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“Really?” He exaggerates an exasperated sigh.
I tsk. “No talking.” Rules are rules.
My nervous snicker shifts to a self-conscious inhale when his eyes rake over my body, resting somewhere below the bottom of my sweater.
He points to my pants, and I follow his finger’s path, but nothing registers except the tickle low in my belly. He kneels on the wood floor and gazes up at me, hesitating before reaching for my leg. I’m caught off guard when his finger skims above my knee, then plucks at the spandex. My cheeks burn hot when our eyes meet. I recognize electric heat even through a layer of insulated leggings.
Dating’s taken a backseat to my full schedule. But physical interaction with a man? That’s practically nonexistent these days.
Connor tugs at the fabric again, pulling me from my hypersensitive stupor. He studies my face with hooded eyes. I gulp back the sting of heat flaming in my belly and pull myself together.
It’s a clue. He isn’t touching me in a meaningful way.
“Pants, leggings...plaid!” I blurt out, heat radiating from my cheeks. How silly of me to misinterpret his clue, even if it were for a split second.
Connor’s quick to his feet, plucking at the shoulders of his shirt and to my pants again.
"Shoulders. Shirt. Plaid? Plaid shirt." I'm not good at this game, but I enjoy the uninterrupted view of Connor's athletic physique.
He strokes at a beard that doesn’t exist, then makes a swinging motion at the base of the holiday tree on stage.
"Lumberjack. Mountain man." My years of reading bodice-ripper romance novels pay off.
“Lumberjack.” Connor holds his hand up for a high-five, and I instinctively slap mine to his.
But I miss, and my pinky drags across his. I lose my balance and jolt forward, reaching for anything to steady my balance. Thatanythinghappens to be Connor, a lumberjack in his own right who swiftly catches me in his arms. I smack into his chest and grab his shoulders as his hands slip around my waist in a full-body embrace.
My heart pounds as I catch my breath. I’m not a swooning kind of gal, but the concept’s growing on me. Almost as fast as the needy ache deep in my soul.
***
Connor
I’m quick to catch her as her pillowy breasts mash against my chest. She clutches my shoulders, and I totter before steadying us. My body reacts in a less than gentlemanly fashion. My hands rest above her hips, and I resist the urge to pull her even closer.
“Where’s the mistletoe when you need it?” My heart pounds against my ribcage, thumping my want in Morse code.Can she feel it, hear it echo the same as me?
A sheepish grin spreads across her face, along with a rosy shade of pink. Her kissable, pouty lips tease my senses, though I’m acutely aware of our surroundings. It’s inappropriate to take advantage of her mishap, especially with my manhood on high alert and a crowd of potential gawkers in the wings.
"Mistletoe is justification. No mistletoe is daring." She winks and tips up on her toes to grace my cheek with her soft, puckered lips. She's so quick it's over before I have a chance to react, but daring she is.
She regains her footing and pushes lightly against my shoulders. I loosen my hold on her waist, though I’d rather not let her go.
“I never get high-fives right. I don’t know why I went for it.” She fidgets nervously, stealing glances at the group.
“But I like the way it turned out.” I drag a palm over my jaw as she smooths her hair, clearly flustered.
I study her, still dazed and recovering from her quick peck on the cheek. She’s anxious but let her guard down briefly for one quiet moment. It’s the crowd that makes her nervous.
“I’m not usually this rattled. I’m much better behind the curtain, away from the crowd.”
“You’re a natural at this.” I touch her shoulder reassuringly, and she shudders ever so slightly. I withdraw my hand, not wanting to cause her any discomfort. “Behind the curtain?”
“Done.” A woman from the crowd calls out, interrupting our conversation.
“We win.” A man’s voice rings next.
Ginger blinks quickly, and the quiet moment between us ceases when she turns her attention to the winning couple. I follow suit in time to see the man raise his hand to high-five the woman. She slinks back, uninterested in sharing his enthusiasm with physical interaction.
