Page 42 of Seven Brides for Beau McBride (The McBrides of Montana #3)

She squealed as he dipped her.

“I didn’t kiss Diana,” he told her, once she was upright again. “Or Flora. Or Mabel. Or Nancy. Or Frances. Or Kate.”

The bright dazzle of joy she felt was entirely inappropriate. Ellie pulled away from him. “You should be kissing Diana,” she said stiffly. But then she remembered what Diana had said about kissing him. “Wait. You didn’t kiss them, but did they kiss you ?”

“What did I say about kissing and telling, Ellie?” he teased.

“Well, since Junebug has covered the hotel in mistletoe for tomorrow, you won’t need to tell me soon, I can watch it for myself.” Ellie reached for her shawl.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. You can dance now. You don’t need me.”

“Ah, don’t be like that. I thought you liked dancing with me.”

She did. Too much.

Beau cocked his head. “Fine. How about you help me with my next challenge, then?”

“I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.”

“I need help thinking up some compliments.”

She paused in the middle of wrapping her shawl around herself. “You want me to think up compliments for you?”

“Yeah.” He put his hands in his pockets and regarded her cheerfully. “I thought I’d take your advice and start complimenting people.”

“Well, generally compliments should come from the heart,” she said sourly. Her mind was conjuring up images of Beau showering all the girls at the hotel with praise. “They should also be true. For example, if I were to compliment you tonight, I’d let you know you dance like a drunk trapper.”

His lips twitched. “Right. Okay, let me try.” He gave it some thought. “You dance like a three-legged elk.” He pursed his lips. “Maybe elk isn’t the best choice. They’re quite graceful aren’t they… possibly even with three legs…”

“You dance like a hooked fish,” she shot back immediately.

“You have the dainty hands of a squirrel,” he said tenderly.

“You smell like sap.”

“Your skin is as smooth as a bladderpod blossom.”

“You sing like a mayfly.”

“Your breath is as fresh as mustard greens.”

“You’re as charming as the pox.”

“See, I knew you’d be helpful.” He grinned. “As helpful as a frypan without a handle.”

“You compliment as well as you dance, so my work here is done.” Ellie headed for the back door.

“Wait! I still need help.” He followed her through the kitchen. “Come on, Ellie. You said you were committed to the cause.”

“ Diana’s cause, not yours.” Ellie opened the back door and stepped outside onto the porch.

It was so cold she almost forgot to breathe.

The air smelled like the last gasp of fall, wet earth and sodden fallen leaves, with the cool breath of pine soughing through it.

The wind was moaning low and intimately at the eaves.

“This will help Diana,” he assured her, slipping in front of her and blocking her way. “And I know how helpful you are. Like a woodpecker in a lumber yard.”

“That compliment doesn’t even make sense.” Her breath formed a white plume as she spoke.

“What can I say, I learned from the best.” He tugged on her braid, which hung in a single fat plait over her shoulder.

It was infuriating how charming he was when he was being an ass. Even though it was dark on the porch, and she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was smiling.

“What?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

He was still playing with her braid. She felt vibrations every time he twitched it. He leaned close. “I haven’t kissed any of them, Ellie. And they haven’t kissed me.”

Oh, that stupid bright joy again. She wished she could stomp it out. It was making her life an unholy misery. She had to stop this.

He wound her braid around his hand. “I need to practice, though,” he said softly.

She flinched. “Practice what?” But she knew.

“Kissing.” He kept winding, reeling her in closer.

Her chest felt strange. Like it was full of storm clouds.

“Imagine it’s tomorrow,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “And we’re at the dance.”

“You don’t need my help with kissing, you’re fine,” she interrupted. Her heart was falling over itself.

“But I do. I need your help badly. I only know one kind of kissing and it ain’t appropriate for company.” He’d reeled her in so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “I need your kind of kissing more than my kind,” he told her. “You know, polite kissing.”

“ Polite kissing?” Well, that was offensive.

“The kind you can do in public, under mistletoe. Because you’re right, my sister has laid traps all over that hotel and kissing will be inevitable.”

“You thought my kiss was polite?” She was still caught on that. “Odd. I was under the impression you thought it was hilarious.”

“Polite ain’t a bad thing. And neither is hilarity.”

“It is when it comes to kissing,” she said stiffly.

“Hush.” He put his finger against her lips.

His skin was cold against her mouth. “Imagine the Christmas dance is in full swing,” he said, his breath clouding, “and we’re dressed up and looking fine.

Jonah’s fiddling up a storm and the windows are steamed up from all the dancing.

As the reel ends and we spin to a halt, we look up—”

“Who’s the we in this situation?” she demanded.

“Would you like me to say Diana and me?”

