Page 41 of The Mistletoe Bluff
“Are you kidding?”
“I see we’re back to that question again.”
I groaned, wanting to pull my hair out. “You are incredible.”
“Thanks, so are you.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and fixed the most intense glare I could muster. I wouldn’t even allow myself to examine that compliment.
I brushed the snow off my coat and pants in exasperated movements, my blood burning beneath my skin.
“Who do you think you are?” I snapped quietly, but of course he heard it.
“I’ll catch you when you ask me to,” he answered.
I gaped at his audacity.
And then Oliver stepped closer so that our boots were touching, and my angry, heaving chest was mere inches from his. He brushed my hair over my shoulder, his fingers trailing a line of fire down my neck. “Next time you’re falling, Maya, I won’t drop you. All you have to do is ask.”
My heart squeezed, my stomach flip-flopping. He was so close, that sweet, smoky scent of his cologne smothering my senses, and I leaned into him. His blue eyes were a cage that I was willingly locking myself in.
“Well, now!” Leaf exclaimed, interrupting whatever moment we were having, and we both flinched and sprung apart. Leaf pointed above our heads. “Mistletoe!”
The blood drained from my face and my stomach fell to the snowy earth beneath my feet.
“We’re not really into public displays of affection,” I said, wracking my brain for any way to get out of kissing Oliver in front of a Christmas tree farm full of people.Holding hands and kissing his cheek was one thing, butactuallykissing Oliver?
That was a line there was no coming back from once crossed.
“Rules are rules,” Leaf half sang, pointing to the green plant hanging above us that spelled my doom.
“Now’s your chance to convince everyone this is real,” Oliver said, too low for anyone but me to hear.
My breath caught as he stepped close to me, wrapping his hand around my waist and pulling me toward him. Panic filled my stomach, burning up my throat like acid reflux.
I couldn’t kiss Oliver Lewis. If I crossed that line, there was no telling what would happen next. For all I knew, all my hatred for the man holding me would pop like a balloon, escaping into the air like helium.
Oliver’s lips twitched with amusement as he leaned toward me. His eyes seemed to say,let’s give them a show.
But before he touched his lips to mine, he must have seen the terror in my eyes because he hesitated and twisted me to the side. I expected warm lips to touch mine, but instead, they grazed the very corner of my mouth. The angle at which he moved me made it appear as though he gave me a solid kiss, but the two of us knew it wasn’t a kiss at all.
Though his lips barely touched mine, they were as warm as I imagined—not that I imagined kissing him.
A weird sinking feeling filled my gut as he pulled back, his eyes no longer full of amusement but something like reservation. Had I hurt him by not wanting to kiss him? Ihadn’twanted him to kiss me—at least not here in front of Leaf under a mistletoe—so why was I filled with disappointment too?
Oliver’s hands slipped from my waist, releasing me, and he stepped back. Leaf and an older couple gave a few enthusiastic claps as if our fake kiss was the greatest Broadway show they’d ever seen. The onlookers dispersed, leaving us staring at each other.
I cleared my throat, brushing the snow from my coat. “We should get going,” I said, looking at the sky and wincing when a snowflake landed in my eye. “The weather is getting worse, and I don’t want to get stuck driving back home.”
Oliver studied my face for a moment, and I feared he’d ask what my problem was, why kissing him was such a big deal, but then his eyes shuttered, and that infernal smirk made its return. “Oh, ye of little faith. My Jeep will have no problem in the snow.”
And just like that, our fake not-a-kiss and whatever we both felt as a result was shoved into a box, neither of us willing to address it now.
I swallowed. “Just because itcandrive in the snow doesn’t mean it should. I’d rather not risk driving two hours on bad roads.”
Oliver put his hands up in surrender. “All right. Let me pay for the tree first, then we’ll head home.”
Why did Oliver calling Meridel home do strange things to my insides?
