Page 4 of A Daring Mistletoe Kiss
But not with words.
Pippa stepped up onto her tiptoes, grabbed the collar of his coat, and kissed him.
* * *
The first rule of being an exemplary brother: Do not kiss your sister’s best friend, no matter how alluring.
Soft.This was the first thought that popped into Nicholas Byrne, the fourth Earl of Chatteris’s head as Pippa Averly’s lips connected with his.
Utter shock froze him in place.
He hadn’t wanted to attend this charity ball in the first place. But Nancy had acquired tickets, so naturally, he dared not refuse. Not with how much his sister and her friends—especially one friend—loved to court mischief. Who knew what trouble they would stir up tonight if left to their own devices? They’d have England in a riot.
This moment served as the perfect example. He’d stepped out for a moment and already she was causing a riot.
With her lips.
Pippa, Pippa, Pippa.The most troublesome girl in all of England. Known for her outspoken ways and bold behavior. She had gotten into all sorts of scrapes and predicaments over the years. All in the name ofseizing the moment.
And now she appeared to be seizing him.
A hand suddenly tangled in his hair, and Nicholas jolted awake from his daze.Saints, preserve me.Why the devil was he standing there like a half-wit, allowing this?
Common sense shot up his spine, and he began to push her away from him, but Pippa seemed to have grown tentacles that wrapped around him seamlessly, refusing to let go.
His grip on her waist tightened.
This wasn’t just a riot. This was a rampage.
On his senses.
His self-control.
For a careless moment, years of restraint collapsed, and Nicholas surrendered to Pippa’s eager embrace. The flavorsome punch tasted sweet on her lips. Not quite as sweet as the delicate notes of her scent—honey, if he were to guess—that teasedprickles from his skin. Not even to mention the rounded flesh beneath his hands.
He shouldn’t even be noticing Pippa’scurves.
The last jolt of common sense, shot upward.
Nothing about this scene was right. In fact, all of it waswrong.
Nicholas fought for control and ruthlessly pushed through the haze that had settled over him during Pippa’s flavorsome kiss.
Wait a damn minute. Did he taste a subtle hint of brandy?
He broke away from her lips and very deliberately, very torturously took a sobering step back. “What the blazes are you doing? Are you foxed?”
“Must one be foxed to be making memories?”
Nicholas stared at her, dumbstruck. “You are most certainly foxed. I can taste the brandy on your lips.” He ignored the wrongness of that sentence and simply narrowed his eyes at her.
Low voices murmured in the distance, and leaves shuffled nearby, reminding him of the consequences of being found alone in each other’s company. Much less kissing.
“Perhaps I am a bit tipsy. You should lighten up, Sir Nicholas the Cold. The holidays are for seizing magical moments, don’t you know?”
Nicholas the Cold? Was that what she thought of him? And did she plan on making more memories tonight? With whom? Him? Or someone else? In a more rational moment, it might have occurred to him that there was something off with his line of reasoning. But this was not a rational moment, and he was not dealing with a rational girl.
“How much did you have to drink?”
