She’s gorgeous.
She could be covered in slime and would still be objectively hot. Any dummy with eyes could see that. But she’s so much more than a pretty face and great legs. She’s sharp and quick-witted, and she cares about people with her whole heart.
And somehow, I’m one of those people.
Me.
I’m crazy about her. This woman who sees through me like glass and who laughs with me in spite of herself. This woman who would risk upsetting our boss, her dad, her brothers …
She angles her head up at me and her eyes flutter closed as she rises to her tiptoes.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Mistletoe.”
I glance up.
“There’s no mistlet?—”
Her lips land on my jaw, soft yet tantalizingly firm. My eyes start to close of their own accord, but something in the back of my head tries to force them back open.
Why is something in the back of my head trying to force my eyes open? I’m with a gorgeous, spunky girl I’m insanely into, and we’re about to make out. This is all green lights.
Her kisses trail up my jawline, and as much as I try to think, I can’t. Not with her warm breath against my skin, not with thoselips. Her kisses get closer to my mouth. Man, I really want Liesel’s mouth on my mouth. When her bottom lip flapsagainst my own, my brain turns to mush and instinct—pure, unadulterated instinct—takes over. I put my mouth on hers and kiss her with a dizzying intensity.
Her splayed hands tug my hair between each finger, and that sends a wave of sensation from the tip of my head down my ears and cheeks and right to my mouth, where it meets hers.
This kiss.
How did I try to fight this?
Why?
No, seriously, why.
I hear a creak, and in a flash, my brain restores itself and I jump back with a hiss, almost tripping over the coffee table. “Devil woman!”
Shock drops her jaw. “What?”
“Are youtryingto get me killed?” I whisper. “Get thee hence, Temptress!”
Her eyes pop. “Excuse me?”
“I will not kiss you in your dad’s house!”
“Stop!” She giggles. “It’s not like you’ve pressed me up against the counter in the middle of the kitchen.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, giving me a sly look, and if there’s anything I can’t resist, it’s this buttoned up woman wearing mischief as confidently as she wears my jersey. “Besides, you know you want to.”
“Of course I want to.” I cross my fingers at her like she’s a vampire. “But I also want to breathe. And, you know, survive Christmas.”
She swipes playfully at my hands, giving a breathy laugh. Then she takes a saucy step toward me. “Coop-er.”
“No!” I back up, and this time, I fall onto the couch.
She sits on my lap.
“Liesel Bratty Brat Fischer. No.”
I pick her up and remove her from my lap, and she pouts.
