Free The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) by Cathryn Parry

moment.
    “I hope that everything went okay today,” she said, “and that you got all you need from us.”
    He turned, his expression illuminated, and smiled at her, descending two steps lower than her on the stairs. He was at exactly her height now, his eyes level to hers.
    “I did,” he said, staring at her, his gaze not breaking. “Thanks to you, of course.”
    Biting her lip, she looked down. “I’m sorry about some of the comments in there.”
    “There’s no need to apologize.” His voice was gentle. “I understand families.”
    “Yes, you do.” He’d been so good with them, even Lily. She lifted her head, her eyes searching his again.
    His hand touched hers, warm from the dinner table inside. His fingers brushed her knuckles, just once. Kristin was glad she hadn’t put on mittens. She liked the feel of his skin against hers.
    “Kristin,” he said in a low voice.
    She waited, barely daring to breathe, his wool coat rough against her knuckles. She inhaled his unique smell, mixed with the earthiness of the whisky he’d consumed. Involuntarily, she shivered.
    He opened his coat, enveloping her in his warmth. It was a tender, protective response. A stolen moment in an evening that was turning out to be magical.
    Maybe she was a sheltered person...she supposed so. She’d only been away from Vermont for a short time, until life in the city had crushed and overwhelmed her. She’d been back home for years now, in this small town she knew and trusted, with people who—though they may sometimes tease or criticize her—on the whole loved her and cared for her, no matter what.
    Yes, they gave her trouble. Yes, she longed to break free. But in the end, she needed this safety. And by his actions tonight, it was clear to her that George understood that.
    She stepped closer to him, inside the shield of his heavy woolen coat. Tentatively she touched the solid wall of his broad chest, feeling his cotton shirt and the silk of his necktie beneath her fingertips.
    “Is it bad that I don’t want this day to end?” she whispered.
    “No, lass.” His voice was throaty. The gruff...Scottishness of it seeped into her, as if spilled from one of Laura’s potion bottles. “I won’t forget you, Kristin.”
    His eyes held hers. And as she swallowed, he angled his head and leaned toward her.
    And then he kissed her.
    At the first brush of his lips on hers, the heated whisper of his breath against her cheek, she sighed and tilted her head back, wanting to feel all of it—everything about him—so she could remember him.
    He was tender, his lips molded gently over hers, moving with sweetness, as if to remember her fully, too.
    Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she made a little moan.
    He gave her the joy of a long, passionate kiss. Mouth to mouth, honest and solid, because that’s who George was. He was just so damn sexy.
    The car at the end of the drive flashed its lights at them. Once. Twice.
    George cursed softly. He straightened and drew back. The warmth of his coat dropped away from Kristin.
    “I will put in a good word for you at Aura.” Back to formality, his tone sounded tortured. “You can count on that.”
    “I believe you,” she said.
    “I’m sorry I have to go.” He looked toward the car. “Maybe someday I can tempt you away. To Scotland.” His tone was teasing, and the accent was there.
    She smiled at him. Maybe if she were a different person, in a braver place, she would dare to follow him and kiss him again. Prolong their interlude that had felt so sweetly romantic and special.
    But she wasn’t that fearless.
    “Goodbye, George,” she whispered, touching his hand one last time.
    “Kristin?” His voice caught.
    “Yes?”
    “I hope you find your castle.”
    And then he was off, into the winter night, the snow swirling quietly in the lamplight.

CHAPTER FOUR
    D URING THE NEXT six weeks, Kristin heard nothing from George Smith.
    She returned to work the Monday after he left, expecting