She reached for her phone on the bedside, saw it was a little after six. They’d gone to bed before midnight, but not by much.
The second thing she checked was her blood sugar. Steady at 115 most of the night.
Perfect in her eyes.
She threw the covers back and stretched her arms over her head. This was the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in. Stood to reason though, considering whose house it was.
Rowan’s T-shirt she slept in hit her mid-thigh. She was glad she was bold enough to ask him for one.
He’d granted her one of those wicked smirks of his too, even made a comment that he’d like to see her in it.
She’d been more than tempted to let him.
Since the aroma of coffee joined in, she pulled her leggings on, ran to the bathroom, then brushed her teeth, and raced down the stairs.
It’d be rude of her to lie in bed if Rowan was cooking breakfast.
“Merry Christmas,” he said when she rounded the stairs and saw him with his hair messed up, a T-shirt on and a pair of sweats. His feet were bare like hers.
Maybe that was why she was feeling playful when she saw the mistletoe hanging in the kitchen. It wasn’t there last night, so he must have had the same bug as her. Or the same feverish sensations that she’d experienced.
He’d said he did whatever he wanted in life.
Why couldn’t she?
She stopped under the fake green fern, cleared her throat, and pointed up.
Rowan smiled, his blue eyes lighting up as he strutted over.
She puckered her lips exaggeratedly, and he leaned down and did the same, touching them to hers.
It should have been silly. A goofy antic on both of their parts.
But the minute his lips touched hers, an electricity shot through her body, extending to her fingertips that forced her to pull him closer.
She wasn’t alone.
He yanked her to his chest, his mouth slanting against hers, his tongue invading, the two of them making out exactly as she wanted to do on the couch last night.
She wouldn’t feel bad about it.
She already considered what they shared a date in her mind. She kissed men on the first date all the time.
It was only a kiss.
Except it didn’t feel like only a kiss when she pressed against his body, wearing his shirt, no bra, her nipples hard and begging for more contact.
But he pulled back, breaking the spell that had come over them.
Or it could be the sizzling in the pan that had him jumping toward it and flipping the bacon.
“Don’t burn my breakfast,” she said.
“I won’t,” he said. “I boasted I could cook so I can’t fail you now.”
She wasn’t sure if there was any aspect of Rowan that someone could consider a failure.
“What are you making?” she asked.
