Page 49 of The Cowboy's Christmas
He was close enough to remind her of what it had felt like being pressed against his lean frame. Close enough that she was fighting the craziest instinct to take his smiling face in her hands and pull his lips down to hers.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Did you see another yeti?” The words came out as a sexy growl.
She shook her head and reached up to frame his face with her wet gloves. She had to give him credit for not grimacing at the feel of damp leather on his skin. Instead, his gaze sharpened, and she felt his quick intake of breath.
There was a time for thinking and analyzing and plotting next moves. This was not one of them.
Savannah closed her eyes, a soft breath escaping her lips as his mouth met hers in a butterfly light touch. Her lips parted and one kiss became two, then melded into three. Quinn’s arms tightened, holding her against the length of his long, hard body as her fingers drifted into his hair, almost knocking off his hat.
When Quinn finally lifted his head, Savannah became aware of her heart beating a ragged rhythm in her chest. She dropped her head against his shoulder, then screwed up her courage and met his gaze, unprepared for the wallop of emotion that slammed into her as Quinn smoothed a thumb over her cheek.
Savannah broke eye contact and stepped back, thankful that she was still in command of her body, even if her knees felt rubbery. Quinn settled his hands on her shoulders, his grip warm and reassuring, as if he knew she was about to pay for not allowing herself to think before acting.
“Let’s find a tree,” he said. She looked up to see him still smiling at her. He understood.
She cleared her throat before giving him a nod and an I’ve-got-this smile.
She didn’t, of course.
Great way to distract yourself from Christmas, Savannah.
Whatever worked.
