter 17
Denton
The cold Chicago air hits me like a slap shot to the ribs as I guide Tabby out of the bakery’s warmth and into the sterile chill of the parking garage.
“Daddy, that was thebestkiss!” Tabby chirps, skipping beside me, her small hand clutching mine. She beams up at me, her eyes shining with joy. “Holly looked like a princess! And you kissed her! Under the mistletoe! Just like magic!”
