Mistletoe and Holly by Janet Dailey

Author:Janet Dailey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 1982-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

8

THE RUMBLE OF the snowplow wakened Leslie to the muted light behind the drapes drawn across the windows. She blinked sleepily in the semidarkness and tried to move, but she was sandwiched between two warm bodies.

Holly was curled tightly up against her, sleeping in the crook of her arm while Tagg’s hugging length pressed itself to her other side. He was turned on his side, toward her with one leg lying across hers and a hand rested familiarly on her breast. His dark head was very close to hers on the pillow, his warm breath stirring the hair near her ear.

It was impossible to move without waking one or both of them, so Leslie subsided, resigning herself to the discomfort of the hard floor a little longer. She breathed in the air’s chill and glanced sideways at the fireplace. The logs had burned down to chunks of white ash, the fire appearing to be out. But it was warm and cozy under the layers of blankets.

The hand on her breast moved, his fingers flexing and feeling in an intimately caressing manner. Leslie shifted slightly on the pillow trying to see if Tagg was awake. Her arm was pinned to her side by the pressing length of his body, so solid and warm. Thick and spiky male lashes lay together, leading Leslie to believe he still slept.

Then Tagg stirred, snuggling deeper into the pillow while his hand spread possessively over her breast. “What a wonderful way to wake up in the morning,” he murmured without opening his eyes. “This is how it’s supposed to be.”

The lazy contentment in his voice sent a warm feeling of pleasure stealing through her. Leslie turned her head a little more in his direction, the corners of her mouth curving up. Through the screening veil of her lashes, she studied the easy strength in his masculine features, the shadowy growth of a night’s beard on the teak brown skin stretched from cheekbone to jaw, and the attractive grooves that gentled his mouth. His eyes slowly opened, their dark centers ringed by a pale blue.

“I think the fire went out,” Leslie whispered.

There was a lazy twitch of his mouth in amusement. “Do you want to bet on it?” Tagg murmured, putting another meaning into her words.

Her pulse gave a little leap of anticipation as he moved, without apparent effort, to lean slightly over her and lower his mouth onto her lips, moving over them in a mobile fashion.

It was a persuasive and pervasive kiss, warm with the fire of latent passion that started a curling heat spreading through Leslie. Even the faint scrape of the stubble on his chin seemed to be pleasantly rough, like the dry lick of a cat’s tongue.

Tagg broke off the kiss with a degree of suddenness and turned his head to glance at his daughter nestled against Leslie’s side. “You are supposed to be asleep,” he accused with mock gruffness.

“I was pretending.” Her voice bubbled with contained laughter. “I heard you and Leslie whispering and it woke me up.

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