Page 11 of Just One More Mistletoe

“What makes you so sure I made one?”

“Intuition.” The man would put his mark on everything in his life, she thought. Including herself.

“Smart woman. I supply the tree each year.”

Brandy turned to find him very close and what little composure remained nearly shattered beneath his steamy gaze.

“Ever play pool?” he asked, changing the subject.

Brandy’s shoulders lowered and she smiled, feeling on safer ground. “Too many times to count.”

“Then we don’t need lessons.” He grabbed her hand and strode the few steps to the pool table. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he lifted her onto the lacquered edge.

She licked her lips, wondering why she’d deluded herself into an illusion of safety. Around Max, she was constantly off balance, desire never far away. “No lessons,” she agreed, wondering what would come next.

“Then how about we play each other? For intriguing stakes.” His deep eyes bored into hers.

“What do you have in mind?”

“It’s called getting to know you. For every ball I miss, I admit something about myself. Something deep and personal or… something I desire.” His voice deepened to a husky drawl.

She tried to swallow but her mouth had grown dry. “And if you get the ball into the pocket?”

She watched the pulse beat in his neck, and acting on impulse, she pressed a light kiss against his skin. He let out a low growl. “If I make my shot, you remove an article of clothing. Same rules apply for you. What do you say?”

Arousal beat a heavy rhythm in her veins. Naughty or nice, Brandy thought. Did she have the nerve to participate in his game? To take their night to its ultimate conclusion?

Under ordinary circumstances, probably not. But nothing about Max or her growing feelings for him was typical—or easy. However, her pool game had never been a problem—not since she’d waitressed in college and learned from the best. “I say, why not?”

He handed her a cue, then proceeded to set up the table. “Do you want to break or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” Brandy figured it was a win-win situation. Either she revealed something about herself or he revealed a bare body part—either way she wouldn’t be the one overexposed.

* * *

Max stepped back, leaning on his cue as Brandy lined up her shot. The one thing he’d forgotten when suggesting this game was her skimpy outfit—and if the thought of their rules had him hot and bothered, the reality of watching her bent over the table inspired erotic images to rival his steamiest daydream.

“You do realize the lighter the stick, the farther the follow-through,” she said.

“It’s also been said a heavier stick gives you more power,” Max replied but he wasn’t concentrating.

The white fur trim of her skirt had lifted a notch, revealing thigh-high stockings and an enticing glimpse of the pale skin peeking above the elastic lace trim. The sudden rise in heat had nothing to do with the room temperature and everything to do with his sexy elf. His fingers itched to cup her soft flesh and he wanted to lose himself inside her.

The sudden crack of the stick hitting the cue ball broke his train of thought and echoed in the otherwise silent room. Still in a sweat, Max forced himself to focus on the game in time to see a flash of color and a ball ease into the corner pocket. “I’m impressed.”

She straightened and grinned, looking pleased with herself. “One lesson I learned early in life was to never agree to a game I couldn’t win.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He reached for the bottom of his shirt and yanked it over his head, grateful for her decent shot and the opportunity to cool off.

Her lashes fluttered quickly and her eyes opened wide as she stared at his bare chest.

“What’s wrong? Did you forget the rules?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Of course not.” Appearing more flustered than before, she settled in for the next round of play. But this time her hands shook and Max knew for sure his lack of clothing had rattled her. At least now they were on equal footing, he thought, taking in the seductive wiggle of her ass as she lined up her shot.

Sure enough, the next ball went shimmying toward the back wall, missing the pocket. “Sorry, sweetheart. Confession time.”

She turned toward him, eyes big and imploring, a pout on her lips.

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