Mismatched Under the Mistletoe - Jess Michaels Page 0,37

the last five years on stolen glances and grazing touch. She just hadn’t noticed it.

“I will agree to that.” He took her hand. “And I have a rule of my own.”

She looked down at their interlacing fingers and then back up to his face with a swallow. “What is that?”

“No guilt,” he said softly. “If you don’t want me to do something, you’ll tell me and I’ll stop. But what we do together, in the privacy of my chamber or any other, cannot make you toss and turn at night and tell yourself you’ve done something wrong.”

A flutter of a smile tilted her lips. “You do know me so well.”

“I can use that to your benefit,” he promised.

She let out another of those telling shivers, even as pink suffused her cheeks. She drew a few long breaths before she said, “Then…yes.”

“Yes?” he repeated, almost unsure he’d truly heard that. Could this be yet another dream?

“If we can agree that we don’t lose our friendship, that we limit this to our time here and the other rules we’ve laid out, I think we could still…connect as we did.”

“A bargain like this must be sealed with a kiss,” he said, and tugged her a little closer.

Her breath came out in a tiny cloud of heat against the cold, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she lifted her lips toward his and gave a muffled sigh when he took them.

His arms came around her, he memorized the feel of her there, soft and warm and his, at least for a little while. Hopefully long enough to show her that a future was possible. And he let her go before she pushed back.

“I would do more of that,” he explained, “But I believe that breaks your ‘not outside my chamber’ rule.”

Her eyes were wide and glazed. “I suppose it does.”

“Shall we ride back?” he asked, motioning to their mounts. “And see how the geese have recovered?”

She blinked. “Blimey, I forgot all about the geese.”

He laughed as he took her back to the animals and helped her seat herself. As he swung up on Hank, he said, “Then I’ve done my job.”

“You always do,” she said as they turned back toward the house and trotted on. “Thank you. Thank you for always being…you.”

He smiled, and the rest of the ride he forced himself to talk to her about topics with less emotional charge. He had won a battle today, though certainly not the war. But he’d seen a path to the conclusion he wished for.

And taking the route through passion certainly wasn’t the worst way to convince a lady to fall in love.

Chapter 9

The final hours of the year were held in traditional fashion, gathered in Emily’s parlor, the guests telling stories of the months past, making shadow puppets on the wall and doing shadow portraits of each other. And in any normal circumstances, she would have considered it a success after the morning’s terrible start. No one had even mentioned the lack of geese a-laying and had only cooed and complimented her on her goose egg embroidery that now decorated the room.

Cav’s idea, of course. And he’d been the first to point out the pieces and make a great fanfare about how they were the perfect celebration for the geese a-laying. He always knew how to come to her rescue, though. He had been doing it for a very long time. Even before Andrew’s death, Cav had been her friend and her protector.

And now he wanted to be…more. Or at least, something different. Her lover, if only temporarily. She shivered at the thought and tracked him as he crossed the room to refill his glass with his favorite red wine. She always made sure she had bottles upon bottles of it on hand for his visits.

He glanced at her, and when he found her staring, he gave her a little look. A rather heavy glance that spoke volumes without him having to say a word.

You’re breaking your own rules, Emily. She could practically hear him saying that right against her ear as his big hands slid along her arms. That phantom voice wasn’t wrong, either. She had been the one to declare they ought not moon over each other in public, and yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble sticking to the boundaries she had staked out for herself. Aside from his pointed glance in her direction, he had hardly acknowledged her beyond what