Holiday Kisses Page 4

  “Happy holidays!”

  “You must come by for some fruitcake later.”

  “Did you need me to bring some more wood by the inn?”

  Dash waited until a quiet moment in the caroling. “Someone’s popular,” he note. “I don’t even know my neighbors back in LA. The guy taking my order at the coffee shop still screws up my name.”

  She laughed. “Like I said, I’ve spent my whole life here. Plus, I’ve worked with pretty much everyone in town.”

  “At the inn?”

  “No, book-keeping,” she explained. “Debra owns the gift shop, and then there’s Summer at the bakery, Grayson down at the bookstore, Larry at the hardware store…”

  Dash whistled. “You’re a one-woman accounting machine.”

  Ellie looked bashful. “I know it’s not glamorous, but I like organizing things. Getting all the details worked out.” She gave a proud little smile, looking around at the town businesses she’d whipped into shape. And then Dash realized the reason she was still there in Sweetbriar Cove, why she hadn’t taken off yet, despite all her wistful talk about travel and warmer climates and being anywhere but here.

  She liked being needed.

  There in town, they knew her. They appreciated her. She couldn’t walk down the street without a friendly smile or conversation, and coming from a big city where he’d spent years being completely anonymous, Dash could see how comforting that would be.

  The carols started back up, sweet music drifting into the winter’s night, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore, because suddenly, the character he’d been trying to write clicked into place. Not the lead guy, but the girl who turned his life upside down. Dash had thought she was a reckless femme fatale: stuck in her small town and restless for danger, but now, he could see her in a whole new light. A new character, with a new face.

  Ellie’s.

  The spitfire with a soft side. Longing to leave, but scared to go. Clinging to the comforting routines of the past, no matter how much her heart yearned for something more adventurous. It was all right there in front of him: five foot six of bulky snow gear, with silky hair and sparkling blue eyes. His muse wasn’t some abstract metaphor—it was her, all along.

  Ellie caught his eye. “Ready to make a move?” she asked. It was already starting to snow, a light dusting of flakes spiraling down out of the dark.

  “Sure.” Dash couldn’t have been more ready. For the first time in months, his fingertips were tingling, just itching to get back to his keyboard and write. He followed her back to the Jeep, his mind still racing. Everything was falling into place now: a chain reaction set off by one little creative spark. He could see the whole story, the scenes, the drama… It unspooled in his head all the drive back to the inn, every last detail he’d been trying to force to life coming easily now. The way it was supposed to be.

  He yanked open the Jeep door as soon as she pulled up at the inn, practically leaping down in his haste to get back to his laptop before the idea was lost.

  “Are you going to be OK in the cabin?” Ellie asked, hesitating by the door of the main lodge. “It’s going to be another cold one tonight with this snow…”

  “I’ll be fine!” Dash insisted, impatient to get back to work. “I’ve got the stove and my whiskey. What more does a man need?”

  “Well, OK…” A shadow flit across Ellie’s face. She turned back towards the door, her voice becoming more curt. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  He was being rude, Dash knew, just brushing her off after their great evening together, but he didn’t mean to be. She didn’t realize, she’d already given him the most valuable thing of all.

  Inspiration.

  Adrenaline flooded through his body, ready to get to work, to write like crazy before he lost this spark. But first…

  Before he could stop himself, Dash closed the distance between them and spun her back towards him. Ellie’s eyes flashed with surprise, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her lips parted, inviting.

  She was beautiful: hot and wild, and unlike anyone he’d ever met. He should have kept his distance, but with inspiration still hot in his veins, Dash took a page from his hero’s book instead.

  He kissed her.

  Ellie froze against him, then yielded, soft and warm in the cold night air. Her lips parted, sweet as hot cocoa, and he hungrily drank her in.

  It was intoxicating. Wilder than whiskey, sweeter than sunshine. Dash couldn’t get enough.

