But that night I was tingling all over, dying to know what it would feel like for Mick’s lips to touch mine. Now, I feel nothing but uncomfortable and sorry for starting this and pretty sure I’m never going to be able to pull off Mission: New Year’s Eve Kiss, no matter how many glasses of punch I drink.
“We should hang out next time I’m in Bliss River,” he says, leaning closer. “Do you like to dance?”
“Not even a little bit.” My tongue slips out to dampen my lips. This guy is practically delivering a “forget about Mick” kiss on a silver platter! All I have to do is woman up and pucker up.
Come on, Miller. Go for it!
“But we can hang out,” I continue, pulse speeding as I down the last of my punch in one gulp and reach out, grabbing a handful of Trent’s sweater. “Or we can just make out.”
His eyes widen and he laughs again. “Sounds good to me.”
“Then kiss me, already.” I brace myself for the worst, but when Trent’s lips meet mine there’s nothing to complain about. His lips are a little too firm, and he’s aggressive with the tongue, but overall, it’s a perfectly good kiss that makes me feel…
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
No tingles, no sparkles, nothing but vague relief that Trent is big enough to block the cold wind and warm enough to ease the chill bumps from my arms.
But when his hands grip my hips, I know I have to put an end to this.
I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. Trent and I aren’t going to be leaving this party together, and I’m not going to let him maul me in public. A kiss is one thing—I’ve seen several couples making out in the corners of the room—but groping is another.
“I need a second.” I pull my lips from his, blinking as the sky behind his head pulses, the stars spinning no matter how hard I try to focus.
“Okay,” he says, his hands returning to my waist. “You want to get out of here? Maybe get a cup of coffee somewhere? That punch is no joke.”
I shake my head and immediately regret it. The stars spin harder, and Trent suddenly sprouts a third eye in the center of his forehead.
“Oh, no,” I mumble as my stomach churns more violently. “No, no, no.”
Suddenly, a familiar voice pipes up from behind Trent’s massive back. “Get away from her.”
Even before Trent turns—revealing the angry blue eyes and delicious black curls of the man behind him—I recognize the speaker.
It’s Mick Whitehouse. Again.
The man’s like a bad rash.
I try to tell Mick to stay out of my business, but the words come out all jumbled and wrong. My tongue is too thick and my stomach too sour, and the damn world won’t stop spinning.
“Back off, man,” Trent says, glaring at Mick. “Everything’s fine. No one’s in danger here. I’m not that kind of guy, so no need to play hero.”
“I heard her say no,” Mick says, not backing down. “Before I go anywhere, I’m making sure she’s okay.” He shifts his attention my way. “Are you all right?”
I suck in an unsteady breath. Even with the world spinning, having Mick this close makes some primal part of me send up a cheer of approval. There’s something about his eyes, about the way he looks at me like he wants to devour me and protect me at the same time, that’s completely captivating.
And completely frustrating.
I lift a finger, closing one eye to make sure I’m aiming it at only one of Mick. “I do not need protectorin, pertecter, pro-tectoring—” I clear my throat and will my dumb lips to cooperate. “I do not need you to protect me, Mick Whitehouse.”
He nods. “I know. You’re tough, but you also sound…pretty drunk.”
“I am snot.” I snort-laugh as I realize what I’ve said, then pull myself together again. “I meant I am not. Thas what I meant.” I hiccup unexpectedly and then cover my mouth and mumble, “’Scuse me.”
“You’re excused,” Mick says with a serious nod before turning to Trent and adding in a softer voice. “Sorry about the misunderstanding. But she’s obviously wasted. I need to take her home. Why don’t you give her your number? If she’s interested, she can call you when she’s sober.”
“Why don’t I take her home,” Trent says, sliding an arm around my waist and drawing me closer, making my stomach snarl angrily as our torsos connect. “I don’t know you from a hole in the ground, man, and Faith doesn’t seem very happy to see you. I think she’s better off with me.”
“And I think you’d better let her go.” Mick steps closer, glaring up at the slightly taller Trent, a menacing expression on his face. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her leave here with you when she’s so drunk she can barely stand.”