Page 29 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“Again, I wouldn’t know, because I listen to hard-core rock music,” Sam said, returning her smile before adding, “but if I was a boy band fan, I would correct you that the lyrics you are thinking of are from the 98 Degrees song Because of You.”

“Aha,” she said, poking him lightly in the chest. “I knew it!”

Sam took her hand and flattened it against his chest, electricity sizzling across the palm of her hand. She could feel the hard muscles of his pecks through his T-shirt and the racing of his heart, making her own kick up speed. She stared up into his twinkling eyes, admiring his full lips twisted in a rueful smile.

“You’ll keep my secret safe, right?” he asked softly, stroking her chin with his other hand. “After all, players like me can’t have a boy band playlist.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, but only because you asked so sweetly.” Her fingers started to curl against his body, resisting the urge to pet him, and she dropped his hand, taking a step around him. “You have a nice place. Mine isn’t nearly this clean.”

She caught his shrug as he followed behind her. “It’s just me, so it’s easy to keep it up. Turn on a little music and go at it for a couple of hours a week. It decreases stress to come home to a clean house.”

“Hey, I think it’s cute that you have all these little quirks that make you more than Mistletoe’s favorite fuckboy.”

Suddenly, Wren found herself spun around with her back against the wall and Sam staring down at her with an intense frown. “I do not like being called a fuckboy.”

His hard tone took her by surprise, but it was the way he loomed over her, framing her with his forearms against the wall that brought back intense memories of being pressed against any surface they could find. Of Sam’s body plastered against hers and the thrill of arousal radiating from between her legs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, aware of his warm, minty breath inches from her mouth. Even wearing that thunderous expression, Wren recognized the way his blue eyes darkened to the color of the sea during a storm, smoldering and raw, and holy hell, she wanted to reach up and drag his mouth down to hers.

That’s not what you’re here for! The tiny voice in her head continued to list all the reasons why she shouldn’t kiss Sam, why pressing her body into his and climbing him like a tree was a very bad idea, but it was hard to focus over the loud blood drumming in her ears.

Sam took a deep breath, pushing off the wall and leaving her bereft. “No, I should be the one apologizing. I guess everything that was said on Jilly G’s radio show really got to me.”

Without thinking, Wren took ahold of his waist, keeping him close, and when his gaze met hers, she said, “I only meant that it is nice to get a peek behind some of those walls you put up. I get the feeling you’ve used your reputation to keep people at a distance.”

Sam took a step into her body, and Wren sucked in a breath, the throbbing between her legs intensifying with him pressed against her.

“Maybe you’re right, but it beats getting close to someone and finding out it was never real for them.”

Wren stiffened, wondering if that was a dig at her or if he was making a general statement about relationships, but he backed away from her, dragging both hands through his hair.

“And this is why I don’t let anyone behind the walls,” he said with a dark laugh. “I let my emotions get the best of me.” Before Wren could respond, he waved a hand toward the dining area, adding, “Why don’t you come sit down, and we’ll eat? I promise to be the charming philanderer that the ladies of Mistletoe love to hate.”

Wren swallowed, acquiescing with a nod, but in her heart, she didn’t want the Sam everyone else got.

She wanted him to be real.

Chapter Ten

Sam returned from the kitchen carrying several plates, balancing them like a circus performer. He’d grilled steaks, made garlic mashed potatoes and green beans, and cut up warm, buttered French bread, all to impress the beautiful woman watching him with expressive brown eyes and a wry smile.

His body still pulsed with the chemistry between them. The rush of heat being pressed against Wren lingered like an imprint on his body. While he hadn’t reacted well to her calling him a fuckboy, Sam recognized that hitch in her breathing as he leaned over her, the dazed look in her eyes as she stared at his mouth. She still felt it, too, but was holding back.

It turned out Wren had erected some walls of her own.

Wren clapped for him as he set each dish down. “Very impressive. Where did you pick up that skill?”

“Which one?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and lowering his voice suggestively. “I have so many.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Where did you learn how to carry plates like that?”

“Oh that,” he teased, setting the steak plate down last. “When I moved to Oregon, I didn’t have much to recommend me to most employers, but I got two jobs waiting tables in restaurants right off the bat. I learned how to do some fancy juggling . . . after a lot of broken plates and docked paychecks.”

Wren laughed. “They didn’t just fire you?”

“Hell no.” Sam gave her his best smolder, pursing his lips and raising one eyebrow. “I was too pretty to get fired.”

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat.