Debbi Rawlins - What She Really Wants for Christmas

“I’m okay,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Really, I’m okay.”

He didn’t let go of her. It felt good being this close. Close enough to feel her warm breath brush his chin. Close enough to smell the vanilla scent that clung to her hair.

“Evan? You’re kind of hurting my arm.”

“Oh, jeez.” He quickly lowered his hands. “I’m sorry.” He gave her some room. “What happened? Is something wrong with your car?”

“No, no. My car is fine.” She briefly glanced over her shoulder. “Well, other than it looks as if it’s been through a war zone. Can I change my mind about tomorrow night?”

That took him aback. “Sure.”

“Ever been to Simone’s?”

He smiled. No problem. She could choose the restaurant. “No, but I know of it.”

“How about seven?”

“That works for me.”

“Good.” She hesitated, and then took a small step back. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“My pleasure.” Was it his imagination or was she reluctant to leave? “I’ll wait until you start your car.”

She sighed. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

She made a sound of exasperation and came toward him. He was only about five inches taller, but she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down to her mouth.

She hesitated, as if she’d changed her mind. He smelled her fear, and gently coaxed her lips to soften. Then they parted slightly and he readily accepted the invitation, slipping his tongue inside and exploring the tempting fleshy part of the inside of her cheek. She responded briefly. When she pulled back, he didn’t push. That was enough. For now.

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