Christmas Kiss (A Holiday Romance) (Kisses and Carriages)

by L. L. Muir

  The little girl pushed his hand away and replaced it with her own, like she couldn’t quite believe the sound was coming from her own body. Then she began to dance, not taking the one hand from her chest.

  She hummed the chorus, then when she reached a verse, she nodded to McKinnon again. He sang the words, while she continued humming.

  “With hands of white and horses matched

  He’ll heigh thy love to broken heart.

  Of measured dreams he’ll grant behalf

  And take from thee e’en the beggar’s part.”

  McKinnon stepped forward and caught the girl up in his arms, then began waltzing around the room with her little feet dangling three feet off the ground.

  She hummed louder. He sang all the while.

  They spotted Bree in the doorway and McKinnon came to a dead stop, as did the song. She didn’t know if the frown he gave her was for interrupting, or just breathing in general. But she pretended she didn’t notice and stepped into the room.

  “You’re a natural, Mr. McKinnon. You’ve had a breakthrough all on your own. I can’t imagine a better way to have coaxed her to try her voice.”

  Angeline was grinning. McKinnon lowered her to her feet and she hurried to Bree’s side, taking her hand and leading Bree back to face McKinnon. The child tried to make him take Bree’s hand, but he pulled away and shook his head.

  Bree felt a little explosion of disappointment in her chest and the threat of more tears, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her feelings.

  “I’m sure Mr. McKinnon is not nearly so talented when dancing with full grown women, Angeline, so we really shouldn’t embarrass him.” Bree gave the jerk a snotty smile, then turned to go but the pan she carried got caught on something.

  She’d completely forgotten she was carrying it. Then suddenly it was pulled out of her hand. When she whipped around, she found McKinnon coming toward her with murder in his eyes.

  She stepped back like a wuss before she could remember she was a Colby and Colbys did not panic.

  “Angeline, if ye will provide the music, I’m sure I can manage to drag Miss Colby around the room a few times without breaking all ten toes.” Then, he spoke lower so the girl wouldn’t hear. “Whether or not my touch will offend her is another matter.”

  A very enthusiastic humming began, still the same tune. Bree painted a smile on for the little girl and acted like she hadn’t heard the last part. Then she was suddenly back in High School Ballroom Class trying to keep her partner from making them look bad. But the big lug was a lot harder to help than those sixteen-year-olds.

  McKinnon grimaced. “Miss Colby, I assure you this will be much less painful if you allow me to lead the dance. Just relax into my arms... If you dare.”

  He wanted her to relax? Fine, she’d relax.

  She laid her arms over his and leaned against the hand at her back. With part of her weight supported, her feet were light as feathers.

  And they were waltzing!

  Judging from the look on Angeline’s face, it looked as lovely as it felt. And just as Bree had on the staircase, she felt regal, but more than that, it was working because she’d stopped fighting for control.

  She forced her gaze up from McKinnon’s neck to his eyes and realized he was as pleasantly surprised as she was. Of course he hid his surprise quickly and acted like he flew around the room all the time. But she could tell he didn’t. He looked like a kid that knew how to ride a bike but couldn’t get his hands on one very often. He smiled and winked at Angeline as they passed her again, but she could see the joy he was trying to hide. And even though his smile faded back to something polite when he looked at Bree, she could feel the excitement shooting through the arms that held hers up and allowed her feet to barely skim the floor.

  Between the beginning of another chorus and the end, their smiles faded altogether. Her breath caught when she realized he’d looked at her just that way the night before. Just before she’d felt the need to run for her life.

  She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held tight and started around the room again. She dropped her gaze to his neck, but could still see his face too clearly, so she looked at his chest. Staring at the breadth of it stole her breath away, and so she looked lower still.

  Holy crap, what was she thinking?

  She turned her head, found Angeline, and refused to look anywhere else.

  The child’s humming began to falter. She’d probably over-done it for her first day. Selfish as Bree was, she hadn’t wanted the dancing to end. He wasn’t smiling at her anymore, but he wasn’t frowning either. At least not yet. She wanted to pretend, for another minute or two, that she wasn’t his enemy.

  Then suddenly, beneath her hands, came the low vibration of his humming. It was like having her arms wrapped around a volcano just as it started to erupt. Maybe he wasn’t ready for it to end either.

  Bree smiled again. She couldn’t help it. She was in heaven. This was the romantic little moment she could share with her sisters and friends, a sweet memory of a charming man, the highlight of her trip. And if she could omit the fact that she might have to create an international incident to get home again, it was even more romantic—especially since he’d already kissed her. Maybe she could squish the memory of his kisses up against this one and pretend it had all happened the same day. And that she hadn’t gotten spooked and run away.

  She’d have to alter a few details, of course. Maybe she was in a little bar, in a tiny little village, and the master of nearby castle just stopped in for a pint with the locals. He’d noticed her sitting alone in a booth, looking over her little map of Scotland, wondering what to visit next.

  And he’d granted a wish she hadn’t remembered wishing for...

