Her cheeks flushed, the pink spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath the red sweater scattered with silver bells. “Jonas?—”
“About how you’ve been waiting.” I held her gaze. “About how you’ve never?—”
“There’s a customer,” she cut in quickly, nodding toward a family making their way to the booth.
The moment broke, but the heat didn’t fade. It burned brighter, coiled tight inside me.
“These are beautiful,” the woman said, picking up a bell painted with a snowy cabin.
“I made them,” Paige answered, slipping into her professional voice, though I caught a faint tremor. “Each one is hand-painted. That’s one of my favorites.”
I let her talk, let her sell, while I stood there watching the curve of her mouth, the graceful movements of her hands, and the subtle sway of her hips. I was so lost in her that I didn’t see it coming.
Her hand. On me.
She brushed across my ass—slow, deliberate—and I went rigid, every muscle tight. “Paige,” I said, low and strained.
She blinked up at me, all innocence, though her eyes glittered with mischief. “What?”
“You know what.”
“I’m sure I don’t.” Her cheeks betrayed her, a hot flush racing across her skin.
When she turned to help an older man shopping for his granddaughter, I made my move. I shifted behind her, waited until she bent to grab a box of smaller bells, and let my hand graze over the curve of her ass. Just enough to make sure she knew.
She straightened so fast, she nearly knocked over the table.
“Careful,” I murmured at her ear, steadying the display with one hand, resting the other at her lower back. “Wouldn’t want to break anything.”
Her breath caught. “You’re terrible.”
“You started it.”
The old man shuffled away, oblivious, and Paige spun on me the second he was gone. “We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, though her eyes were dark, hungry.
“Doing what?” I asked, closing the space until our bodies nearly touched.
“You know exactly what.” Her gaze flicked to my mouth and back again. “There are people everywhere.”
“I know,” I said, my thumb stroking over the dip of her waist. “That’s the problem.”
“Jonas.” My name trembled between warning and plea.
“I need you alone,” I murmured, close enough to feel her shiver. “Now.”
She glanced around, scanning the families, the booths, Gunnar’s new girlfriend Ivy helping a customer nearby. “Where?”
I’d already found the answer. The hot chocolate stand. Behind it, hidden under canvas, steam curling into the air.
“There,” I said, nodding. “Five minutes.”
Her teeth caught her bottom lip, and I almost groaned out loud. “What if someone sees us?”
“They won’t.” At least, I hoped to God they wouldn’t. “And it’s just talking, right?”
Her look said we both knew it wouldn’t be just talking.
“I can’t abandon my booth?—”
