CAN'T MISS CHRISTMAS_A NOVELLA by Miranda Liasson

Author:Miranda Liasson [Liasson, Miranda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Miranda Liasson, LLC
Published: 2017-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 4

Christmas Eve

Grace awakened to a crack of light peeking through strange curtains and the sensation of finally being warm in a cozy, wonderful way. As consciousness dawned, she stretched, bumping into a leg—a leg!—that was definitely not her own. Another tentative stretch told her the situation was far worse. An entire male body appeared to be wrapped around her. His deep, regular breathing assured her he was asleep.

Her every muscle froze in place. The large, masculine arm draped casually over her told her Graham had survived the night. And the very male part pressing into her back let her know he was definitely neurologically intact. A big bicep half covered by a gray T-shirt sleeve encased her solidly. Her gaze trailed from his arm down to his big, beautiful hand, his long, slender fingers resting on the comforter in front of her. Oh dear God, he was wrapped around her like a hot pretzel. For just a moment, she lay still, encased in his strength, breathing in his familiar scent.

Waking up wrapped around each other like this used to be habit. He still stirred her, now and always, in ways no other man ever would. Being near him was to be on fire, and that hadn’t changed at all. Underneath the flames, she recognized something even more disturbing—a sense that everything was right in her world, although the only thing that had changed was him suddenly being in it.

The big muscles flexed. The arm pulled away, and the masculine weight shifted. Grace quickly shut her eyes and pretended to sleep.

The bed lightened as Graham rose to use the bathroom. She heard the muffled sounds of running water, a soft voice talking on the phone. What would today bring? They were stuck in a small town without a car after a major winter storm. It was Christmas Eve.

She didn’t want this bubble to end. Being with him was like being covered by a soft blanket, or wearing a comfy pair of jeans—unlike anything she’d felt before, except with him.

She was rummaging through her suitcase when the bathroom door opened and Graham walked out, hair damp, smelling like heaven. He wore jeans and nothing else, which made her stomach plunge down to the floor and her cheeks blaze. She tried to avert her eyes, look anywhere but at the hills and valleys of muscle, the light coating of dark hair, the way his jeans hung low on his lean hips.

Somehow, she managed to pass him and get in the bathroom, where she used the time to try to calm the hell down. If she didn’t come up with an excuse to leave this room, something combustible was going to happen between them. She had to get out while she still had all her wits about her.

When she’d finally got her breathing under control, she left the bathroom, walked toward her suitcase, and stubbed her toe on the bed.

She let out a curse and hopped around a little, imagining what she must look like with her bedhead hair, red plaid flannel, and Christmas socks.

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