Olivia slid down in front of him and did as he instructed. They tacked the pretty greenery all around the widow. She held her breath as he leaned in again to tack the last corner. Was it her imagination, or had he taken a large inhale before stepping back? Had he smelled her hair? Olivia swiveled to face him, staring up into his tawny eyes. His pupils were large, and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a long breath.
“Is that all?” she asked. Her voice came out too high-pitched and Olivia tore her gaze from his. “I have things to do.”
Max strode back a few feet to assess the window. After a moment, he added some greenery to the display ledge right in front. Examining the window once more, Max let out a long “hmmmm,” then turned and plucked some holly from the pile on the desk and inserted here and there into the garland.
“It looks quite nice,” Olivia admitted.
“Perhaps some books to display in the window? What sort of book would people give as gifts?”
Olivia thought about the travel guide she had plucked from the shelf. “I’ve got some ideas.” She headed back to the travel section to peruse the titles. She heard more hammering from behind her as she collected the titles she wanted. Perhaps a few novels as well. That’s what she liked to read best. Setting her books on the table, she moved to the fiction section. Ahhh, Mrs. Radcliffe. Perfect. Who wouldn’t want to sit by the fire and read a good mystery?
After carefully choosing three more mystery titles, Olivia gathered all seven books and returned to the front of the shop. She stopped short. The space smelled amazing; the sweet fresh scent of balsam boughs scented the air. Max had tacked up little bouquets of holly at the top of each section of shelves and placed more greenery, dotted with bright red berries, along the front of the desk. It was lovely and Christmas-y. Unexpected tears pressed against the back of her eyes. But these were not sad tears, rather they were happy tears. She had missed this, the simple pleasure of a room beautifully decorated for the holidays. It didn’t hurt her heart, but rather, it buoyed it.
She brought the books to the display window and set each one up with covers facing out the window. Max picked up a travel guide to Italy and flipped through the pages, stopping to admire the drawings. Olivia glanced over at him.
“I thought perhaps with all this cold weather people might like to escape to a warmer climate and dream about the warm Mediterranean Sea.”
“Good choice. I know I will be thinking about my little flat in Venice. The balcony looked out onto the sea. I would stand outside and let the warm salty breeze cleanse my soul.” Max flushed. She wondered if he’d meant to say something so personal.
“What trouble did your soul get into while you lived in Italy?” She arched an eyebrow.
The red flush deepened. “Nothing. Nothing I would tell a lady anyway.” He turned to set his book into the display.
“Will you miss your job? Now that you are living back in England?”
“No. Definitely not.” He shook his head. “I enjoyed the hunt for missing pieces, but I did not enjoy the people I worked for or the means to which we had to go to obtain some of the paintings.”
Olivia frowned. He was so cryptic about his work. She placed another book into the display. “Where else have you traveled? Tell me about somewhere warm.”
Max smiled and leaned back against the desk. “I spent a year in Egypt. It’s warm there all year-round. The desert sands are beautiful but deadly. Also, there are far too many French living there. Now India is much nicer. In the south, the weather is warm, and the local people warmer. I met many friends in the two years I lived there.”
“Where is your favorite place that you have visited?”
He pursed his lips. “I suppose I would have to say Italy, but not Venice, farther south on the other side of the peninsula is a town where the houses are built right into the mountainside. Everyone can look out their windows and have a view of the deep blue sea.”
“It sounds beautiful.” Olivia pondered his descriptions. Perhaps she should travel to the continent. She would like to see a bit of the world. Maybe she could convince Sophia to be her traveling companion.
Max straightened. He reached out and brushed a finger down her cheek. “I wish we could have traveled there together. We would have explored the small winding streets, eaten olives and cheese and sweet figs. In the evenings, I would have held you in my arms on the terrace of our house and kissed each freckle that you gained from the hot Mediterranean sun. We would have been happy, I think.”
Olivia’s imagination ran wild with his description. Max leaned closer, and his head dipped, his gaze locked on her mouth. Her blood pulsed with the need for his kiss, for his fantasy. But an old scar ached in her chest. She stepped backward. “Instead, you left me behind.”
“I asked you to go with me.” His gaze swung up to meet hers, his eyes soft, filled with regret. “But things are different now. We are different.” He reached out to cup her face.
Olivia shook her head. She moved away from him. She couldn’t risk believing his sweet promises again. Her heart was too bruised. Oh, but she wanted to take a risk, to let him fold her into his arms and sweep her sensible thoughts away with a brush of his lips.Foolish, she was so foolish.She slapped her hand against the dark wood trim of the archway where she stood in the opening between the two rooms. “You never wrote.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “You left me behind when I needed you.”
Max’s expression hardened; his jaw clenched. “We are going to talk about that false statement sometime soon.” He prowled toward her, closing the distance between them. “But not now. Right now, I am going to kiss you under the mistletoe.”
Olivia glanced up. Above them a ball of mistletoe and holly hung by a cheerful red ribbon.
His hand cupped the side of her face, and this time she didn’t move away, ensnared by the heat burning in his eyes. “We shouldn’t,” she murmured. But the protest was weak, and she couldn’t seem to muster any conviction behind her words. Instead, her traitorous hands came up to rest on his chest. His heartbeat was strong, his breathing fast and shallow.
Max’s arm slid around her waist to pull her flush against him, erasing the space between them. His mouth possessed hers with hot, hungry lips. Olivia gasped at his passionate onslaught and Max’s tongue dove between her parted lips. She melted, allowing his lips and tongue to tease, letting him stoke the flames of desire low in her belly into a wildfire. Max nipped at her lower lip, and one hand slid up to grasp the back of her neck. He tilted her head to pepper kisses across her cheek.
“Dear Lord, Livvy, you taste so sweet, even better than I remembered,” he murmured into her ear. Then he took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked slowly.
A moan escaped her lips. His kisses, his words, the heat from his body radiating against her all stirred her desire into a frenzy. This was what she craved; this is what passion should feel like.
Max pulled back; his fingers gently kneaded the back of her neck. “Livvy, this, what’s between us, has for me never changed. Perhaps we could begin fresh?” He bent and pressed another kiss against her lips. Soft and oh so tempting. “Just think about it.”