Page 31 of Yule Know It When You See It
This is my chance.
Do or die, Nord.
Slipping my hand behind her neck, I lower my lips to hers and pause, her sweet and piney scent intoxicating my every thought. The roars of applause die from my ears as I press my lips to her supple ones. And I have full intention of ending it here—a quick peck to satisfy the cameras and the crowd, and get us past this awkward stage.
But Theo’s hand is at the back of my head, her fingers bunching in my hair, and her lips move against mine. She tastes like popcorn and honey—a sweet and salty kiss that continues well after the camera has gone to the next couple. When she pulls away, a part of my very being escapes with her. An unease wracks my brain, fearing she’ll think this is a mistake. She’s clearly been hurt in the past if she found the need to tell me, even if it were in our playful story form, she’s been protecting her heart. The tip of her middle finger drags over her bottom lip, and she stares at me.
“You okay?” I don’t know what else to ask, what else tosay.
She traces her thumb over the hair above my lip, gracing me with a half-smile. “Yeah.”
The answer, her tone, isn’t as optimistic and reassuring as I would’ve liked.
“Why don’t you two get a room?” A man sitting behind us shouts, chuckling and raising his plastic cup of beer above his head when the crowd around us agrees.
Theo’s cheeks blush crimson, and she sinks in her chair, laughing. I reach for her hand, testing if she’ll let me take it. To my relief, she does, and I interlace our fingers. The second period begins, and that kiss clouds my brain so profusely I don’t know what’s going on in the game. Despite the ice and coolness hanging in the air, I’m positively on fire. I can’t let it be our true first kiss. I’m better than that. She deserves to be wooed and not in front of thousands of people chanting at us.
“It’s gotten unbelievably hot in here. Want to go for a walk?” I whisper against her ear.
A breath pushes from her lungs, and she squeezes my hand. “I hoped you’d ask something like that.”
And I know the exact spot to take her.Takk, Rupert.
I am putty. I am goo. I’m all things that are boneless, mindless, and unable to speak because of Axel Nord and what’s transpired between us the past twenty-four hours. We almost kissed. Then, wedidkiss. Now, we walk along Lake Michigan side by side. And despite the temperature being in the frigid single digits, my skin blazes.
“I have to say, I’ve been to over a dozen hockey games in my time, and not once have I been on the Kiss Cam,” Axel says, fully addressing what’s been on both our minds since it happened.
I appreciate this.
“Oh, yeah?” Turning to walk backward, I tug his jacket sleeve at the elbow. “Taken a lot of women to these games?”
Axel’s hands are in his pockets, but he slides them out and one-eye squints at me. “What the hell kind of loaded question isthat, Romance?”
He’s right. It is.
“It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.” I stop walking, and he doesn’t pause until we’re standing with our toes touching. “You’ve got this roguish Scandinavian Viking deal going on. Blonde. Fiercely blue-eyed. And how long have you had that beard?”
The corners of his lips edge upward, and he rakes his finger through his beard. “For as long as I could manage to grow one. It wasn’t this Viking-like in my twenties, though.” A rumbly masculine chuckle escapes his chest. “But that’s one of the many great things about writing for a career. They tend to not give a damn about the beard or tattoos.”
The tattoo. Gravel coats my throat, my insides swooping. I can’t keep my gaze from lingering over the arm with the full sleeve inked on it.
“Theo,” Axel whispers, his bare hand finding my glove-covered one, loosely interlacing our fingers.
My heart becomes eight pairs of reindeer hooves pounding the ground. “Yes, Ax?”
“Come here.” Slowly, he pulls me closer until our coats brush.
For the city, it’s relatively quiet around us—the occasional blaring horn from traffic on Lake Shore Drive, the lake waves beating against the sand, the sporadic dedicated runner’s feet striking pavement on the path behind us, and the faint melody of Frank Sinatra singingThe Christmas Songfrom streetlight loudspeakers.
“I don’t want that to be our first kiss. With you feeling pressured and thousands of people watching us.” Axel removes one of my gloves, one tantalizing finger at a time.
Our. First. Kiss.
“Nothing pressured me. I was—” I cast my gaze downward, ashamed. “—scared.”
Axel presses a single knuckle under my chin, and I swear to the universe it sends a sizzle through my jawbone. He coaxes me to look at him. “Why?”
“I’ve been hurt in the past. Badly, Axel.”
