“Notice how I’m not demanding answers from you about why you overpaid to be in here tonight,” I say as I head for the door. “And that’s because I don’t care what you do or why you do it or who you do it with just as long as you stay out of my way.”
With that, I push open the door, leaving behind the man I definitely never think about. Once the door is safely shut behind me, I drop my bravado and sag against the wall, focusing on my breathing until my heart stops thundering under my skintight sweater and I can pretend I don’t still feel Wyatt’s fingers against my skin.
Once all systems are normal again, I straighten my wig, square my shoulders, and set off down the hallway toward the man whose life I am, in fact, about to ruin.
Two
December, Seven Years Ago
CJ
* * *
In my defense, he was standing under the mistletoe.
“What was that for?” The hot stranger’s hand drifts to his cheek where I just planted a smacking kiss.
“Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for the mouth?” My eyes flick to the lips in question, which are nicely curved and slightly parted in confusion. “That’s a little forward even for me, but?—”
“Mouth?”
Hot Stranger’s thick brows pull together, so I enunciate my next words carefully in case the best-looking man at this noisy party isn’t hearing me properly.
“Mistletoe.” His baffled gaze follows my finger as I point overhead. “In his welcome speech, the chamber president said anyone not wanting to get kissed should steer clear of the mistletoe.”
I lift my wineglass in a toast, but Hot Stranger’s gaze is pinned on the green leaves and white berries dangling from the chandelier above our heads. Then his brown eyes fix on me, and I discover that the intense, frowny energy that drew my attention in the first place is even more attractive up close.
“I figured he was just kidding since we’re at a holiday mixer full of businesspeople.” I lower my glass, my words tumbling out in a rush to explain myself. “But then you stood right here and made all that eye contact with me, so I…” I lift my free hand, let it drop. “I assumed that’s what you were wanting.”
He’s still staring, so I foolishly continue. “You know, a kiss. From someone.” Oh my god, kill me. “Namely me.”
Kill me right now.
“Ah.” Hot Stranger blinks. “I missed the welcome speech.”
“Ah,” I echo as embarrassment crawls over my skin. “So that means you also missed the warning about where not to stand if you don’t want to be kissed by strangers.”
“Correct.”
My cheeks heat at his short response. “Well. Oops.” My body is now fifty percent humiliation and fifty percent cash bar Merlot. “That just makes this whole thing even more inappropriate than it already was. I am so sorry.“
He pins me with that smoldery gaze again, making no move to acknowledge my rambling apology as I edge back a step.
“Okay. So we’ve established that there was no meaningful eye contact and no consent for kissing.” Another backward step. “That makes me oh-for-two.” I smile weakly. “I’d take it as a personal favor if you don’t sue me or this restaurant or the Beaucoeur Chamber of Commerce or, like, the Ghost of Christmas Present.”
Still nothing from the hot slab of broodiness in front of me, so I take another shuffling step away. “I will now take myself and my unwanted kisses elsewhere. Happy holidays, I guess? And again, I’m so sorry.”
I take a big gulp of my wine, wave the glass at him in an awkward little farewell, and pivot on my spiky heel, preparing to dive behind the cluster of poinsettias against the far wall until I can slink out the door or melt through the floor into a puddle of goo, whichever comes first. But before I can execute either plan, Hot Stranger’s voice stops me.
“It wasn’t.”
I slowly turn back around. “What wasn’t?”
“Unwanted.” He steps toward me, all tall and dark and serious. “The kiss. It wasn’t unwanted.”
“It… wasn’t?”
“And there was eye contact. For the record.” The smile that slides across his face makes my heart lurch and my thighs squeeze together. But I’m not about to let any man, not even one as gorgeous as this, get the last word.
