Page 49 of Not Home Alone

I walk through the door, past him. “Hah! They still like me more than you, trust me.”

“Not those people at The Schnitzel Factory. I charmed their woolly socks off.” He shuts the door and removes his coat, which he drops to the floor.

“Please,” I scoff, also removing and dropping my coat on the floor. “I’ve met tarantulas with better personalities than you. If you weren’t so charming and handsome, you wouldn’t get away with anything.”

Grant pulls his sweatshirt off over his head and tosses it at me. I get a glimpse of his lower abs when his tank top creeps up and it makes my blood boil. “If you weren’t so hot, people would find your obsession with Christmas creepy,” he tells me.

“Ah hah! I knew you thought I was hot! I knew it!”

He takes a step toward me. “And you just confirmed you think I’m charming and handsome.”

I take a step back. “Congratulations. I don’t hate looking at you. I just hate thinking about you and talking to you and hearing everything you say.” I pull my sweatshirt off, tossing it aside. I’ll pick it up in a minute.

He stares at me, in my little red camisole with the plunging neckline, taking another step toward me. “You don’t hate kissing me either.”

Taking a step backward, I hiss, “I despise kissing you.”

He backs me up against the front door, caging me in with his arms over my shoulders. “You despise how much you like it.”

I stare up at him, panting like I’m running to catch a plane to somewhere I know I shouldn’t go. “I hate that you can’t admit how much you like it,” I say, with more of a whiny pout than I mean to.

Grant’s jaw is so tense, nostrils flaring, but he seems so controlled. I want to make him lose control. But honestly? When I see the way he’s staring at my mouth, I don’t even want to win this battle. I want to drive him out of his ever-loving, gingerbread-hating, cocky mind, and then I want him to conquer me.

“You’re wrong about everything, Tucker,” he says, tracing the curve of my lower lip with his thumb. “I like how much you hate it when I kiss you on the mouth. And I can’t fucking wait to see how much you’re going to hate how good I can make you feel when I kiss you everywhere else.”

Yup.

That’ll do it.

Heat sears through my abdomen, but I will not let him know how much I want him, not yet. There is so much pressure between my legs that squeezing my thighs together isn’t providing any relief. I start rocking my hips back and forth just a little, to feel the friction of my tight jeans against my clit, hoping he won’t notice. Hopefully he won’t notice that my nipples are weaponized, or that I’ve started quivering, because god forbid he should get an inflated ego all of a sudden.

His intense gaze finally drops from my mouth to my breasts. This cami makes my boobs look amazing, and I’m so glad I wore it tonight because his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows. I can tell his brain is short circuiting just a little. My brain is ordering my breasts not to heave, but they’re basically trying to hurl themselves up into his hands, his mouth. They’d be fine with some chest-on-chest action. A nipple tweak or two. Just any kind of contact—Please, Santa can you hear me? Please make him give me more than his damn thumb massaging my lower lip.

He grins, and I feel a jolt of electricity when he shoves his knee between my thighs, giving me something to grind against. Like he’s doing me a favor. He absolutely is—but I’m not going to throw him a parade.

I am so sick of this self-control act.

He’s still rubbing his thumb against my lower lip, so I suck that thumb into my mouth as I glare up at him.

Grant takes a sharp breath. “Jesus.”

I moan. His thumb is sexy, dammit, but I’m sexier. He’s the one who missed out on me ten years ago, not the other way around.

But god, I want him in my mouth. I want him inside of me. I want him to do dirty, filthy things to me! I just need him to want it more than I want it.

His attention drifts back up to my mouth and his thumb. He pulls his thumb out a little, then back in. Out and in. Watching, with eyes that are getting more hooded by the minute, staring at the connection between my lips and his appendage. He lets out a groan. I bite the fleshy part on the tip of his thumb. His face lights up, but he still isn’t touching me or kissing me and he’s the devil.

Finally, Grant drags his thumb across my cheek, wraps his big hand around the back of my neck, and dips down.

I arch up to meet him, mouth open, but the monster jerks his head back, smirking.

Of course. Of course he’s going to ruin foreplay for me too.

“Okay, I’m over this.” I push against his chest, try to duck under his arm to get away from him.

“Where you going?” he asks, locking me in between his arms.

“Upstairs. I have a reliable device that’s actually capable of giving me pleasure.”