Page 18 of Mountain Man's Naughty Elf
"Ecstatic," I beamed. "You do know Christmas carols!"
"Basic cultural knowledge."
"Next, we're trying 'Jingle Bells.'"
"Absolutely not."
I laughed, and the sound seemed to fill the space between us, bright and unexpected in the firelit cabin. His eyes met mine, and something stirred there—a connection that existed separate from the spiced liquor or gentle ambience.
We turned back to the movie, but I was hyperaware of him beside me—the solid presence of his shoulder near mine, the faint scent of pine and woodsmoke that clung to him like a second skin. The laptop balanced precariously between us, and as we shifted to get more comfortable, our arms brushed. Neither of us pulled away.
By the time George Bailey was running through Bedford Falls shouting "Merry Christmas," my eyelids were growing heavy. The combination of stress, relief, spirits, and the hypnotic flickering of the fire was taking its toll. I fought to keep my eyes open, not wanting the evening to end.
"You're falling asleep," Pax observed, his voice low.
"Am not," I protested, even as I failed to stifle a yawn.
"Stubborn," he muttered, but I caught the note of amusement.
The final scenes played out, and as the townspeople gathered around the Bailey piano singing "Auld Lang Syne," I found myself humming along, my eyelids surrendering to gravity like snowflakes drifting down until my head somehow came to rest against Pax's shoulder.
He stiffened for a heartbeat, then, to my surprise, relaxed. I should have moved, I knew that, but he was warm and solid, and I was so very tired...
I drifted off to the sound of bells ringing and angels getting their wings.
When I woke, the movie had ended, the computer screen dark. The fire had burned lower, and I was still leaning against Pax's shoulder, but somehow during my sleep his arm had come around me, holding me against his side. My head fit perfectly in the hollow beneath his collarbone, and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear.
I froze in place, suspended in the sweet space between dreaming and waking, not wanting to break whatever spell had allowed this moment to happen. Pax Forrester, the man who didn't do Christmas or drinking games or presumably human contact, had his arm around me, and was possibly asleep himself, his breathing deep and even.
Then he shifted slightly, and I knew he was awake.
"Sorry," I murmured, beginning to pull away.
His arm tightened almost imperceptibly. "It's fine."
I raised my face to his, intending to make some joke about using mountain men as pillows, but the words died in my throat. His face was so close to mine, those blue eyes dark and intense. His gaze revealed an expression I hadn't seen before—something unguarded, almost vulnerable.
My gaze dropped to his mouth—that serious, rarely-smiling mouth that I suddenly couldn't stop thinking about. When I forced myself to look up again, the urgency in those blue depths stole my breath. He leaned forward, barely an inch, and my body responded before my brain could intervene, swaying toward him like a compass finding north. Our breath tangled, heated and hesitant all at once.
Then a log in the fireplace collapsed with a shower of sparks, breaking the moment. We both jerked back.
Pax cleared his throat, his arm slipping from around my shoulders. "It's late."
I blinked, the spell broken. I was dodging tyranny, sheltering with a virtual stranger during a blizzard, and nearly kissing said stranger after too much schnapps and sentimentality. Talk about getting caught under the mistletoe with no escapeclause. What was I thinking?
"Right," I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "And I've kept you up with my Christmas indoctrination."
A shadow of something—regret? relief?—crossed his face. "You should take the bed upstairs. I'll sleep down here."
"Oh, no, I couldn't—"
"Pepper." His voice was firm. "Take the bed. I've slept in worse places than my own couch."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you. For the movies. And, um, being a good pillow."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Good night, Pepper."
"Good night, Paxton."
