Page 17 of The Grinch and His Curvy Christmas Miracle

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Eyes darkening.

Then his gaze drops to my mouth.

Hungry in a way that steals every bit of air I thought I had left.

"Nikki," he says quietly. Roughly. Like my name is something dangerous in his mouth.

The space between us crackles.

Alive.

A pulse of heat that feels like it has been waiting the whole night to ignite.

I should look away.

I should breathe.

I should run.

I do none of those things.

I lean in, just a little.

Barely a breath.

His hand moves before I fully register it, fingers brushing my cheek, slow and careful, like he is giving me a chance to pull away.

I do not move.

His thumb grazes my skin, warm and calloused, and my whole body lights up.

He lowers his head.

The first brush of his mouth is soft.

Testing.

Almost questioning.

Then I exhale a sound I did not mean to make.

Something small.

Something hungry.

Something that answers whatever he was afraid to ask.

He kisses me again.

Not tentative this time.

Certain.

Deep enough that my breath disappears and my fingers curl into the front of his shirt.

Heat coils low in my body, sharp and sweet and overwhelming.

The world outside vanishes.

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