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She nods. “It’s the Christmas law. I heard about it on the internet and you know that everything you read there is true.”
“I would hate the break the Christmas law.”
Harlow’s brown eyes sparkle as if I just gave her the best present in the world. “Really?”
“Under one condition …”
“Name it.”
She agreed to that way too quickly. My mind wanders a bit before I remember what I wanted to say. “We don’t mention your shitty ex one more time tonight.”
She extends her hand, and I take it. “You got yourself a deal.”
We enter the apartment, tree still standing in the corner, thank God, and get to work. Harlow puts some cheesy Hallmark movie on the television and then brings in a mug of hot chocolate. “Here, it’s also law that we have to drink this.”
“This is a law I don’t mind.” I have a feeling her laws are only going to get more numerous as the night wears on, but I have a few laws I hope to enact as well. I’m such a dick. I have to stop my mind from going down this road each time she looks at me.
But she’s so damn cute. When we got back, she put on a pair of way-too-fucking-short shorts, a tank top (as if it’s not ten degrees and snowing right now), and tortoise shell glasses. She’s got that hot-for-teacher vibe going on right now and I’m dying.
I take a sip and it’s hot, but it’s not hot chocolate. “What the hell is in this?” I ask.
“Whipped Vodka, you don’t need the whip cream when you have it in alcohol flavor.”
“You know, drinking and tree trimming is probably a bad idea.”
She smiles. “Are you worried that you’ll get into trouble, Michael?”
“I’m worried you’re what’s going to be trouble.”
“Well, I’ve been on the nice list for a long time and it’s gotten me here … maybe trouble isn’t so bad.” Harlow bites her lower lip before bringing the mug up to her mouth. She takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim and my cock goes hard.
“Are you flirting with me?”
She sets the mug aside and sidles closer. “Maybe.”
“I think you are and I think you want me to kiss you,” I challenge her. I love when a woman is assertive and it’s clear that Harlow is testing her boundaries. She’s about to find out that there are some games I won’t lose. Enjoying the surprised—and pleased—look on her face, I place my mug on the coffee table next to hers.
“And what if I do?” she teases.
I raise my gaze upward, and feel a sly grin form on my lips because right above her head is mistletoe. While I don’t need the excuse, I’m happy to use it to my benefit. “Well, sweetheart, look up.”
“Huh?” Harlow tilts her head back and I take that opportunity to grab her and pull her to my chest.
She lets out a squeak in surprise and her hands grip my arms. “What does the law say about mistletoe?” I ask.
Her tongue darts across her lips, and I don’t wait for her reply, taking that as invitation enough, and I kiss her. She tastes of chocolate, vodka, and sweetness. I’ve never been so attracted to a woman this quickly, but Harlow is like a siren song, one I want to answer.
At first, the kiss is slow and tentative, but then she moans and all of that shatters. Her lips part and I delve into the heat of her mouth. She kisses me back just as rough. I love when a woman doesn’t hold back. Her hands drift up to my neck, holding me to her.
I slide my palms beneath her tank and up her bare back. Her skin is soft and warm and—
CRASH!
Harlow squeals and we jump apart as the tree hits the floor.
“Damn that tree,” she says breathlessly. “It’s evil and it hates me.”
I have to laugh at her indignant face. “It’s just a tree. How could it be evil?”
