Sam's gaze drifted up, and his lips quirked.
“Well, this may help my cause.”
Her glance rose to the mistletoe dangling over
their heads, darted to his, then briefly down to his
lips, before meeting his again. When his lingered on
her mouth, a tiny hitch tightened her stomach.
“So, why do people kiss under the mistletoe?” he
asked softly, his voice as mesmerizing as his eyes.
“I-I don’t know.” Her words were as breathy as
they had been up on the mountain earlier. This time
she couldn’t blame the altitude.
Sam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Something to do with Celtic tradition, isn’t it?”
A shiver slithered down Heather’s spine.
“Maybe.” She’d be hard pressed to come up with her
own name right now, let alone the ancient history of
“It’s a nice tradition, don’t you think?” His
thumb brushed her cheek.
Her lips parted.
“Did I ever mention I’m a very traditional guy?”
She shook her head. A wave of dizziness washed
over her as he leaned closer. Her surroundings
blurred, until her vision narrowed to only his rugged
features drawing nearer to her in excruciatingly
His mouth finally closed over hers as his hand
splayed across her back to draw her to him.