  He pulled her closer, crushing her tight against his torso. Their mouths teased, tongues caressing in a slow, hot embrace. There were layers of bulky clothing between them, but Dash could still feel her heat, the imprint of her curves and the rush from her touch. He kissed deeper, sliding his hands around her waist, right where they belonged—

  She suddenly yanked away. “What are you—?” Ellie stammered, breathing heavily. Her eyes were still bright with desire, her lips even redder from the imprint of my kiss. “I don’t…” She backed away. “I mean, I can’t…”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment, and Dash could have sworn he saw her gaze go to his mouth again. Her breathing slowed, her eyelashes fluttered… He was about to reach for her again when she shook her head abruptly.

  “Goodnight.” She hurried back inside. The door slammed shut behind her with a bang, leaving Dash alone in the snow.

  Damnit.

  He cursed himself for screwing this up, for making the wrong move when she clearly wanted him to stay away. But if that were true, why did she kiss him back? Why were her hands up around his neck, pulling him closer, her lips eagerly exploring Dash’s mouth?

  He exhaled, trying to snap out of it. He didn’t know what just happened, only that he needed it to happen again—and soon. But with the door locked tight behind her, it didn’t look like Ellie agreed.

  Dash turned and started the careful trek back around the lake in the snow. But with every step, the memory of Ellie’s kiss came flashing through his mind. Her lips. Her touch. Her body…

  Between that and the script waiting, something told him that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

  5

  What the hell just happened?

  Ellie drifted through the rest of the evening in a daze: chatting to the other guests, dealing with the day’s receipts, shutting down the computer and heading upstairs to their family apartment. But all the while, her mind was far away—thirty feet, to be exact, out on that front porch with Dash Everett’s lips pressed hungrily against hers.

  Lord, that guy could kiss.

  She couldn’t believe it—that he made a move out of nowhere like that, and worse, how she had just surrendered to the moment without a single ounce of sense in her brain. One minute it seemed like he couldn’t wait to get away from her, and the next, he was pulling her closer for the most epic kiss she’d had in years. Since…

  Since Ethan.

  Ellie stopped, reality crashing through the heated memory like an ice-cold dip in the pond.

  She’d been there before. She knew how this ended. He would go back across the country once his trip was up, and she would be left there all over again. She had her “no tourist” rule for a reason, and that reason was six foot of dashing British hotness right across the lake.

  Even if he was smart, and handsome, and funny.

  Even if he did kiss like a man with something to prove.

  He was off limits. End of story.

  And she was going to bed alone.

  Five hours later, Ellie was tucked in bed staring at the ceiling, still imagining Dash’s lips on her. It had been snowing hard all night, and the muffled sound of the wind usually made her sleep like a baby, but tonight, she was restless, tossing and turning, too amped up to do anything except replay the moment—and then take it further. Inviting him in, asking him upstairs, having him join her in the cozy guest room…

  In her king-sized bed.

  Down, girl. Bad Ellie.

  She wondered how Dash was de
aling, out in that cabin with just that tiny stove. Guilt crept in the back of her mind. Sure, he said he could handle the snow, but she was guessing he never expected it to come down like this: a whirlwind of pale flakes spinning from the black sky. Ellie opened the window for some fresh air, and was hit with a blast of icy air so cold she had to slam it shut right away. She shivered, pulling her blanket around her, glad to be tucked safely indoors with the heating on and a pair of thick fluffy socks underneath her layers of blankets.

  Her guilt grew. What if he was freezing half to death out there? If it were any other guest, Ellie would have insisted they bunk down in the apartment by now. Just because she didn’t trust herself around him, that didn’t mean he deserved to wind up a human popsicle by dawn.

  She sighed and threw off the covers, reaching for her clothes again. This was purely professional, she told herself. Her parents had left her to be a good host, and that meant not leaving the guests to die of hypothermia. But just as she was pulling on a sweater, Ellie heard a muffled banging noise from downstairs. Someone was at the door.

