Page 32 of Mistletoe Mischief

Death was too good for her cousin. Maiming would be better.

“Sure, I’d be happy to help your assistant,” Pike said pleasantly.

“Wunderbar. Is there somewhere I can sit and wait, maybe get a cup of hot cocoa?” Alia asked.

Pike pointed inside the tent to the pregnant blonde. “Just let my friend Merry know who you are and that I sent you. She’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you. Ta-ta, you two.”

Torture. Maim. Kill. In that order.

“I take it she knows something happened?” Pike’s tone was frosty to say the least, and Ryler glared at him.

“Don’t worry, if she thinks you’re hot, kissing me won’t cockblock you.”

“That is not what I care about—”

“Whatever,” Ryler said, stomping toward the first row of trees.

She’d made it five steps when he caught up to her and muttered, “Anyone ever called you a brat before?”

“Not since I was five.”

“Then you’re long overdue.”

Ryler snorted.

“What I was trying to say is that I don’t want to sleep with your boss.”

“Really?” Ryler spun around, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t find her attractive?”

Pike spluttered. “That’s—I didn’t say that!”

Ryler hiked her eyebrows. “So, you do find her attractive?”

“This is a trap,” Pike muttered.

Ryler snickered. “There’s no trap. You think Alia is attractive. You’re a heterosexual male, so that’s a given. Therefore, you don’t need to deny wanting to sleep with her.”

Pike threw up his hands, saw and all. “I can find someone attractive and not want to have sex with them.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Pike’s voice rose an octave, and she imagined he was ready to tear his hair out.

“I accept what you’re saying. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Pike stormed past her, cursing under his breath. “Exasperating woman.”

Ryler smiled behind Pike’s back. For some reason, annoying the man was almost as fun as kissing him.

Chapter Nine

Pike walked ahead of Ryler, trying to rein in his temper. Whether she was deliberately messing with him about lusting after her boss or seriously believing he was trying to get into both their pants, he was tired of explaining his position. He just wanted to take them around Mistletoe and show them why the area was so special and worth exploring. Was that too much to ask?

The fact that Alia hadn’t wanted to accompany them to find a tree was a bit disheartening, especially since at the top of the hill past the trees there was a great view of Mistletoe Peak.

“So, what type of tree do you want?” he asked, motioning with his saw at the rows of Douglas firs and noble firs. “Tall and skinny? Full?”