Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

in the meantime.

      Isabella frowned, staring at him in the semi-darkness, and poked his arm, hoping it would irritate him enough that he’d roll over and free some of the covers. She quickly drew her hand back, waiting to see if she’d disturbed his sleep. But he didn’t budge and, once again, the sound of his heavy breathing met her ears.

      If he could sleep through the poking, then surely he’d not wake up if she moved closer to share the warmth of the covers. Easing closer, she snuggled against him and pulled the blankets over her shoulder.

      Before she could made sense of what was happening, he’d rolled on to his back and she found herself resting halfway across his chest, encircled within his arm. Pushing against his chest gained her nothing except a tighter embrace.

      ‘Let me go.’

      He groaned softly and draped his other arm across his body so his hand rested on her hip. ‘You poked and prodded, tried to jerk the covers from me before seeking warmth. I am tired and obviously you were cold.’ He patted her hip. ‘Now, you aren’t, but I am still tired.’

      ‘I thought you were asleep.’

      ‘I was.’

      His voice was rough with sleep and his embrace was warm without being threatening. Yet her heart raced as if she’d been running in fear of losing her life. ‘If you were asleep, how do you know what I did?’ She was amazed at the breathlessness of her voice.

      ‘Hmmm?’

      She parted her lips to repeat her question, but closed them before doing so. Why risk waking him up all the way? Right now she was warm and while her body tingled wherever it touched his and hummed with curiosity, and unexpected anticipation, she too could easily fall asleep.

      She snuggled closer against him, until his hand tightened on her hip, making breathing harder still. ‘Please, stop.’

      It sounded as if he’d spoken through clenched teeth and, unwilling to risk awakening him further, she closed her eyes.