Her eyes lifted from mine to the ceiling, and a smile dimpled her cheeks. “Uh-oh, Bishop. I think you’re in trouble.”
“Yeah?” I followed her gaze to the mistletoe hanging over us.
Damn.
I hadn’t even noticed.
“It’s bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe.” That laugh of hers worked all the way through my body. “Can’t believe no one has done it yet.”
“I don’t think that’s true. And I don’t believe in bad luck.” I wanted to kiss her.
Desperately.
I pulled her into my arms despite my words.
The feel of her was better than I remembered.
Her curves fit against me, the softness of her skin and flush in her cheeks almost impossible to resist.
I kissed her cheek first, teasing her into a husky chuckle when I brushed my cheek over hers.
“Not what I meant.” The glassy look in her eyes cleared a bit, and she hooked her fingers in my shirt. “Kiss me for real, Bishop.”
I did what she said.
Her delicious lips met mine with that same hunger I’d felt from her our first night together.
Her innocence turned to excitement, and now she stood in the circle of my arms completely open to whatever we asked.
I ran my tongue along the seam of her lips.
She opened for me with a groan and tightened her hold on my sides beneath my shirt.
No lights reached us here, but if anyone looked hard enough, they’d realize what we were up to.
I ran my hands up and down her spine, relishing the curve of her shoulder and digging my hands into her hair.
The silky strands feathered over my arms and tempted me to bury my face in the cinnamon scent.
The kiss deepened further, and Noelle ground her hips into mine. I eased back when she did it again.
“Let’s go find somewhere more private.” She jerked her chin toward the stairs and the bedrooms we sometimes used.
The heady scent of her arousal clogged my brain and almost prevented me from thinking straight.
I brushed a kiss over her lips before I shook my head. “I’d love to, but I’m worried about you, Noelle. You’ve had a lot to drink, and I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of that.”
Her lips parted in an indignant huff, and her eyes narrowed. “I know exactly how much I’ve had to drink.”
“No, you don’t.” I tried to make it sound light and easy, but that familiar hard note burned in the back of my throat. “It’s impossible to know with spiked drinks, and you barely made it over here without tripping.”
“I blame the heels, not my drinks.” She appeared more sober by the minute.
The heat that had built between us fizzled to nothing.
Hands on my chest, she pushed away from me. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, you can say that. You wouldn’t be the first one. Just be man enough to admit the truth and don’t blame the alcohol.”
“Noelle, that’s not what I meant.”
