“No?” The tension between us pulses as I hold his stare. “Then I guess I didn't fuck your sister."
Oblivious to the self-loathing in my voice, his shoulders relax slightly.
"The way you two were looking at each other under that mistletoe..."
"That was all your mother's doing." Which is true enough.
The kiss itself though?
All Holly—sweet, spicy, no longer struggling to keep up, but instead charging ahead.
"It was a joke, man." The ice in my glass clinks as I swirl the amber liquid. "You left me with Squirt duty. I was simply keeping you updated on the mission status."
"With visual aids?"
"I'm thorough like that."
"Yeah?" He leans forward. "How about you be thorough explaining why you looked ready to commit murder when Blake showed up?"
Shit. He caught that?
"Professional courtesy. Guy's a douche."
"So you're what—going to stare daggers at every guy who looks at my sister?"
"If necessary." I flash him a grin. "Think of me as your eyes on the ground."
“Well shit, look what the storm dragged in!" A familiar voice booms across the bar.
Everett Morgan's grin is exactly as I remember it—wide and genuine, with just a hint of trouble brewing underneath. Time’s been good to him. He carries himself with the easy confidence of a man who knows his place in the world.
"Morgan." I stand, accepting his bear hug with a laugh. "Still terrorizing the slopes?"
"Someone's gotta keep you city boys humble." He drops into the seat next to me, signaling the bartender. "Though I hear you're not exactly living the soft life these days. How many deployments now?”
“Seven.” I take another sip of whiskey. “Just there for intelligence purposes. Less glamorous than it sounds."
"Unless you count all the penetration," Nick mutters with a grin into his glass.
I shoot him a look promising retribution.
"How's the lodge treating you?"
"Same shit, different snow." Everett's eyes scan the room, then stop.
His whole body goes still.
"Well, hello gorgeous. Please tell me she's not with either of you because that—" He lets out a low whistle, "Is worth breaking my 'no guests' rule for."
My gut clenches as I follow his gaze. Holly stands near the fireplace, all bare legs and flushed cheeks, with her head thrown back in laughter at something Charlie just said.
One sweeping perusal of her elegant throat and my mouth runs dry.
The same throat I wanted to taste this morning.
Fuck.
"Pipe down, hotshot. That's my sister," Nick says flatly.
