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I brush my thumb over that tiny scar. The one they always airbrush away. “You still owe me a mistletoe kiss.” Yesterday, earlier today…two kisses, technically. That blissed-out feeling has loosened my tongue. “I bet I taste good on you.” I want to taste him too—the erection straining against his jeans has to be painful. Watching those gray eyes when I take him in my mouth…thatis going to be fun.
In a blink, his hand cups the back of my head, his lips surprisingly soft against mine as his tongue demands admittance, sliding slowly over my lips. I don’t hesitate to let him in, my arousal sparking anew. I fist the front of his shirt, pulling him tight against me, the shock of his jeans against my over-sensitive clit making me gasp into his mouth.
It changes everything.
Nic jerks away but my grip is tight and I fall forward. He pushes me back, but the ache in my body over the loss of contact sends me tumbling on the inside.
He takes a deep, ragged breath and draws himself up, adjusting his pants. His face shifts from unrestrained hunger back into cold reserve, dousing the heat between my legs, and without a word he slips out of the room.
I slide down from the dryer, my orgasm-fogged brain trying to figure out what the hell just happened and coming up blank.
Well, not completely blank. “Asshole,” I mutter after him, bending to pick up my panties.
Chapter six
Jessie
Ittakesmehalfan hour to get my shit together. To give up on ever getting the stains out of my clothes. To pick up all the damned Ping-Pong balls. To sneak upstairs and change into leggings and an oversized sweater big enough to hide in.
To go from sated to shame to rage.
I want to strangle Nic with my mistletoe panties.
The nerve of that asshole, working me up only to send me reeling. And over what? A kiss?
It’s fine. I’ll avoid him. For two whole goddamned weeks in the same house. Can’t get arrested for murder if our paths don’t cross. Since it’s Cookie Day, Nic should be in the kitchen with my mom, so I veer into the great room and—
Nic’s sprawled on one of the sofas, book in hand, staring out the window.
His gaze flicks my way, immediately dropping to his forgotten book, a hint of scarlet creeping up from the Henley I’d wrapped my hands in half an hour ago.
My mistletoe panties are in the hamper, but I don’t need them to commit murder. I take one step toward him but freeze at the sound of a page turning.
Shit. My father.
Will he look up from his book and notice if I smother Nic with a throw pillow?
Maybe.
A strategic retreat is necessary. If I’m going into hiding for the rest of the afternoon, I need supplies. As many cookies as I can steal before my mom looks up andknowswhat Nic and I did in the laundry room.
My mother has her back to me when I sneak into the kitchen. Snowball-shaped cookies, coated in powdered sugar, are the first edible thing my eyes land on. The closest to the door. I creep in and stuff one in my mouth.
Hmm. Pecans. These will do. I grab a handful.
My mother doesn’t glance up from the sink where she’s washing a mixing bowl. “Did you get the stain out, honey?”
My favorite pants…too soon, Mom. Too soon.
“Jessie?” She finally glances over her shoulder, frowning.
I shake my head and back out of the kitchen with my horde of cookies before she can seeI recently climaxed on Dominic Fontana’s faceis stamped across my own.
God, I can’t believe we did that. Nic doesn’t like me, I don’t like him, and people don’t perform oral sex on people they hate, so what the hell happened? Why does it feel…inevitable?
I reach the bottom of the steps, pausing long enough to stuff another cookie in my mouth when the front door flies open.
For one heart-stopping moment, I think it’s Nic and he’ll rush through the door and take me right here on the stairs while I enjoy my cookies.What is wrong with me?
