Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) by Elyssa Patrick Maggie Robinson

Topsham?”
    Topsham. That was Alice’s last name. So a whole village was named for her family, and Griffin lived just outside it. Imagine having to drive by a sign with your ex-lover’s name on it every time you came home.
    “I’m . . . on vacation. For the summer. I suppose there’s an Upper Topsham too?” Carrie asked.
    “No, oddly enough, just East Topsham. You Yanks must think us geographically challenged. I love your accent, by the way.” Apparently eyes really could twinkle.
    “ You’re the one with the accent.”
    “I beg to differ. You’re on my home turf. And we started it all, the settling of America. You were ours.”
    Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “I think that was the French and Spanish, depending on the territory. Or maybe even the Vikings.”
    “So why aren’t you parlez-vousing Francais or habla Espanoling ? I’m afraid I don’t know any Viking verbs. No, admit it. You belong to me.” Griffin cupped her cheek with featherweight fingertips, just the barest imprint. Carrie shivered as those fingers moved up to pluck off her glasses. He removed his with his other hand, and they leaned forward over the workbench, just a breath away, staring myopically into each other’s eyes.
    “I’m going to welcome you to England now,” Griffin whispered.
    “O-okay.”
    He was going to kiss her. And then this playacting would be over.
    Damn it.
    One finger traced her cheekbone. Griffin’s touch made her believe she had cheekbones.
    “You’re going to be sorry there was a revolution.”
    “Make me sorry.” Her voice was so husky she sounded like Lauren Bacall with a frog in her throat. Carrie was a sucker for old black and white movies.
    “Oh, you’re going to be so sorry. Depend upon it.”
    She was sorry he wasn’t getting on with it already. She could count his every eyelash at this distance.
    Her lids dropped in invitation. That also helped her from going cross-eyed.
    One . . . two . . . three . . . three and a half.
    Griffin’s lips met hers at last. They were firm. Soft. A host of other adjectives that Carrie couldn’t think of right now. It was true—she had no facility with the English language. His tongue edged into the seam of her mouth and she opened just a little to him. He coaxed her further, and before she knew it he’d angled her face beneath his hands, holding her still so he could have his wicked way with her.
    Ah! She was retrieving some of her vocabulary as she concentrated on the sensations sparking through her body. Griffin’s kiss was like the man—controlled, determined, a bit playful when provoked. Carrie tried to be as provoking as possible and was not disappointed in the result. Her nipples peaked beneath her sweater, and somehow Griffin knew. One hand worked its leisurely way down her jaw to the cotton knit blend on her neck to her curving shoulder where the cable stitches began.
    Lower please.
    Psychic Griffin complied, palming her breast and giving it the gentlest of caresses. Would he detect her bra was padded? Just a little. Would it matter? She was honest to a fault in everything else.
    Too honest. For she wanted to break the kiss and get them away from the faux bar and the folding chairs so they could get horizontal on the blanket.
    She was not usually a “do it on a first date” kind of girl. Of course, this wasn’t exactly a date—she hadn’t had an actual date since July when one of the summer guys took her out on his boat. Carrie had kept her life jacket on the whole time and had been unimpressed as he reefed the sails or whatever you did tacking or jibing. The island had looked pretty from the water but her date had been grabby and entitled and she had kept him at bay. At bay on the bay! Ha.
    There were so many reasons this whole thing with Griffin was unwise, even if he was nothing like that Master of the Universe summer guy. But as long as she pretended she was the young woman in the Cheese and Plunder with her invisible dog, Lord Archer could plunder