Mistletoe Kisses

Knitting my brows together, I turn this way and that trying to find him. When I finally do, my stomach drops and I feel the faintest tickle of jealousy.

Mr. McLaren is talking to Marcie. She’s laughing at something he said, and she reaches out, wrapping her French-tipped fingers around his sexy forearm.

Back off, Marcie.

I approach them as casually as I can, feeling territorial as I clear my throat. "I'm ready, Mr. McLaren."

“Ready for what?” Marcie demands, looking me up and down as if she can’t possibly imagine what Mr. McLaren would ever want with me.

I hold her gaze, an unfriendly glint in mine. “Ready to get back to work—oh wait, no. That’s you.”

Her dark eyes narrow on my face, but she’s more invested in pretending to be charming for Mr. McLaren than showing her bitchiness to me.

Intervening before she has a chance to respond, Mr. McLaren says, “I'll see you Monday at school, Marcie.” His gaze moves over Marcie in her elf costume before he finally shifts his attention to me. "Good luck with your essay."

She nods at him and gives me a dirty look before turning and walking off.

"What was that all about?" I ask as we make our way toward the food court.

"She needed my advice regarding one of her assignments," he says, glancing at the store signs as we pass by.

I bet she did. I’m tempted to pry further. I want to know exactly what they talked about, but I hold my tongue and keep walking. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Like I said, I need to pick up a gift," he answers before stopping in front of a storefront. "Ah, here we are."

"Daring Dolls?" I give him a sideways glance, my heart speeding into overdrive. Again. "You're taking me lingerie shopping with you?"

He smirks at me. "Don’t get too excited. I just need to pick something up. Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by the sight of underwear? I thought girls outgrew that stage shortly after hitting puberty.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” I say a little defensively, flicking a glance at the storefront. Since it’s Christmastime, the store is decorated in candy cane colors with sparkling silver snowflakes hanging overhead. From here, I can see a platinum-haired mannequin in red lingerie trimmed with white fluff and decked out in red silk stockings.

“You can wait outside if it’s too much for you,” he offers.

I narrow my eyes at him. He w

orded it that way on purpose so he could make me out to be some kind of wimp if I took him up on the offer.

Not willing to tap out over some panties, I shake my head wordlessly and follow him into the store with my lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

Despite my reluctance to come here with him, I find myself growing curious as he leads me around the store. It begins innocuously enough, casually wondering which items he finds sexy. I can’t tell looking at him, because I stay a step behind him, mostly keeping my gaze locked on his broad shoulders and the back of his head. I love the way his dark hair curls up just slightly around the back of his neck.

Unfortunately, between the path of my thoughts and the sensual environment we’re in, my curiosity deepens and I can’t help wondering who he’s shopping for.

As I’m wondering about his love life and waiting for him to grab whatever item he came for so we can leave, Mr. McLaren grabs a collapsible shopping basket and opens it up like he’s going to need it.

"Um, I thought we were just making a quick stop here. Why you do you need a basket?"

"Just need to pick up a few last-minute Christmas gifts,” he answers. Then, glancing back at me with a slightly raised eyebrow, he adds, “A gift card won’t do for this one.”

I’m careful to keep my annoyance off my face lest he accurately assume I’m jealous, but the comment annoys me. I know he can be a real asshole, but is this seriously his way of letting me know he has a girlfriend?

Mr. McLaren glances up at the mannequin on display in her sexy Christmas lingerie, then keeps walking and shifts his gaze toward a rack of black, sheer teddies. I wonder if that’s the sort of thing he’s looking for as I walk past a few seconds later, but he doesn’t stop to look any closer.

After prowling through the front of the store, he stops at a table with a line of neatly displayed panties on top. Much to my dismay, he picks up a red lacy thong with corseting detail on the hips and just looking at him touching the delicate fabric makes my skin catch fire.

"What do you think of these?" he asks.

"Mr. McLaren, this is... extremely inappropriate," I manage, my eyes shifting from the flimsy piece of underwear in his hands to his mischievous eyes.