“Nope, not happening,” she says, tugging off my flannel shirt. I catch another glimpse of that red lace bra before she covers it with a Caribou Creek Brewery hoodie. My dick twitches again, the fucker.
“What do you mean?”
“If you want to undo all this and hurt Mandi’s feelings, be my guest. But I want no part in crushing her too-big, Christmasy heart.”
“You can’t just leave all this here,” I protest.
“Oh, I can,” she says, slipping on a thick, puffy coat and zipping it up as she rushes toward the front door. “I work for her, not you.”
“Harley, wait.”
She stops and turns so quickly I nearly plow into her. I catch my palms on either side of the doorjamb, and I’m instantly struck by her flowery, cinnamon scent. One that’s no doubt wrapped up in my favorite blanket.
“There’s nothing you can say to convince me to undo this,” she says when I fail to speak up, her hand firmly on the doorknob. Her gaze quickly flicks to my lips, then away again. “Or do.”
The temptation to press her up against the door and devour that pretty mouth is alarmingly strong. I’ve fantasized about it enough times. Would flavor would I taste? Hot cocoa andpeppermint, perhaps? Or is she more of an eggnog and bourbon kind of woman?
“See you at breakfast tomorrow,” she says, twisting the doorknob and spilling out onto the snow-covered porch before I can do anything as reckless as follow through with that fantasy kiss.
“Tell Mandi I’ll be getting even with her for this,” I call after her, forcing myself to wait in the open doorway despite the urge to help her clear the snow from her Jeep.
“Tell her yourself,” she says, pulling open her door. “I’m no longer in the middle.”
She pulls her door shut, the powdery snow on the driver’s side of her vehicle falling in a quick whoosh. But when she cranks the ignition, nothing happens.
Fuck.
She didn’t plug in her vehicle, and now the battery is frozen.
Harley Greer isn’t going anywhere.
Chapter 3
Harley
“Doyou think I purposely left my Jeep unplugged so I’d be stuck at the scene of the crime?” I say to a very grumpy Tripp as I close the door behind me and kick off my snow-covered boots.
“You did break into my cabin?—”
“Mandi gave me a key.”
“—you vandalized by property?—”
“I may not be Martha Stewart, but it’s notthatbad.”
“—and you passed out on my couch like you had nowhere to be.”
I shrug out of my coat for a second time and make myself at home on the sectional, grabbing the plaid pattern blanket I used for my nap. Because what else do I have but time until my battery is warm enough for my Jeep to start? I try not to panic about how little time I’ll have to get ready for tonight.
“I passed out after wrestling a seven-foot Christmas tree into place because Mandi insisted it had to be in front of the window—afterI’d already decorated it in the corner. I was taking a short break. You weren’t supposed to be back until this evening. What happened anyway?”
“Storm’s rolling in. Cut the hunt short.”
“A storm?”
“Christmas Eve blizzard. By tomorrow morning, we’ll have another foot of snow. Don’t you pay attention to the weather?”
“I’ve been a little busy doing your sister’s bidding,” I grumble.
