by Natasha West
Tilda shook her head. ‘No. Not just you.’ She suddenly remembered something. She felt around in her pocket and pulled out the squished mistletoe. ‘In fact, I’ve got it right here. Maybe I could put it up again?’ she said hesitantly. She didn’t want to overplay her hand.
Sam stepped closer to Tilda and had a look at the mistletoe. After a moment, she took it out of Tilda’s hand and tossed it into the road. She’d waited to be kissed the first time. But not now.
‘I don’t think we need it anymore.’
She pulled Tilda towards her and she came willingly. The kiss was deeper this time, sweeter, slower. There was no clock running out on them.
Eventually, they pulled apart. They didn’t want to but it was cold out on the street.
‘Shall we go back in?’ Tilda asked. Sam nodded and Tilda took her hand.
As they walked up the path and went inside, Sam had a thought. ‘Hey, what are you doing for New Years?’
Tilda smiled. After all, the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve was an even better excuse for a kiss than mistletoe.
Other Books by Natasha West
Hawke’s Prey
Hawke’s Game
The Plus One
Something for the Weekend
A Marriage of Connivance
Joined at the Hip