“Will it be Diana and you?”

“For the sake of this imagining, sure.”

Ellie scowled at him. Maybe she’d go take all that mistletoe down tonight while everyone was in bed.

“So, there we are, under the mistletoe, surrounded by people. This ain’t the time for the type of kiss that leads to a woman wrapping her legs around you. Not with an audience like that.” He took his finger away from her mouth, caressing her cheek as he lowered his hand.

Ellie felt like someone had set her on fire. In a blazing instant she was back in that cabin, pressed up against the wall, her legs wrapped around Beau, his mouth on hers, his tongue slipping in.

“This seems like the time for a different kind of kiss.” He was so close his lips were whispering against hers as he spoke. “A more polite kind of kiss.”

“I’m not sure talking into her mouth counts as a kiss.”

She felt him smile against her.

He pulled back. “Show me how I should do it, then?”

She should walk away right now.

Right. Now.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her body refused to move.

“Do I touch her before I kiss her?” Beau prodded softly.

“No. Not for a polite kiss.”

“So I keep my hands to myself?”

“Yes.” No. In her imagination the scene flared to life.

The two of them standing in a shimmering pool of candlelight, hypnotized by the mistletoe dangling above them, the white berries glowing against the dark leaves.

In her imagination he took her face between his hands, the way he had in the cabin.

And within less than a heartbeat she had her legs wrapped around him…

“Ellie, you’ve gone away again.” Beau sounded amused.

“I haven’t. I’m right here.” Mentally, she pried her imaginary legs off his imaginary waist. Ellie cleared her throat. “We’re in the middle of the room, in bright light, surrounded by people.”

“That’s right.”

“I suppose you should lean in—politely.” She demonstrated. “And then she’ll probably lean in too.”

“Like this?” He leaned.

“Can you do it more politely?”

He laughed softly. “Should I say ‘please’?”

“Absolutely.”

“Please, may I kiss you now?”

“Hold on,” she sighed. “I’ve lost track, am I you in this scenario, or are you you?”

“I’m definitely me.”

“Okay. Then yes you may kiss me.”

“Wait, but you’re supposed to be showing me?”

“Then I’m you?”

“Will you just shut up and kiss me? Please.”

Ellie did. But only because he’d asked politely.

It was unlike either of their previous kisses, a slow unfolding that immediately fogged Ellie’s senses.

The moment her lips touched his, she turned to liquid.

It was gentle, languid, tender—and hot as hell.

The night was cold, but his mouth was searing.

Ellie moaned and threaded her hands into his tumbled curls, pulling him as close as she possibly could.

He moaned back, and then his tongue was in her mouth and his hands were at her waist, then slipping up her ribcage.

She writhed, wishing she could get even closer.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He disentangled himself, breathing heavily. “This is getting increasingly impolite.”

Ellie nodded. Yes. Yes, it was. “Shall we try again?”

“Please,” he breathed.

“Maybe put your hands behind your back?”

“Wise.” He did as he was told.

This time when she kissed him it took at least two minutes before he had his hands on her. Maybe, she thought thickly, if they practiced enough they could get it up to four minutes…

“None of this seems suitable for a public parlor,” Beau mumbled eventually.

“No. You’re not a very good student.” Ellie’s skin was tingling from his stubble and her mouth felt swollen.

“I never was,” he said ruefully.

“I think when you kiss someone tomorrow you should keep your lips clamped shut. And your hands in your pockets.”

“Right.” Obediently, he slid his hands in his pockets.

Ellie bit her lip.

“I think when you kiss someone tomorrow you shouldn’t thread your hands through his hair. Or bite your lip like that,” he moaned.

“I won’t be kissing anyone,” she said primly.

“That’s a crying shame.”

Ellie shook her head. “This is wrong.” She tried to get herself neatened up. Somehow her shawl was in disarray and some of her buttons had come undone. “I’ve been terrible. Awful.”

“Trust me, you haven’t. You’ve been marvelous.”

“Stop it. You’re marrying my best friend.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. And this isn’t happening.” Now that she’d pried herself out of his embrace, Ellie felt the cold night air sharply. She shivered. “Goodnight, Mr. McBride.”

“Mister? Since when am I not Beau?” he called after her as she headed down the porch steps and back towards the hotel. “Make sure you don’t get caught on that fence again.” He gave a husky laugh. “Or on second thought, do. Then I can come and rescue you.”

Ellie’s imagination took flight. His hands sliding under her skirts to free her from the fence, brushing against…

Oh God. She was doomed.

Faintly she heard him laugh as she careened back to the hotel.

“Goodnight,” he called. “Sweet dreams.”

But she knew her dreams would be anything but sweet.