  As they passed the velvet chaise they both turned to look at Angeline, resting against a cushion with her eyes closed, a smile still on her face. She and McKinnon shared a pleased smile, but it faded quickly. His humming ceased as he spun her out of his arms. By the time she stopped spinning, he was gone.

  And her carriage turned back into a pumpkin.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The snow storm turned into freezing rain over night. And instead of the rain melting the snow, it covered it with a coating of clear frozen water. It was the coolest thing ever. It was the coldest thing ever, and the memory of nearly freezing to death was all it took to keep her from leaving the next morning.

  She finally had to face the fact that she would never make her flight. She would have to use every penny she had in savings to get home. She would end up asking her dad for a loan and her mom would show up with a truck and moving boxes. It would be another six months before she’d have the guts to wrestle control of her life back from the well-meaning, but psycho woman and the cycle would start again.

  But for now, she was done fighting Mother Nature and the nature of her mother. She’d make peace with Laird Gorgeous and try to figure out what that damned coachman was up to.

  * * *

  During the daytime, with Angeline to care for, to entertain, and to distract him, the tension in Heathcliff’s chest lessened. But each night, as they tucked the child into her bed and took turns touching her one last time, McKinnon’s blood would rise, unbidden.

  But for the past two days, it had been different. The tension in his chest built not from distrust, but from anticipation. Even though it was preposterous to continue kissing a woman who was fearful where a kiss might lead, her lips were constantly in his thoughts. In an effort to remove them, he’d frequently sneak away to his tower room and draw a sketch of them, to transfer them from his mind onto paper. Unfortunately, they didn’t stay where they were put. And the memories of their kisses were not nearly so easy to deal with.

  That first kiss, which he stole from her only moments before he laid his accusations at her feet...

  The Christmas Kiss, which he’d demanded in return for putting aside his suspicions—something he was trying to do before she’
d even asked...

  And now, another kiss was all he craved. More than food. More than a release from the frozen prison his home had become. He wanted it as much as he wanted this business with the coachman to be resolved. But as soon as it was resolved, she’d be gone.

  It was a dark reality on the horizon. She’d be gone. He and Angeline would be left to carry on alone. He was no longer worried about communicating with the child. They seemed to be doing well whether or not Brianna was present. But he was a greedy bastard. He wanted them both.

  It had been a mistake of course, to allow her to wear the clan colors. He’d had no idea it would affect him so, and while they’d danced together, he’d realized he would end as a begging puppy at her feet if he didn’t get very far away from her. Then he’d hidden, like a coward, for the remainder of the day.

  Dear Lord. What had he done, fallen in love with her?

  There was only one way to find out. Another kiss. Only then would he ken for sure.

  * * *

  Bree was pissed.

  Angeline had fallen asleep after dinner, and Heathcliff stuck his nose in a book and acted like he didn’t want to talk to her if she didn’t want to kiss him. At least she thought that was his problem. He hadn’t spoken directly to her all day, and when she caught him looking at her, he was always staring at her lips. Then he’d stomp off like she shouldn’t have caught him staring.

  She told herself she wasn’t going to get all physical with a guy who couldn’t really trust her. But that was bullshit. She was scared to death.

  She’d never slept with anyone before and she’d been determined to wait until she was married. But that wasn’t the scary part. What really frightened her was the way Laird Gorgeous made her feel—like she could throw it all away for him. Like there was more passion in one kiss from him than in an hour of making out with David. Or anyone else.

  She just couldn’t give him the chance to ask her to because she already knew she’d say yes. And then her heart would be broken, and she’d be disappointed in herself for the rest of her life. Because she’d made that promise to that fourteen year old girl in the mirror. And that was one girl she hated to let down.

  So, while she was dying to look her best, she had to dress like a grandma to try and keep him from wanting her. It was probably the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. It went against every instinct, because who wouldn’t want a guy who could walk down the streets of Spokane, or anywhere else, and get his photo taken by every woman with a phone, and half the men.

  Besides being handsome as sin, he had something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Everything about him was masculine, powerful, perfect. It was like he was from another time and she was going to prove that impression was wrong. She had to find some proof that Heathcliff McKinnon was not from 1806.

  Because the more time she spent with him and the more she’d seen of the kitchens, the more she’d started to worry. And the stupid popcorn popper had turned out to be a bed-warmer, with the year, 1797 on it!

  For the past two days, every moment she hadn’t spent with Angeline, she’d been methodically searching the castle. The only place she hadn’t looked, besides the dungeons, was in the East Tower. If he’d made that tower his personal space, then of course that’s where she’d discover the proof she was looking for. He’d have receipts and stuff. If the study was just another room for the tourists, then of course there would have been no proof there to find.

  Walking around a dark castle at night was a pain in the butt. No wonder people used to rise with the sun and go to bed early. But those really weren’t her hours. She couldn’t wait to get back to electricity.

  She lit three candles that stood in holes down the middle of a long tray. If one blew out, she wouldn’t be sitting in the dark rubbing sticks or stones together; she’d have two more. Then she walked casually up the big staircase with the candles in one hand and her plaid nightgown in the other. She thought dressing as un-sexy as possible was probably a good idea, so she’d changed into her sweatpants and nightgown after they’d tucked Angeline in. When he’d given her the cold shoulder, it had been the excuse she needed to go back upstairs.

