Hottie for the Holidays (Three Steamy Holiday Rom Coms)

I peer up at Coop through my lashes, hoping he can’t see how much I want to keep kissing. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I would almost swear that he looks rattled, too.

But surely not. He’s a gorgeous guy and a professional fake date. He’s probably kissed dozens of women, all of them way more experienced and up-to-date with their kissing skills than I am.

“Yeah,” I finally say, knowing I can’t stand here staring at him forever. “I guess it really is like riding a bike.”

He cups my face in his big hand, brushing his thumb lightly across my bottom lip in a way that makes my insides ache. “I’m afraid I kissed off your lipstick.”

“I’ll reapply when we get there.”

“You don’t need it.” His gaze slides down to my mouth, lingering there for a stomach-flipping moment. “Freshly kissed looks good on you.”

I bite my bottom lip, fighting a smile. “You, too. Currant wine is your color.”

He grins. “Yeah? Do I have lipstick all over me?” He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “Did I get it?”

I laugh. “Some of it. Here, let me…” I reach up, wiping away the red beneath his bottom lip and at one corner, acutely aware of him watching me touch him, of the intimacy of the moment. “There. All better.” I lift my gaze to his, my breath tight in my lungs as our eyes meet. “God, you’re pretty,” I say, my cheeks going hot as I realize I said it out loud.

But he doesn’t seem bothered. He just laughs, tipping his head closer to mine as he murmurs, “Ditto, beautiful. You ready?”

“Ready.”

Or as ready as I’ll ever be.

I take his arm and head toward the twinkling white lights strung through the trees around the boathouse, my inner voice muttering, It’s just pretend, Maggie. Just pretend.

I repeat the words over and over, but when we reach the line of couples waiting to check into the ball, and Coop leans down to whisper, “We’re going to dance, right? I love to dance,” in my ear, the joy rushing through me is real.

I smile up at him. “Yes. Please. All night long.”

“All night long,” he promises, and then he kisses me again, and I give up the fight.

I’ll worry about how hard I’m going to crash and burn later.

Right now, I’m just going to enjoy the ride and the unexpected gift of a night in Coop’s lovely company.

7

Coop

A dead ringer for Bing Crosby is crooning “White Christmas” from the stage at one side of the heated tent, the smell of evergreen trees and mulled cider fills the air, and I’m swaying under the glow of thousands of tiny lights with the prettiest woman at the party.

The only way the night could get better was if I knew our first date wasn’t going to be our last.

“Is the music driving you crazy yet?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye.

“Not a chance. I love Christmas songs.”

“Me, too. They remind me of my grandmother’s house. When I was a kid, we’d spend all Christmas Eve day baking cookies and listening to carols. Then Gram and I would stay up until midnight, drinking cocoa and writing letters to Santa. She always wrote one, too. She said you’re never too old for magic.”

“Sounds like a smart lady. Was she a redhead like you?”

Maggie’s lips curve on one side. “She was. How did you guess?”

“I’ve found redheads, on the whole, to be a pretty magical species.”

“Oh yeah?” Her brow arches. “First love?”

“Guilty,” I admit, face going unexpectedly hot. “But I’ve dated brunettes. A few blondes, too. It’s not a fetish or anything.”

She grins wider. “No?”

“No.”

“So what are your fetishes, then?”

“I’m pretty into a nice pair of calves. Like yours,” I say, knowing better than to get any racier than that. If I start telling her how much I love long Sunday mornings in bed, reading the paper naked in between make-out sessions, I’m going to get myself in trouble. “What about you?”

“Icing,” she whispers, nibbling her lip. “Homemade peppermint icing.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a craving, not a kink.”

“No, I like to…lick it. Off of things. And to have it licked off of me.” She breaks off, ducking her head with a giggle while my thoughts dive straight into the gutter. “I can’t believe I said that. I think the mulled wine is going to my head.”

“Then we should go get another glass,” I tease as she wraps her arms tighter around my neck. I hug her close, doing my best to stop imagining what it would be like to lick peppermint icing off her lips, her shoulder, her…other places that I’m not going to think about.

If only she didn’t feel so damned good.

If only her laugh wasn’t like champagne bubbles.

If only she didn’t keep getting cuter with every passing second.