Free WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel by JILL STEEPLES

celebrate.’
    ‘Best idea you’ve had in a long time, mate,’ said Zak, laughing.
    I laughed too, although I wasn’t sure the joke reached my insides. My mind was still swimming at the thought of Lexi’s news. We’d always been such a team, she and I. Team B beside the A-team of Mum and Dad. We’d relied on each other so heavily, confided in each other, shared everything together and now this — this mammoth thing had swept down without warning, lodging itself firmly between us.
    I stared into my wine glass looking for answers, feeling outraged that there were tears pricking my eyes. What about me? I couldn’t help thinking.
    Sighing, I turned to look up at Rocco who was observing me thoughtfully. I wondered how long his arm had been stroking my shoulder. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, his finger lightly traced a pattern through my cotton blouse, making me squirm inwardly with pleasure. Those deep probing eyes never left my face, and that’s when I knew. A tingling feeling swept through my veins and I realised that my eyes were smiling too. God, what was the matter with me? My head was all over the place. In that moment, in the noisy pub, I ached with longing and lust for the man sitting next to me.
    That feeling Lexi had mentioned. The one that tells you you’ve found that special person. For the first time in my life I felt it.
    Rocco stood up, his long rounded fingers splayed upon the oak table. Did I recognise something in his eyes too? Something unsaid? I sighed heavily. Could my life really get any worse? I’d just fallen hook, line and sinker for someone totally unattainable. But then I supposed Rocco was used to women falling at his feet. That’s what he did for a living. Chef, restaurateur, celebrity and professional player.
    I’d been so certain that I wouldn’t be one of those adoring zillions. How, I wondered, had he managed to reel me in?

Chapter 8
    ‘God, you look rough! Are you sure you’re okay?’ Rocco asked early one morning, a few weeks into the shooting, as we stood huddled in the grounds of Zak’s country manor at some godforsaken hour.
    No, I’m feeling pretty shitty actually. My head is a complete fog, I have a completely irrational and pathetic crush on you, my boss, my family are all behaving completely bizarrely, I am on the verge of an emotional breakdown and at this precise moment, I would much prefer to be tucked up in my bed. Thank you.
    Of course, I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I smiled as sweetly as was humanly possible in the sub-zero temperatures.
    ‘Fine, thanks. Never better.’ I wrapped my arms around me, slapping myself heartily on the sleeves of my puffa jacket in my best ‘ isn’t this the greatest thing to be outdoors doing outdoorsy things’ impression.
    ‘Hmmm,’ said Rocco, looking unconvinced. He glanced at me through narrowed eyes before walking away and joining Zak at the edge of the water.
    I had to admit the gently swaying brown waters of Zak’s fishing lake did have a hypnotic quality. My gaze followed the patterns of the swirls, my thoughts distracted by Lexi and, more insistently, by Rocco, who was now sitting a few feet away, attending to his fishing line and the relative merits of the various bait sitting at his feet. Zak was sitting alongside him and if you didn’t know that one of them was a renowned master chef and the other a famous rock guitarist, you certainly wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at them, or by listening in to their conversation. Rocco was dressed in tan cords, a red and black checked shirt and a shabby old Barbour coat. He looked every inch the country squire but also incredibly sexy in the process. Zak was dressed in a similar get-up.
    They reminded me of two schoolboys, best mates, oblivious to the cares of the outside world, simply happy in their shared passion for fishing. Quite frankly, I didn’t get it. What exactly was the fascination in sitting on a grassy verge, in the bitter cold,