Page 17 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

I can’t spend the next seven days pretending to be her either.

As if sensing the heat of my gaze, his head turns and those mischievous eyes scout the area with a pinched expression.

Run, Twinkle. Run.

My feet turn to stone, unmoving.

What are you doing, you idiot?

Move. Hide. He’ll see you.

I don’t know what comes over me, but a nanosecond before his gaze flicks in my direction, I dive behind the couch onto the wooden tiled floor. My knees smack hard on the surface and I muffle my wince. God! Please don’t let him see me.

This will be the most embarrassing tale of the century.

Mentally chastising myself for this dumb move, I listen for footsteps approaching in my direction. When no one appears in my line of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief. Discreetly peering from the back of the couch, I see another family talking to Hilda.

No sign of Julian.

Whew! Crisis averted.

I grin victoriously, mentally pumping my fist.

A throat clears behind me.

The grin flattens and I freeze, eyes automatically closing. After what feels like an eternity but are a measly few seconds, I gather some courage. I turn to my right and a pair of boots fills my line of sight.

Oh shit.

CHAPTER – 7

Twinkle

“Need help?” his oh-so amused voice asks from above.

It jerks me out of my embarrassed daze and I lurch to my feet, dusting off my jeans. My head feels dizzy from the sudden movement. I frantically search for an excuse for my dumb-ass move but lose all track of thoughts as I meet his unnaturally light brown eyes.

Holy Jesus! Did I mention he’s grown a short beard since the last time I saw him?

“Find anything interesting down there?”

I take him in up close and personal. A full-body shiver rocks through my body as his masculine scent hits my nostrils. His trimmed beard—thicker than a stubble—covers his square jaw, adding to his rough-around-the-edges sex appeal. The rest of him radiates warmth and spice.

Is it just me, or has he become tenfold sexier in the last six months?

Or maybe it’s the horny celibate inside me talking.

His teasing manages to cut through the spell I’m locked in. Instead of trying to come up with a rational reason, I dig myself into a deeper hole. “Umm, do I know you?”

His eyes narrow a fraction as I feign ignorance, and he steps forward. “Yes, you do, darling. Some might say too well.”

“Too well?” I squeak out.

He bends low, gaze dropping to my lips, voice husky and filthy, “I haven’t forgotten how sweet your cherry lips taste.” Without letting me recover, he scolds, “So stop pretending you don’t know me or that we haven’t been on a date.”

“I… I was just admiring the plants.” I point to the potted plant in the corner.

His lips twitch. “Yeah?”

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