  She snorted as she made her way toward the tower entrance. The sound of her own voice made it a little less scary, but not much. Candles didn’t give off as much light as she’d expected—even three of them. So she imagined her safe space to be the circle of yellow light. Whatever was outside of that didn’t matter, couldn’t hurt her.

  She tried the door. It opened right up. She grabbed the edge of it to slow the swing, so her candles wouldn’t blow out.

  There was a narrow walkway that curved, then a door beyond that. At the right end of the walkway were stairs going up. On the left, stairs going down. McKinnon’s room must then occupy the center of the tower. She stepped forward and tried that door. It, too, opened easily, but she couldn’t stop the door from swinging wide.

  “Crap!” The candles flickered out in unison. “Damn it!” Her voice didn’t help her at all.

  “Perhaps I can be of help,” Heathcliff growled from the hallway behind her.

  She spun around to find the man basking in his own warm circle of light. It was brighter than hers had been, and he carried only one candle.

  “Hurricane lamps are much more effective when walking...or sneaking. The glass protects and amplifies the flame.”

  Bree cleared her throat and stepped forward out of his private room. “How clever,” she said and tried to step out of the tower, but he took a large step forward and blocked her path.

  She couldn’t tell if it was his expression, or just the way the light shined up on his face, but he looked menacing. She tried to hold her ground but he kept coming, herding her into his room.

  She stepped backward quickly, to put some distance between them. He closed the door behind him. His expression never changed.

  “I’m sorry I invaded your privacy,” she said.

  He said nothing.

  She reached out and touched the cover on his bed. It was soft and rich. In fact, everything in his room looked luxurious—the bedding, the furniture, the art on the walls. There was a large painting that couldn’t hang flat against the round wall—a fighting scene with fighting men in kilts atop huge white horses. Maybe it was the way the light bounced off everything, but none of it looked modern. She glanced at the desk that was built to fit the wall perfectly. There was an old-fashioned leather blotter and an inkwell. The pen wasn’t a feather, but it looked old. Really, really old.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said and looked around for a garbage can. Of course there wasn’t one, which only made her sicker.

  “Are ye so suddenly ill, then?” He lifted his light to look at her better, but he looked doubtful.

  “I need to sit down.” She used his little stool to climb up on his bed and sat down carefully.

  “Since I’m certain ye didna come here to seduce me...” He just left the words hanging. She really had no choice but to confess before he started thinking she’d come to rob the place.

  “I was looking for a receipt or something, okay? Something with the date on it.”

  “Did I not show ye enough envelopes with the date written upon them?”

  “Not written. I just need to find something stamped. Computerized. Official.”

  “So that is today’s tack, is it? Ye wish to convince me that the year is far into the future. But why? Hope ye I will say so before a judge, so I might be found insane? Is that the best plan you and yer coachman could think of? Because I will never believe yer rantings.”

  She laughed. “Ranting. I’m ranting. I’m the one who’s crazy?”

  She considered it for a minute. She’d been scooped up by a guy in a sleigh, but he’d known the name of the tour company. He’d known the guy who rented her the car. He didn’t seem to think she was crazy. But then again, the guy, his sleigh, and his horses had disappeared damned fast.

  Maybe it wasn’t a question of
crazy. Maybe it was a question of magic.

  Holy crap! “Maybe you should tell me more about your grandma,” she said.

  Heathcliff stared at her for so long, she wondered if time had frozen. But then she noticed the flicker of his candle. Still, it didn’t mean she hadn’t entered a real Twilight Zone.

  Finally, he blinked and walked to the nightstand where he set his light down. When he turned to face her, he towered above her, even though she sat on his insanely high bed.

  “I believe I know what ye’re about to say, lass, and I’m warning ye to reconsider. I won’t countenance an insult to me grandmother.”

  “Well, if you know what I’m thinking, I don’t need to say it. But you have to admit something crazy is going on here and I’m not crazy.” She’d like to claim that crazy didn’t run in her family, but she wasn’t too sure about her mother.

  “I wouldna be so certain,” he growled.

  Her jaw hit the floor, but before she had time to recover, the room lit up brilliantly like someone had found a light switch. It was lightening, flashing, lighting up the white horses in the painting. Half a second later came the crack and boom of thunder that lit up her bones as she flew off the bed and into Heathcliff’s arms.

  He grabbed her tight to sooth her shaking, then threw back his head and laughed; he was shaking too.

  It took a minute for her eyes to adjust back to the near-darkness, and when they did, Heathcliff’s eyes were boring into hers. His smile was gone. His hands slid across her back as he pulled her tight...and kissed her.

  She guessed, by the way he was kissing her, the granny nightgown hadn’t worked. But then, she hadn’t really wanted it to. And the most primal feminine side of her was thrilled that he found her desirable in spite of everything. She let that side of her enjoy his kiss while the rational side of her stood back and shrieked, Hello. He insulted us!

  Maybe she wasn’t so mentally balanced after all.

  McKinnon pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. She heard him say damn under his breath, and not in a hot damn kind of way.