  She hurried down, turning all the lights back on.

  “Hello?” Ellie pulled the door open, and a snow-covered figure came stumbling in with a duffel bag. Dash.

  “I was just coming to get you!” she exclaimed, shutting the door quickly behind him. “I’m sorry, you can sleep here tonight. I should never have rented that cabin to you in the first place. It’s not cut out for this weather.”

  “You can say that again.” Dash stomped his boots and shook off the snow. His dark hair was damp with melted flakes, and his cheeks were red from the cold. And his lips…

  His lips.

  The feel of them flashed back to her, the heat and pure desire of being pressed tightly against him. Ellie shivered at the memory, then tried to ignore the fantasies that had been spinning in her head all night.

  What else could that mouth do…?

  She shook her head, trying to focus on what he was saying. “I should sue,” Dash was telling her, “for the injuries sustained trying to make that bloody stove light, for starters.”

  Sue? She looked at him anxiously, worried he really was upset, but he seemed weirdly upbeat considering he’d spent half the night in a frigid cabin of doom. Ellie led him upstairs, wondering for a moment if this was all pretext, a ruse to get inside with her and pick up right where they left off.

  Her pulse kicked. Had he been up all night thinking the same scandalous thoughts as her?

  “You seem in a pretty good mood, considering,” she said evenly, showing him into their living room.

  “I’ve been writing.” Dash announced with a triumphant grin. “Thirty-five bloody pages, I’m on a roll!”

  “You beat your writer’s block? Congratulations!”

  She was happy for him, but Ellie still felt a little pull of disappointment. She’d been up for hours poring over that kiss, but clearly he hadn’t given it a second thought.

  “I would have written more,” Dash said, sounding amped up. “But my fingers started to seize up from the cold. Ah, central heating,” he sighed, collapsing on the couch. “Winds from the gods!”

  She smiled, glad at least he wasn’t still shivering in the dark cabin. “You’re welcome to it. I’m not sure where to put you,” she added. “We rented out my parents master suite, and my sister’s room is kind of small—”

  “I’m good right here.” Dash leaned back into the cushions “And if you can point me to a kettle and a bag of tea, I’ll be set for the night.”

  He smiled at her, that charming, roguish smile. If she was right there on the couch with him, she’d be set too.

  Rules. She needed more rules.

  “A cup of tea.” Ellie nodded, backing away before she could jump him. “It’s the least I can do.”

  She bustled in to the small kitchen next door and bused herself filling the kettle and hunting down some tea. It was a good distraction from the fact that the safe, lake-sized distance between her and Dash was now way smaller.

  And much less safe.

  So, he was spending the night there with her just down the hall. That didn’t mean a thing. She would just give him his hot tea and go back to bed—and keep a locked door between them. She could show some self-control.

  Easy.

  “Do you want herbal or English Breakfast?” she called.

  “Anything caffeinated, thanks.” Dash’s voice came from right behind her, making Ellie jump. “I figure I’ll pull an all-nighter and keep writing.”

  He was standing in the doorway, looming large in the small space. She gulped. He had stripped off his winter gear, wearing a pair of perfectly-fitted jeans and a vintage navy T-shirt that clung to his torso. She realized that it was the first time he hadn’t been bundled up against the cold, and suddenly, she could see the outline of his torso and muscular, defined arms—

  A whistle broke her train of thought. “The kettle!” Ellie leaped over to the stove to take it off the flame. She was certain she was blushing by now, but maybe she could pretend it was just the heat.

  “So the script is going well?” she babbled, pouring two mugs and dunking the tea bags in.

  “Knock on wood.” Dash rapped the doorframe. “I guess all I really needed was the right inspiration.”

  “I’m glad. That it’s working out, I mean. Your writing. After you came all this way. Maybe it’s the woods after all, nature, all that stuff.”

  Just stop.

