“Doesn’t change what?” I ask, and I’m pretty sure I know, but I need to hear it anyway.
“The fact that I’ve been trying not to touch you since you fell into my sleigh,” he says quietly. “And I’m losing that battle.”
Heat floods my face, my chest, my whole body. My pulse trips over itself.
“I—” I start, then laugh breathlessly. “Same. Just…in case that helps.”
The corner of his mouth curves, but his eyes stay serious. “You sure?”
I squeeze his hand. “Yes.”
He shifts closer.
The room narrows to the inch of space between us, charged and crackling. He reaches up, slow enough for me to stop him if I want to, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
His fingers skim my jaw. My skin prickles.
“Ivy,” he says again, softer. A warning. A prayer.
“Yes?” I breathe.
“Gonna kiss you now.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Good. Yes. Please.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and then his mouth is on mine.
The first brush is gentle—testing, reverent. But the second isn’t. The second is hungry.
Heat slams through me.
I make a sound in the back of my throat—half sigh, half something wilder—and he catches it, deepening the kiss. His thumb strokes the side of my neck, sending sparks down my spine. I lean into him, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt to pull him closer.
He comes willingly.
The world tilts. Our lips move together, slow then faster, like we’ve been kissing in every timeline but this one and we’re just now catching up. His other hand finds my waist, anchoring me as I shift, closing the last of the distance between us.
I end up half in his lap, knees bracketing his thigh, my heart pounding so hard I’m pretty sure he can feel it.
He definitely feels it.
His chest rises and falls under my palms, breath coming rougher now. He angles his head, deepening the kiss again, and I open for him without thinking. Heat blooms everywhere—my mouth, my skin, my bones.
He tastes like tea and something darker. Like winter and fire and all the things I didn’t know I needed.
When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s only by an inch. Our breaths tangle. His forehead rests against mine, eyes closed like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.
“Hell,” he murmurs. “That was a mistake.”
My stomach drops.
“Oh,” I say quietly, trying to pull back.
His hand tightens on my waist, keeping me close. “Not that kind of mistake,” he says, voice rough. “The kind you want to make again and know you shouldn’t.”
Something unknots in my chest.
“We’re snowed in on a mountain,” I whisper. “I think the universe is rooting for bad decisions.”
