The Christmas Piano Tree: What's Christmas without a tree? (A Kissing Creek novel Book 1) by Jina Bacarr

bounce back quicker than we do.”
    He looked into the deep color of her eyes that saw into his, her soft, silky gaze telling him that she trusted him when he said her little girl would be all right. He could see the pulse beating on the side of her neck. She came closer to him, drawing strength from his presence, but not ready to bring him fully into her life. It was a start. She looked up at him, arching her back, parting her lips, while he could only suck a pocket of air deep into his lungs.
    Then she said what was on her mind even though it hurt her deep inside. “I believe you when you say Rachel will accept the truth that Scott isn’t coming home.”
    “Have you ?” he asked gently. It was a bold move, knowing he should keep his distance, but he couldn’t. Not anymore.
    They stood in the kitchen for a long moment, looking at each other as the outside shutters banged against the cottage wall. A howling wind trying to get in made the glass window shake, while big, fluffy snowflakes came down hard and fast, covering the countryside with a white blanket.
    But here in this cozy kitchen, Jared waited for her answer. Her breath hot on his face, his emotions hotter.
    “Yes,” she said finally, looking up at him. “I have.”
    “That’s all I needed to know,” he said in a husky voice.
    “Oh?” she asked.
    “You promised ole Saint Nick a kiss,” he reminded her.
    “I don’t have any mistletoe,” she teased, skimming her finger over his lips.
    “That’s not going to stop me,” he said in a voice filled with passion.
    “I didn’t think it would.”
    He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, taking possession of her mouth in that glorious way he’d wanted to do since he first saw her in the snow. He knew a joy in that kiss he’d never thought to experience again. Growing up with four brothers, Jared was never comfortable around girls. He had a sweetheart once, but she didn’t take to being an Army wife and married someone else. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d find a girl like Kristen.
    She melted into him, sighing. He held her closer, kissing her again and again, teasing her until she broke away, laughing.
    “Your beard tickles, Santa,” she said, begging him to stop, but he didn’t let her go.
    Kissing her again and again, his eager lips persuaded her to kiss him back and wrap her arms around his neck. He groaned. He had an angel in his arms. He believed she could make the terrible pain in his brain go away, pull back the curtain that shrouded his mind with blurry thoughts. Words that appeared like ripples in a lake, and then disappeared before he could grab them.
    He pushed that thought aside and savored the taste of her. The magic of kissing creeks and mistletoe came together in that kiss. It turned wild and passionate. Her lips parted, then came a long sigh. His tongue plunged into her mouth and, to his surprise, she gripped him tighter, daring him to deepen the kiss and plunge into the very depths of her soul. Nothing had prepared him for this. Kristen held onto him with such hope, such need he couldn’t let her go. She kissed him with so much emotion, his whole body responded to her, every muscle tightened. God, she was amazing. She didn’t stop. She’d been so long without the feel of a man’s arms around her, he couldn’t blame her for breathing in the bliss of it all.
    She pressed harder against his chest, making him moan. He tugged on the round buttons on her blouse, wanting her. He longed to whisper his desire and have her clothes off, but he had to stop. Come to his senses before he did something they’d both regret.
    He ignored the scrapping sound in his ears, ignored what his instincts told him. He was giddy with the feel of her close to him, her lips on his. He didn’t want to let her go. Must be the old water heater making rumbling noises.
    What else could it be?
    The whistle of the wind pierced right through him yet it sounded different somehow. Like