  She took a deep breath, then turned back to him. Dash was gazing straight at her, with a heart-stopping intensity in his eyes.

  Heat flooded through her.

  Oh boy.

  Ellie gulped. “Listen, about before…” she blurted.

  He cleared his throat. “Right. That. I’m sorry. It was completely out of line.”

  Her heart sank. It was?

  “I must have got caught up in the scene,” Dash continued, sounding apologetic. “You know, the snow, the moonlight… Won’t happen again,” he finished. “Promise.”

  “Oh. Good,” Ellie answered slowly. “I mean, great. Just wanted to make sure we’re both on the same page…”

  She trailed off, feeling embarrassed. It’s what she’d wanted, right? No risk of making the same mistake all over again. But for some reason, she found her gaze straying to his lips, wondering how they would feel kissing her deeper; harder, there in the warmth with nothing to stop him peeling off that shirt and her running her hands all over—

  Ellie grabbed a mug of tea in each hand. “Ready!”

  She tried to exit, but he blocked her way for a moment. “Sorry,” he said, moving to the right—just as she did, too. They both bobbed in an awkward mirror dance until he finally stood aside with a chuckle to let her through.

  In the living room, Ellie set his mug on the coffee table in front of the couch, then went to light the fire already laid out in the grate. The tinder flickered alight, quickly catching into a merry blaze while Dash folded his long limbs down onto the couch. She bolted for the armchair furthest away from him. But even from there, she couldn’t help thinking how romantic the cozy sitting room had suddenly become: fire blazing, lights dim, with the snow still tumbling down outside the windows. Even though the rest of the inn was full of guests, it felt like the two of them were completely alone.

  “So, what changed?” she asked, steering things back to safe territory. “For your writing, I mean. A last-minute flash of inspiration?”

  “Something like that.” He propped his head on one hand, watching her with a curious stare. “What about you, couldn’t sleep?”

  “The guilt kept me up,” Ellie joked. “I was picturing you huddled in the corner, burning script pages to stay alive.”

  Dash laughed. “It was actually a good thing, being so cold. Kept me focused on the writing. You should advertise it for struggling artists,” he added with a wicked grin. “Ice road boot camp, the extreme way to beat writer’s block. You could charge a fortune, I’m telling you.”


  She smiled. “But the lawsuits would be a bitch. Frozen fingers and toes.”

  “Psh.” Dash grinned. “Wimps. Didn’t anyone tell you you need to suffer for your art?”

  “See, that’s the part I don’t buy.” Ellie tucked her legs under her body, getting comfortable. “This whole tormented artist thing. It makes it seem like happy people can’t be creative, like if you don’t have some deep dark trauma lurking in your past, you can’t be capable of writing a good book, or painting a beautiful picture.”

  “No, I’m not saying that,” Dash argued. “I had a rather normal childhood—”

  “Except the humiliation of that second-place prize,” she teased.

  “Except that.” He smiled. “But, I think artists see the world differently, they think about people, about life more deeply. It’s what makes us want to create, to explore what’s going on beneath the surface.”

  Ellie snorted. “So us civilians don’t think about the world?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying!” he protested.

  “You are, but that’s OK.” She smiled so he knew she was still teasing. “I could never sit down and write a book or movie. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  Dash flexed his hands, wincing. “The first draft is hell, but after that it gets easier. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”

  “How does it work?” she asked, trying to imagine creating a whole world, a story from scratch. “Do you ever base characters on people you know, or do you make it all up?”

  Dash shrugged, evasive. “A mix of both. It depends.”

  “That would be the best revenge,” she mused. “Anyone who screws you over, you can just put them in the movie—but as a really unflattering asshole.”

  He laughed. “That’s how your brain works, hmm? You don’t think, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to immortalize this awesome person?’ you just go straight for the jugular.”

  “Don’t you?” she protested. “Come on, tell me you haven’t written someone in just to get back at them.”