Lynnette Kent - Abby's Christmas

“Who cares about smart?” She pressed a deep kiss against the base of his throat, and he felt his knees start to shake.

“You. Me…maybe.” He groaned as her teeth nipped at his collarbone. She could devour him right here, right now, on her dad’s kitchen floor….

Shit. With a growl, Noah jerked his head back, gripped Abby’s shoulders and pushed her away to arm’s length. “Stop it. Just stop.”

She closed her hands around his wrists. Her lips were swollen, probably bruised, her eyelids heavy with desire. “Why?”

“Because your dad could decide to get a glass of water, for God’s sake. Because it would be criminal—” What a word to choose. “It would be ridiculous for this to go any further.”

Abby lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m not pretty enough?”

“What? Where’d that come from?”

“Not sexy enough? Talented enough? What does it take to catch Noah Blake’s interest?” She shook her head. “I wondered all through school what was wrong with me, that you wouldn’t actually ask for a date. I finally decided you just didn’t want to be seen with me in public.”

Noah swore again, dropped his hands from her shoulders and walked to the other side of the room. “Believe me, Abigail, you would have been a lot more miserable—then and now—if I had asked.”

He shut the hall door silently behind him, the front door not quite so gently. Only when he reached his bike did he realize he’d completely forgotten to take the dog with him.

ABBY USUALLY LIKED getting to the diner early on Saturday mornings to enjoy the peace and quiet before the big crowd started arriving around eight. Even in December, folks in New Skye got up early on Saturday to get breakfast before they went shopping, before the golf match or the horse show, before they spent the day decorating the house and yard for Christmas. And Abby usually enjoyed hearing about their plans for the day. This morning, after yet another sleepless night courtesy of Noah Blake, she didn’t want to wait tables, didn’t want to cook or clean up, didn’t want to hear about other people’s lives. She wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the blanket up to her eyebrows and sleep the day away.

Not an option, of course, especially when the rush started almost an hour early.

“If you’re cookin’, you’d better get hoppin’,” her dad ordered as he came into the kitchen. “I got two over medium, bacon, two scrambled, sausage, pancakes and ham, biscuits.”

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