A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,40

she shrieked. “Not fair!”

“Oh,” he said, stooping to gather some more snow. “Are we observing the Geneva Conventions here? My mistake.” He got her again, but she got him just as good. “Is this not how you do snowball fights in Eldovia?”

He’d made a more traditional, formed snowball while he was baiting her, and he retracted his arm to let it fly—gently because she was right in front of him and he wasn’t a jerk, or at least not that kind of jerk. But she did this strange leaping thing, and suddenly she was hanging off his arm, trying to block his throw.

He cracked up as he tried to shake her off. He had to hand it to her—she was giving it her all. She was like a small dog, like Max, trying to play tug-of-war with a great big mutt.

Or maybe . . . not like Max.

She stepped back, panting and smiling. Her cheeks were pink, and her hair was a total mess.

Oh, shit. He was in trouble.

He knew it. Which was why he didn’t make a move, not exactly. It wasn’t like he thought I’m going to kiss her now. He would never have done that. He didn’t think she would have, either. But he saw the moment she figured it out, what was going to happen if neither of them stopped it.

Neither of them did.

And then the smiles were gone, all their joking replaced by a kind of focused seriousness that had them grabbing each other as their mouths crashed together.

If Leo had thought about what kissing a princess would be like—which he most decidedly had not—he would have thought of proper, restrained kisses. Of pecks on cheeks or maybe even on the backs of hands.

There certainly wouldn’t be tongue.

Or moaning.

Jesus Fucking Christ, his tongue was in her mouth. He wasn’t really sure how that had happened, but she was into it, judging by the low, breathy noises she was making as she grabbed onto the front of his parka, like she wanted to make sure he couldn’t escape.

He did not want to escape. So he surrendered to this madness, this beautiful madness. This wanting. Let himself melt, as heat shot through his body despite the cold. It had been so long since he’d kissed anyone, and having that heart-shaped mouth under his was so improbable and, frankly, it was making him crazy. So was the no-holds-barred enthusiasm with which she was returning his kiss.

So he was just going to stand here and kiss her forever. He brought his hands up—he’d gotten overheated while shoveling and had pulled his gloves off and hadn’t had time to put them back on before she declared snow-war on him—and clamped them down on her cheeks as he continued to work her mouth.

His aim had been, in a mirror-image gesture of her grabbing his coat—she was still holding onto it as if for dear life—to make sure she stayed. To do what he could to make sure this kiss never ended.

But his hands were too cold. Or too rough. Or too something.

Because they hadn’t been settled against her cheeks for an instant before she gasped—not a good gasp this time—and let go of him. Marie stepped back, shock written on her face: her eyes were wide, and her mouth, red from his ministrations, rounded into an O.

Leo held up a palm, because she was going to start talking, and no good would come of that.

But it didn’t work. “I can’t kiss you!” she exclaimed.

“Okay.” She was right, of course. He’d thought maybe for one second there that they could enjoy a fleeting moment of pleasure, but he’d been wrong.

“The thing is . . . I’ll have to . . .”

“It’s okay, really.” He took a step back. “Let’s forget this happened. I’ll finish up the shoveling. Why don’t you go upstairs? Or if you’d rather, I can take you back—”

“I have to marry strategically.”

“What?” What the fuck did that have to do with anything?

“I have to marry someone with whom an alliance will advance Eldovia’s interests.”

Leo’s brain was back to moving slowly. What Marie was saying wasn’t computing. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” She blinked in confusion, and he was pretty sure he did the same thing back. Unless . . . “Hang on.” Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. Probably offended was the right call here. “Princess, I assure you there is no universe—no universe—in which I