Page 16 of Christmas With The Tycoon

“Thank you,” I breathe. It’s barely a whisper. His hands don’t move. Neither does he. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts one hand to brush a snowflake from my cheek. I gasp. He freezes.

“Willow,” he says, voice roughened by something he’s trying to fight, “tell me to step back.”

I can’t, so I don't. He waits one second too long and something inside both of us breaks. Graham leans in, slow but unstoppable, his forehead brushing mine for one suspended moment.

Then his mouth meets mine.

The kiss is nothing like I expected. It’s soft but certain, warm but electrifying, a slow melting that steals every thought from my head. The world narrows to the press of his lips, the way he exhales sharply like he’s been starving for this.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, guiding, deepening, claiming me. I don’t even remember reaching for his coat, but suddenly my fingers are curled into the lapels, pulling him closer. We kiss like we’ve been circling this moment for years instead of days.

Snow collects in our hair as the whole town disappears. When he finally pulls back, his breath trembles against my mouth.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper, chest rising and falling too quickly.

“No,” he agrees. “But I’m not sorry.”

I’m drowning. Fully, hopelessly drowning.

“Tomorrow,” he says softly. “Come with me to the lodge. Let me show you the full vision. Just you and me.”

My pulse stutters. “Just us?”

His eyes darken. “Just us.”

I should say no. Instead, I nod. He steps back slowly, eyes lingering on my lips the entire time.

“Eleven a.m.,” he says. “Don’t be late.”

Then he walks away, disappearing into the snow like the storm itself swallowed him. I stand there alone under the lights, breathing hard, heart racing, knowing with painful certainty that kiss wasn’t a mistake. It was the beginning of something I’m not sure I can stop.

Chapter 10

Graham

The sky is low and gray when I arrive at Hearthstone Lodge. Fresh snow coats the parking lot, softening every edge of the landscape. The lodge stands quiet, stoic, its windows like hollow eyes waiting to be filled again. Today feels different. Today I’m waiting for her.

I check my watch. 10:58. My pulse kicks up harder than any boardroom adrenaline ever managed. Then I see her SUV winding up the road.

Willow parks beside me, hesitating for a moment before stepping out. She’s wearing a red scarf and her cheeks are a bit flushed. She looks like she walked straight out of a movie – our movie.

“Morning,” she says softly.

“Morning,” I answer.

We walk toward the lodge side-by-side, boots crunching in sync. Inside, the cold air wraps around us like a bittersweet reminder of yesterday’s heat.

I gesture toward a corridor. “I want to show you something.”

She follows me to the great room. It’s flooded with light even through the dirty windows. The mountains look closer today, as if they came to witness whatever this is between us. I pull a folder from my coat.

“These,” I say, handing it to her, “are the revisions I didn’t send by courier. The ones I wanted to show you in person.”

She flips through them slowly. I watch her face instead of the papers. Her eyes widen slightly.

“You moved the artisan retail indoors?” she says.

“Limited space. Local only. No chains,” I reply. “And the courtyard stays open. Community events. Winter markets. Lights. Music.”