Page 61 of No Room in the Inn
“Please don’t kiss him,” he says in a low voice so that no one but me can hear him.
I glance around the room, keenly aware of all the eyes on us. “You have no right to ask me that,” I finally say under my breath.
Nixon swallows. “I know. I just…” He trails off and looks away, his shoulders slumping. “Never mind,” he says. He scrubs one hand over his face, looking defeated. Then he gives a painful attempt at a grin. It’s so forced that it looks like it might crack and fall off his face, but he seems to be giving it all he’s got. “Make sure you don’t accidentally knock out his dentures,” Nixon says.
He’s trying to joke, trying to ease the tension—trying to appear unaffected. Strangely, it’s this behavior that changes my mind. Because this horrible attempt at humor tells me he’s not trying to guilt me into anything. He’s trying to move past the moment, pretending not to care.
Although clearly hedoescare. I’m not sure what to make of that.
I grab Nixon’s arm, and when his gaze meets mine, I can’t read the emotions I see there. I give a little jerk of my head toward Gerty and the mistletoe. Then I shoot an apologetic grimace at Max, who to his credit just shrugs and smiles.
As Nixon and I make our way to the mistletoe, I say quietly, “All right. We’ll kiss one time. It won’t be a big deal.” Even as I speak, nervous butterflies take flight in my stomach.
Nixon shrugs. “Sure. It’s not a big deal at all.”
Ugh. How does he sound so…so…sononchalant? We’re talking aboutkissinghere! Pressing our lips together! Mine and his!Pressed together.In front of a bunch of people who are all just watching us like creepers! Doesn’t that make him anxious? What if my breath is bad? What if my technique is bad? What if everyone cantellmy technique is bad, and everyone laughs?
And, my deepest anxiety, one I can only barely admit to myself…
What if I like it?
Psh. Who am I kidding? Of course I’ll like it. Even if I hated the man—which I really don’t—he would still be beautiful. I’ve daydreamed about kissing him. Night dreamed about it, too, in ways that had me praying for forgiveness afterward.
But that only happened once. Or twice.
Definitely no more than three times.
“All right,” I say, taking a deep breath and looking up at him. “Are you sure about this?”
He swallows. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” He’s almost—almost—convincing. But I see the way the muscle in his jaw twitches, the tenseness in his shoulders.
“Because earlier in the kitchen you basically shoved me away from you and then ran,” I say. “Indicating you don’t want to kiss me.”
Now his gaze meets mine, and my heart lurches when I see a flash of heat in his green eyes. “You misread that situation,” he says, his gaze dropping to my lips. His voice is rough in a way that makes my insides do a fluttery little dance.
“It seemed pretty clear to me,” I say, sounding more breathless than I would like.
“We’ll kiss,” he says. “One kiss, like you said. And not for seven minutes.”
And before I can respond, he swoops down, pressing a kiss to my lips. It’s firm and perfect and over way too soon. He breaks it off, though he doesn’t step away from me, doesn’t lean back more than an inch or two. His breathing isn’t quite steady, and neither is mine. I wait, my lips inches from his, not moving, not saying anything. Nixon’s eyes bore into mine, searching, intense. He looks torn, like he’s battling with himself. I send him every possiblekiss mevibe that I can muster. Which is crazy; I shouldn’t want to kiss him. But I do. Because in the matter of kissing Nixon Hallstrom, it’s now or never, andneverdoesn’t sit too well with me. So I wait, breathless, for him to move.
I can see the exact moment in time when he makes his decision, because once more heat flashes in his eyes. And then he’s kissing me again.
His hands slide from my hips to my lower back as he pulls me closer, his lips gentle and coaxing on mine, soft but insistent. It’s possible that my heart is going to jump out of my chest at any minute, and I’m almost certain he can feel it racing while we’re pressed together like this. His scent wraps around me like a blanket, warming me, as his lips continue their ministrations.
This man cankiss.
It’s nothing crazy, nothing overpowering—just gentle and tender and perfect. I have to fight against my instinct to deepen the kiss, holding back the feelings rising within.
I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to kiss him until I was actually doing it. And I finally am forced to admit to myself that yeah, there are some feelings here. Feelings of the romantic variety.
I don’t know how long we stand there. It might be a minute. It might be ten. It might be hours. But when he finally pulls back and steps away, everything has changed. I can see it in his eyes, and I know he can see it in mine.
I’m pretty sure my face turns fifty shades of red as I cast a look around the room at all the people watching us. When I catch Sarah’s eye, she raises an eyebrow at me and pretends to fan herself, grinning. I then look to her left where Max is now standing, and he smiles and winks.
I just shake my head and look away, a reluctant grin stealing over my face. When I look to Nixon, his smile is soft, not cocky, and it makes my heart lurch once again. He holds out a hand to me, and I take a deep breath.
If I take his hand, I know what I’ll be saying.
