“I know, which is why it was a stupid thing to say.”
“It wasn’t.” When I shoot him a skeptical look, he leans forward and takes my hand. “It was honest. I appreciate honesty. Besides, you’re cute when you blurt things out and even cuter when you blush.” His free hand reaches for my face, the backs of his fingers brushing my cheek. On cue, more blood rushes to my cheeks. I’m probably now as red as the plaid blanket we’re sitting on.
Hugh doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles as he continues stroking my cheek, then lets his hand fall to clasp my hand in both of his.
“Anyway,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’ll think about it. My job, I mean. It’s hard to think too much about it these days when I’m working non-stop and barely have time for much else. I’m not sure my brain can handle the deep thoughts that would come with quitting my job and deciding what to do next.” Speaking of my brain not handling deep thoughts, it’s hard to concentrate with Hugh’s fingers moving over the back of my hand, making little swirly patterns on my skin. “Maybe I’ll take some time off and write a book. Secrets from one of Santa’s elves.”
His lips twitch. “You’d have an extra advantage since you’re dating Santa.”
My gaze darts up to meet his. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”
He lifts my hand, stopping mere inches from his mouth. “I was the one who said no labels or strings, wasn’t I? Guess I’m going back on that already.” His warm breath ghosts over my fingers. I never knew the hand was an erogenous zone, but that light breath of air and the proximity of his full lips are turning me into a puddle of lust. “Regardless, you’re closer to Santa than most.”
“It’s kind of a nice place to be,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
Those wonderfully full lips curve. I can’t take my eyes off them. He brings my hand the rest of the way to his mouth and brushes a kiss on my knuckles. The feather-light movement is like a jolt of electricity to my central nervous system. My whole body is suddenly on high alert, including my nipples, which are standing at attention.
Hugh’s gaze slides to mine. From the way his small smile turns devilish, I have a feeling he knows the effect he has on me. “Can I kiss you, Ivy? Really kiss you?”
Unable to speak, I give my head a jerky nod. With my hand still clasped in his, he closes the distance between us and presses his lips to mine.
I have a moment to register how chaste the kiss is before he pulls away, his eyes seeking mine. I can’t imagine what he sees in my expression, but whatever it is must be what he’s looking for. His hands move to cup my face, and his lips return to mine, pressing lightly before his tongue flicks out and sweeps over the seam of my mouth.
Our tongues meet and entwine. We’re still in that slow, almost experimental stage of a first kiss. I swear the way his tongue glides over mine is the most sensual thing I’ve ever experienced, especially paired with the warmth of his body and his woodsy scent filling my nostrils. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a first kiss with anyone—hell, a kiss, period—and I have to say, Hugh is knocking it out of the park.
All thoughts flee my mind as the kiss deepens and Hugh pulls me closer. A moan escapes me when he nips my bottom lip. The sound seems to do something to both of us because suddenly our gentle, exploratory kiss has turned much hungrier. His hands shift from my face to move restlessly over my back, while mine slide up his neck and into his hair.
My legs had already turned to mush and now my entire body feels boneless. When our momentum begins to take me backward, I go willingly, sighing when I hit the soft blanket. Hugh eases away to look at me. His glazed eyes fill me with a mixture of excitement and power, knowing he’s as affected by me as I am by him. I yank him to me once more, and we both let out a surprised sound when our lips mash together. Within a second, we’re back to nearly devouring each other.
Hugh hovers over me, supporting his weight on one elbow while the other hand settles on my hip. My body aches for his touch and it’s all I can do not to arch up and rub against him. And yet, in the back of my lust-befuddled mind, I respect the fact his hands are remaining in a neutral position, especially since we’re technically in a public place where anyone could come along without warning. From the way he’s clutching my hip, I suspect it’s taking effort to keep his hands from roaming, which turns me on even more.
Time passes in a blur. I have no idea whether we stay this way, tongues and limbs entwined, for minutes or hours. I’d happily remain here all day, but awareness slowly seeps in, and I realize both the ground under the blanket and the air around us are growing cooler. A shiver rolls through me. Hugh must sense it’s different from the other involuntary shudders my body has been giving, because he pulls back.
He blinks his bleary eyes a few times, and I do the same. I trace his kiss-swollen lips with my thumb and he nips at it, smiling lazily. My fingers move from his mouth over his cheeks, which are dusted now with the barest hint of a five o’clock shadow. He closes his eyes and grasps my hand, pressing his lips to my palm.
“This is my new favorite way to spend a Saturday,” he murmurs.
“Mm, me too. Too bad we won’t be able to do this again, at least not here. Maybe we could come again in the spring.”
His grip on my hip loosens and his gaze slips away from mine. Oh. Right. I guess part of the ‘no labels’ things means no planning ahead. Way to spoil the moment, Ivy.
“Never mind,” I blurt, sliding out from under him. I sit up and begin hastily collecting the containers from our picnic. My hands are shaking from embarrassment and the fact all my blood is still pooled somewhere near my core. Hugh shifts around in front of me and gently grasps both my hands in his.
“It’s not that I don’t want to make plans with you, Ivy,” he says. “I’d promise to do all sorts of things with you, fill up your entire calendar for the winter and all of spring if I could. But I don’t believe in making promises I’m not sure I can keep. I don’t want to lead you on and get your hopes up only to return to Scotland and…”
“Leave me here a brokenhearted mess, unable to go on?” The words come out more sarcastic than intended. I expect annoyance in return, for Hugh to think I’m some needy woman who would demand reassurances and attention. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a bit needy after that scorching kiss, though. And a little reassurance would go a long way right now.
“I don’t have such a high opinion of myself as that,” he says, lips twitching. “I’d never want to hurt you, though. The logical side of me knew I shouldn’t pursue you because it would be complicated, but the other side of me…” He releases one of my hands to touch my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “The side of me that can’t stop thinking about you…”
My heart does a little happy dance at his words. “I can’t stop thinking about you either. So if having a chance to be with you means no promises and no plans beyond Christmas, I can do that.” My voice rises the tiniest bit on the last part, making it sound almost like a question. Betrayed by my own subconscious.
“I wish things weren’t so up in the air,” he says. “I wish I could tell you for sure if I was staying or going, and suggest we date for real, see where this goes. But until I know for sure, I can’t. If this is going to be too hard, if you’re worried about developing feelings or truly being left a ‘heartbroken mess’ as you so eloquently put it…” He pauses, giving me a cheeky smile that makes me laugh weakly. “Then maybe we should stop right now. Let today be a one-time thing and remain friends.”
Friends. Knowing what it’s like to be kissed by him, I think it’s a little late for that. And yet I also know myself well enough to discern it won’t take long to begin developing feelings for Hugh. To want more from him than just casual dating and maybe even hooking up.
Bridget says I’m a romantic with dreams of a fairytale-like romance. Being swept off my feet. That might be true, but it’s not like I have a line of suitors waiting to do said sweeping or anything else for that matter. Maybe I don’t need grand gestures and romance, or maybe that’s meant to come later and I should learn to live in the moment. The moment is looking pretty damn good with a gorgeous Scotsman looking at me imploringly and waiting for a response.
“What if we agreed to take things one day at a time?” I say. “Less than a couple, but more than friends.”
