Who needs mistletoe?
We’re probably surrounded by people happily picking their own trees, but in that moment I don’t care. As soon as I lean in and kiss him, everything else falls away, leaving only the warmth of his mouth on mine.
It’s tame as kisses go. Pete,thank fuck,still has a sense of decency, and keeps me from turning it into something hot and filthy and not fit for out in public. Even so, I feel it all the way tomy toes. Heat blooms in my belly, a small moan escaping when his hand grips my hip and he squeezes.
Then he’s gone and I realise I’ve let go of the tree, and the only reason it’s not in a heap on the ground is because Pete caught it.
“Sorry.” I shrug. So not sorry. “Got distracted.”
Pete laughs, but there’s a hunger lingering in his eyes that lets me know I’m not on my own here. “Let’s get this wrapped and get home.”
Yes, let’s.
I am of no help whatsoever with getting the tree wrapped and on top of Pete’s SUV. Too busy watching his glorious muscles bulge as he manhandles a Nordmann Fir into submission. I glance around the Christmas tree farm, noting it’s far bigger than I expected. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help but imagine this place in one of my books. I picture the scene of my big, burly detective running through the trees at night after his suspect. I bet it’s creepy out here after dark. So many places to hide. And lots of murder weapons.
My fingers twitch, and I wish I had a pad and pen to jot this down. I’m about to pull out my phone to do just that when Pete jangles his keys as he steps into my space. “Ready to go?” His voice is all deep and growly, and just like that, I forget all about making notes.
Story? What story?
“Yeah,” I manage as he glances around us, then backs me into the side of his car.
“One for the road,” he murmurs, and then he kisses me with so much promise of what’s to come I’m surprised I’m still standing at the end of it.
That tension fills the car all the way home.
I’m practically vibrating with nervous excitement by the time we pull up in front of his house. Do we go in and straightupstairs? Does there need to be small talk? Fuck’s sake, I’m so out of practice at this. This is nothing like meeting someone on a night out and taking them home. “Are we getting the tree out?” I blurt.
Pete switches the engine off and slowly turns to face me. “Do you want to?” His gaze bores into mine, eyes almost black in the dark interior.
“Um . . . no?”
His expression softens and he reaches for my hand. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.” I lick my lips, that nervous excitement sliding into solely nervous territory. “I feel like maybe we’ve built this up into some bigthingand whatever happens next can’t possibly live up to expectations.”
Pete huffs out a laugh. “No pressure.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Ugh, sorry.”
Way to ruin the moment, Charlie.
Then Pete’s big, work-rough hands cover mine and slowly peel them away.
“Charlie?” He keeps hold of my hands, squeezing gently until I look at him. “There’s no set agenda here. We can take that tree in and decorate it like we planned and nothing more. See where the evening goes. Or you can go back to your place and work on your book if you want. There’s no wrong answer.”
And just like that, I relax into the seat, nervousness dissipating enough to let that sliver of excitement flow back in. Pete’s stroking the back of my hands with his thumbs. The rhythmic slide of his skin against mine starts off soothing, but my body responds like he’s touching my cock.
I want him.
There’s no denying that.
But I need to get over this lack of confidence that’s making me hesitate. “Um... can we maybe take the tree in and go from there?”
His smile is soft as he gives my hands one last squeeze before letting go. “Of course.”
Pete easily hauls the tree down himself, and not gonna lie, I find it ridiculously hot. He props it against the side of his car and throws me his keys.
“Can you open the door?”
