She was still laughing when they got to the bottom of the dip, and this time she didn’t feel the full extent of the fear as the car climbed the next slope. She actually enjoyed the rush when they started speeding downhill again, with their arms held up and shouting ‘Christmas’.
Somehow Quinn was still holding her hand as they got off the roller-coaster. Carissa didn’t want to say anything to break the spell. Right at that moment she felt safe, happy and warm; and she couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d felt like this.
They wandered through the garden of ice sculptures, still hand in hand. There was a smiling snowman with a top hat, a Santa and Christmas trees, and a clutch of reindeer with beautiful antlers—and one of them even had a red nose. Following the winter theme, there were penguins and polar bears.
But then they came to a peacock.
‘How is a peacock the slightest bit related to Christmas?’ Quinn asked. ‘Or winter, for that matter? I always think of peacocks wandering round the garden of stately homes in the middle of summer.’
‘It’s still fabulous,’ Carissa said. ‘I don’t care if it’s not strictly Christmassy. Look at the detail of the feathers—they’re all fanned out, and there are even eyes carved into the feathers. It’s stunning.’
‘The sculptors are very talented,’ Quinn agreed, ‘and I can see a lot of work’s gone into this.’ He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you wishing you’d ordered an ice sculpture instead of a virtual Santa now?’
‘As well as, not instead of,’ she said, returning his grin. ‘But there isn’t enough time to do it. I guess they need to plan that sort of thing way in advance so they can freeze big enough blocks of ice to sculpt.’ She thought about it. ‘Plus not all the kids would be well enough to come outside to see the sculpture and we couldn’t take it indoors because it’d melt too quickly. And it’d be a nightmare to clean up all that water.’
‘Practical as well as a dreamer,’ he said, sounding approving; it made her feel warm inside.
They headed for the food section next, queuing up for German hot dogs and then sticky Christmas gingerbread.
‘You’ve got sugar on the corner of your mouth,’ he said, and skimmed his index finger across her skin.
It was the lightest contact, but it left every nerve-end tingling. And then he kept the eye contact going and licked his finger. A kind of kiss by proxy.
Oh, help.
Because now Carissa really, really wanted him to kiss her. Just like he had at the skating rink.
Quinn’s eyes went dark and there was a slash of colour across his cheeks.
Was he remembering the same moment that she was? Did he want to repeat it, too?
She could feel herself tipping her head back slightly, practically offering her mouth to him, and it made her cringe. How pathetic was she? The same weak, stupid woman that had let her boyfriend hit her.
But then, before she could start despising herself again, he moved closer.
‘Carissa,’ he said softly, and his voice sounded almost rusty.
‘Yes.’ And she knew he realised she was answering the question he hadn’t asked. The question in his eyes.
He rested his hands on her waist and dipped his head, brushing his mouth lightly against hers. ‘You taste of sugar and spice,’ he said.
‘So do you,’ she whispered.
And then he did it again.
She was conscious of the song blasting out from the middle of the fairground—‘All I Want for Christmas is You’—and she realised at that moment how true the song was. Because all she really wanted for Christmas was Quinn O’Neill.
He kissed her right to the end of the song.
By the time he’d finished she was practically dizzy with need and desire and her knees felt as if they’d turned to mush.
Where did they go from here?
And was she just about to make a really bad mistake, the way she had with Justin? Could she trust her instincts this time?
As if he could see the
Somehow Quinn was still holding her hand as they got off the roller-coaster. Carissa didn’t want to say anything to break the spell. Right at that moment she felt safe, happy and warm; and she couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d felt like this.
They wandered through the garden of ice sculptures, still hand in hand. There was a smiling snowman with a top hat, a Santa and Christmas trees, and a clutch of reindeer with beautiful antlers—and one of them even had a red nose. Following the winter theme, there were penguins and polar bears.
But then they came to a peacock.
‘How is a peacock the slightest bit related to Christmas?’ Quinn asked. ‘Or winter, for that matter? I always think of peacocks wandering round the garden of stately homes in the middle of summer.’
‘It’s still fabulous,’ Carissa said. ‘I don’t care if it’s not strictly Christmassy. Look at the detail of the feathers—they’re all fanned out, and there are even eyes carved into the feathers. It’s stunning.’
‘The sculptors are very talented,’ Quinn agreed, ‘and I can see a lot of work’s gone into this.’ He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you wishing you’d ordered an ice sculpture instead of a virtual Santa now?’
‘As well as, not instead of,’ she said, returning his grin. ‘But there isn’t enough time to do it. I guess they need to plan that sort of thing way in advance so they can freeze big enough blocks of ice to sculpt.’ She thought about it. ‘Plus not all the kids would be well enough to come outside to see the sculpture and we couldn’t take it indoors because it’d melt too quickly. And it’d be a nightmare to clean up all that water.’
‘Practical as well as a dreamer,’ he said, sounding approving; it made her feel warm inside.
They headed for the food section next, queuing up for German hot dogs and then sticky Christmas gingerbread.
‘You’ve got sugar on the corner of your mouth,’ he said, and skimmed his index finger across her skin.
It was the lightest contact, but it left every nerve-end tingling. And then he kept the eye contact going and licked his finger. A kind of kiss by proxy.
Oh, help.
Because now Carissa really, really wanted him to kiss her. Just like he had at the skating rink.
Quinn’s eyes went dark and there was a slash of colour across his cheeks.
Was he remembering the same moment that she was? Did he want to repeat it, too?
She could feel herself tipping her head back slightly, practically offering her mouth to him, and it made her cringe. How pathetic was she? The same weak, stupid woman that had let her boyfriend hit her.
But then, before she could start despising herself again, he moved closer.
‘Carissa,’ he said softly, and his voice sounded almost rusty.
‘Yes.’ And she knew he realised she was answering the question he hadn’t asked. The question in his eyes.
He rested his hands on her waist and dipped his head, brushing his mouth lightly against hers. ‘You taste of sugar and spice,’ he said.
‘So do you,’ she whispered.
And then he did it again.
She was conscious of the song blasting out from the middle of the fairground—‘All I Want for Christmas is You’—and she realised at that moment how true the song was. Because all she really wanted for Christmas was Quinn O’Neill.
He kissed her right to the end of the song.
By the time he’d finished she was practically dizzy with need and desire and her knees felt as if they’d turned to mush.
Where did they go from here?
And was she just about to make a really bad mistake, the way she had with Justin? Could she trust her instincts this time?
As if he could see the
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