Page 27 of Blame it on the Mistletoe
He shrugged. “Courting usually starts with the fun stuff. The hard stuff comes later. Why shouldn’t you have the same experience? Plus, I like cookies.” He leaned close. “And I like seeing you smile.”
With that he backed away, to stand by her side. She didn’t know what to say. Or how to feel. Because for the first time since her daddy went to prison, someone who knew enough about Faith’s past to get that it was scandalous, was more interested in the small things that made her . . . her.
He bumped her shoulder with his. “So bears with hats, huh?”
She couldn’t hide her smile, or her gratitude. “They’re my ginger bears. It’s the first thing I taught myself to bake. Over the years I’ve made some changes, but whenever I bake them, I feel like I’m that twelve-year-old kid who still thought Christmas was magical.”
“And now?”
She shrugged. “I bake them for the Treats for Tots bake sale so other kids can feel a little Christmas magic.”
He stuck his finger in the bowl. “Is this something you do every year? Deliver Christmas magic?”
“Yes, on the magic, but this is my first time participating in the bake sale. They were short on bakers, so I told Ester Rayborn I’d fill in for her.”
He leaned past her and went for a second dip of batter. “Ah, so a Secret Samaritan project then.”
“I am not Sweet’s Secret Samaritan. And stop that.” She batted his hand away. “I’m already low on batter because of the blackout. Plus, eating raw dough is dangerous.”
“I like a little danger.”
“Danger’s not my thing.” She’d spent an entire lifetime trying to avoid it.
“Maybe you’re trying it with the wrong people,” he teased.
This time she bumped his shoulder. “Are you flirting with me, Ranger Tucker?”
“No, ma’am,” he said seriously, that accent of his rolling down her spine and making her shiver. “Not that I don’t want to, but you don’t seem to like it.”
Her smile collapsed. Was she that out of practice? Or was he so intuitive he knew she hadn’t had a whole lot of experience with men? Oh, she’d dated guys here and there, but she’d never let any of them fully into her life. That wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.
But with him, it felt fun and easy. Safe even.
She looked at him with a new awareness. “Usually flirting makes me nervous, so most men think I’m cold. But with you, it’s different.”
“Different good or different bad?” He playfully crossed his fingers. “If you can’t tell, I’m rooting for different good?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she teased. “But I can tell you that I like it.” She put her thumb and finger together, peeking through the tiny crack at him. “A little bit.”
“Do you like me, Faith?”
She rolled her lips in. “Maybe a little?”
“I can work with that,” he said softly, stepping closer, wrapping his arms around her, his embrace tender and warm. “What else do you like?”
“I like going slow.”
“I can work with that, too,” he said, his breath a warm caress.
Blood rushed through her heart, and anticipation of what was to come pulsed through her as he, very slowly, leaned in to her, pausing to gauge her reaction. “Slower?”
“Maybe a little too slow,” she whispered against his lips.
Faith held his gaze, soaking in his touch, his strength and all that was Noah. She placed her hands on his chest, rising on her toes and, after what felt like an eternity, Noah closed the distance and their lips finally,finallybrushed.
Once, then again, so incredibly tender and wonderful that Faith held her breath to take in every moment. It was as if she’d been starved for human contact. For someone to hold her in a way that made her feel special. Cherished.
Noah wasn’t playing this hard and fast. He was making every move between them matter. His hands ran up her back and around to cup her face, sending flutters and tingles and every other kind of feeling racing through her body. She pressed closer right as he gave a final caress of her lower lip, then pulled back.
