“Saysme.” She tosses off her cardigan. “Strip dare. House rule.”
“Getting bold, sunshine.”
“You’re the one with the counter fantasy.”
“True.”
She gives me a look. “Dare me.”
I look at her slowly, letting the firelight flick across every curve. The room gets hotter. Or maybe I do.
“Take off your shirt.”
She peels it off without hesitation. Red lace bra. Snowflake charm at the center. Designed to kill men like me.
Her nipples pebble in the firelight.
“Cold in here?” I ask.
“Please. You’ve been staring like that fire’s not even lit.”
I chuckle darkly and spin the mistletoe again.
It lands on her.
“Truth or dare?” she asks, voice like velvet.
“Dare.”
Her smile turns wicked. “Take off your shirt.”
I tug it over my head. She bites her lip.
“You’re so…built,” she mutters.
“Didn’t expect you to notice.”
“Oh, I noticed.”
Silence hums between us, stretching and twisting. I want to pull her into my lap. Want to press her to the floor and kiss her until she forgets why she came here in the first place.
She spins the bottle again.
“Truth or dare?” she whispers when it lands on me.
“Truth.”
She leans in. “What’s stopping you from kissing me?”
I don’t answer right away.
Because the truth is simple:nothing.Nothing but every damn warning bell in my head that says if I start, I won’t stop.
But I say, “Because I like the way you look at me when you’re still wondering if I will.”
Her lips part.
And this time, she doesn’t move.
