Page 28 of Hooked

“I’m far more graceful than Kieran is, even with busted hands.” I can’t keep the haughtiness out of my tone.

He huffs out a deep laugh.

God, he’s hot.

Back on the floor, I’m very aware of how large he is. I always have to look up at him, but without my heels on, there’s much further to go. I fold my arms across my chest, mostly so he can’t see how hard my nipples are just from that rough tone in his voice. I’m boxed in between him and the ladder as he takes in the work I’ve done so far. It’s substantial. He has to admit that.

He may think I’m a princess, but I’m a hardworking one.

And I’d like to get back to work. His smoldering in front of me is going to throw off my balance more than anything else. My hands seem to have a mind of their own, though, so I smooth them across the top of his chest. His flannel shirt is soft and worn. It’s probably been through the wash hundreds of times. He snaps back to attention at my touch.

“I can’t move the ladder with you standing here,” I say, trying to make a joke. He rakes his eyes over me, lingering on my breasts. “Can’t have a party with only half a garland.”

I’m spouting nonsense now, but the sheer sex appeal of this man throws me off. I haven’t been in any kind of relationship in years and his mixed signals are confusing. Was it only yesterday that I’d thought he was a cold, smug pseudo-intellectual?

Okay, he’s still smug, but not always cold. I’ll have to get back to the intellectual part when my own brain climbs out of my crotch.

“I’ll move it,” he says, licking his lips.

My brain shouts at me to get out of the way, but my crotch is still firmly in control here. He skims his hands down my arms and over my waist, holding me just above the hips before moving me to the side. He pushes the ladder over to the next hook.

I’m never going to get this garland hung if this happens every time I need to change positions.

Crotch-hijacked brain offers me several positions I could try with Vinny.

“Don’t go up unless I’m in the room so I can keep an eye on you?”

It’s an ask rather than a demand, which I can work with.

“Okay.” I can wash the tables while he’s in the basement. “But hurry up.”

He laughs again at my saucy remark and heads out to grab the next table. I clean the first one, and we repeat the dance until all the tables are set up and clean, and the garland is hung. I toss some plain white linen cloths over the tables, and I’ll pick up some small poinsettias for centerpieces. I’m going to hang some wreaths on the support columns, add some fairy lights around the wainscoting and in vases around the room, and with the Christmas trees in place and decorated, the ballroom will look gorgeous.

I turn back to Vinny, who’s bringing up the last of the chairs. They’ll need some dusting, but I’ll get to that after dinner.

“Not bad, huh?” I ask. It won’t be the party of the century like I’d hoped, but I’m starting to like this much better.

He looks kind of blank, and I suddenly remember how he feels about Christmas and its trappings. Jesus. Christmas in State care was probably depressing as hell.

“It’s good of you to help me even though it’s not exactly your thing. Oh, I could help you with your roof,” I offer. My voice brims with excitement. “That could be a lot of fun. I’ve never done roofing before!”

A smile crosses his face. It’s not the intense smolder I’ve felt from him, but something different.

“You have a smudge on your cheek,” he says softly, brushing it with his thumb.

“I mean it.” I stammer a little. “If I can help you with anything in return?”

Sia, do not catch feelings for this man.

But I’m afraid it’s too late, and it shocks the hell out of me.

And that’s when I also realize we’re standing directly under some of my mistletoe.

Do I want him to notice it or not? Too late to worry, because his gaze shoots up to the ceiling and back at me. I stroke his biceps through that soft flannel. He doesn’t flinch this time, but the smile’s gone from his face. His brow furrows, his eyes still glued to mine.

“It’s silly,” I whisper. “I know.” With great difficulty, I pull my hands from his arms. I’m embarrassed by how I’m trembling. I want to step away, but instead I inch closer, remembering how safe I felt next to him at the bar that night.

But this is different. I’m terrified that he’ll kiss me but more terrified that he won’t.

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