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

deep trouble.
    When had their game turned so serious? He was surprised to find himself under a dimming shop light, its hum and snap competing with the howling wind outside. In his mind he’d been in the shadowy pub with Carrie, claiming her for the Crown.
    She reached for her glasses, but Griffin stopped her with a quick “don’t.” He had a need to see her brown eyes and gold-tipped lashes unmasked. That chocolate morsel at the corner of her kiss-reddened mouth remained intriguing. Her cheeks were flushed, and he could feel her heart race under his palm.
    Griffin couldn’t seem to move his hand away. But he was an English gentleman, wasn’t he? He put the molded cup back up where it belonged and took his hand away from where it didn’t.
    “Tell me what you want us to do,” he repeated, straightening Carrie’s sweater.
    She sat back in her chair and blurred a bit around the edges. “Not until you tell me what you’re apologizing for. Can I—oops, may I have my glasses now?”
    “All right.” He picked up his own frames and put them on. She was in sharp definition now, and he could practically see her raised quills. He who speaks first loses . He counted to sixty, but nothing happened. “It seems we’re at an impasse.” He wasn’t really sorry—how could he be? But it had seemed like the expected thing to say.
    “ I’m not sorry, and I’m the one who should be.” She was angry. No, irritated.
    “Why should you be? I rather thought we were enjoying each other.”
    “Were we? Then what did you mean?”
    Griffin shrugged. “You know how we Brits are. Polite to a fault. There are classic Monty Python sketches to prove it. Of course, the Canadians have us beat. They are the true gentlemen when they’re not playing hockey.” He was stepping in more muck with every sentence.
    Her mouth twisted. “Hockey?”
    “What I mean to say is that if my kiss in any way offended you—if I overstepped my bounds or touched you where I shouldn’t have—and I clearly did and deserve a thorough tongue-lashing—” Oh, God. Worse and worse. He knew just where he’d like Carrie’s tongue to lash and shifted with discomfort in the old beach chair. “Anyway, consider it a pre-emptive apology. I’m bound to do something else any minute now.”
    “That’s what I had in mind,” Carrie muttered.
    “Sorry? I mean, I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
    She fluffed up her already fluffy hair. “You must feel triumphant. I was easy.”
    “Well, you couldn’t help yourself. It was my innate charm that did you in. And clearly your dog likes me.” Griffin felt it safer to stay in character than deal with the real thread of attraction that was between them.
    Carrie Moore wasn’t his type at all. He’d always gone for tall, willowy blue-eyed blondes. Like Alice. England was chock-full of them. All his previous girlfriends could have been his sister.
    Gah. There was something Freudian about that Griffin didn’t want to examine any closer.
    Carrie’s arms were folded over her breasts. He knew now she was not quite as well-endowed as she appeared, but that made no difference to him. She was smallish everywhere, except for her big brown eyes, which were glaring at him. She wasn’t thin, though, but rounded nicely in all the right places. Like a compact little fire hydrant. Sturdy. Dependable.
    He’d never tell her that .
    “Don’t be cross with me, please. It’s Christmas.”
    Except it wasn’t in their fantasy. She was in Lower Topsham for her summer vacation.
    Griffin switched tactics. “Pardon me, I’m confused. That kiss has gone straight to my head like champagne. I say, do you plan on going to the church fete this August?” he asked.
    She pointed a finger at him like a cranky governess. He’d had a few of those—somehow his father never got around to paying them. “Stop.”
    “Sorry? I mean, ‘what’ as you Americans would say.”
    “You don’t need any more practice to charm the pan—um, to