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       ‘Where did it come from?’ she asked. ‘Do you know? The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe, that is.’

      Kissing …

      Adam stared down at Emma. At the back of her head, where the light was creating those copper glints in her curls. He took a mouthful of his whisky.

      ‘It’s very old,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard that it got hung somewhere and the young men had the privilege of kissing the girls underneath it, but every time they did they had to pick one of the berries, and when the berries had all been picked the privilege ceased.’

      Emma held up the half-finished wreath with its clusters of waxy white berries. ‘It’s got a lot of them,’ she said, tilting her head to smile up at Adam.

      That did it. The magic was too strong to resist. Adam put his glass down and then reached out and plucked one of the tiny berries from the wreath.

      Emma’s eyes widened. ‘You can’t do that,’ she objected. ‘You haven’t kissed a girl.’

      Adam didn’t say anything. He just leaned down until there was no mistaking his intention.

      And Emma didn’t turn her face away. If anything, she tilted her chin so that her lips parted, and for a heartbeat—and then two—she held his gaze.

      There was surprise in those blue eyes. She hadn’t expected this. But, then, neither had Adam. And she could feel the magic, too—he was sure of that, because there was a kind of wonder in her eyes as well.

      Joy was always lurking there, he suspected, but this was an invitation to share it. An invitation no man could resist.

      The moment his lips touched Emma’s the tiny white berry fell from his fingers and rolled somewhere under the table. Adam wasn’t aware of dropping it. He was aware of nothing but the softness of Emma’s lips and the silky feel of her curls as he cupped her head in his hand. And then he was aware of a desire for more than this kiss. A fierce shaft of desire that came from nowhere and with more force than he’d ever felt in his life.

       Dear Reader

      Many years ago, I lived in Scotland for two years. I loved getting out of Glasgow and into the country villages.

      The gorgeous countryside is not unlike my home of New Zealand, but we don’t have the magic of the cobbled streets and ancient cottages.

      Christmas here is in summer, of course, but I remember the winters in Scotland very well—when the cold and dark days made the lights brighter and the warmth of home so alluring.

      What better setting for a Christmas story? Romance has a magic of its own, and so does Christmas. Mixing them together is a recipe for something special. I do hope you enjoy Adam and Emma’s story as much as I loved writing it.

      Merry Christmas!

      With love

      Alison xxx

      ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, and has written over sixty Mills & Boon^® Medical Romances™.

      As a qualified paramedic, she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending.

      When Alison is not writing, you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework, and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.

      A Little Christmas Magic

      Alison Roberts

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Dedication

      For Becky—who will always be with me for Christmas,

      no matter where she is. With all my love.

      Table of Contents

       Cover

      Praise for Alison Roberts

       Excerpt

      Dear Reader

       About the Author

       Title Page

      Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       EPILOGUE

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      WHAT EMMA SINCLAIR needed right now was a magic wand.

      One that she could wave over the calendar on her wall and simply make the month of December vanish.

      Turn it into January and the start of a new year. A new life.

      Or not.

      Maybe she could use the wand not to wish time away but to freeze it. To make it always early December, with her feeling so well she could imagine the last few years had been nothing more than a very bad dream.

      It was getting a little stuffy in

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