Page 80 of Not Your Average Vixen
She glanced over her shoulder. That Soren sex tractor beam was downright irresistible—especially when he was wearing an apron.
“Sprinkles,” she breathed, because that was all her sex mushed brain could come up with.
“Sprinkles,” he replied.
Perfect! They had one word between the two of them. That would get weird fast.
She parted her lips, not sure what would come out. Perhaps, she’d repeatsprinkleswhen Carly giggled.
“What is it, honey?” Grace asked her granddaughter.
“Uncle Scooter and Birdie have to kiss,” the little girl chimed.
“Why would you say that?” Soren asked, his cheeks growing pink.
Carly pointed to the ceiling. “You’re under the mistletoe.”
She glanced up and, yep, there was mistletoe.
“It looks fake,” Soren said with an uncharacteristic hoarseness to his voice.
Was he nervous?
“Fake or real, if you get caught under the mistletoe, you have to kiss. It’s Christmas rules,” the judge offered with the hint of a grin as the rest of the Abbotts egged them on to offer up a kiss.
“I didn’t see the mistletoe. That’s not why I came over to help you,” Soren said without a smirk or a glare.
“I didn’t notice it either,” she whispered back.
“Go on, Birdie! Tame the beast!” Tom teased.
“I could take your place, Scooter,” Russ offered, throwing her a leisure suit Larry leer.
“No, you couldn’t,” Soren said softly, for only her to hear, as his breath tickled her lips.
Her pulse hammered. Her heart felt too large for her chest. His nearness sent her body into overdrive.
Just one kiss.
One little peck.
That’s it.
Nothing more.
She could restrain herself. For Pete’s sake, there were children in the room!
The bakery faded away as his sandalwood scent mingled with the cookies, carrying her off into holiday horniness. She fluttered her eyes closed, so ready to have his lips pressed to hers, if only for a moment when the door chime cut through the pre-kiss mistletoe haze and a Santa and Mrs. Claus lookalike combo entered the bakery.
The man looked around the space as if he’d come upon an old friend, then wrapped his arm around the woman.
“It’s a Christmas miracle, Agnes!” he exclaimed.
Bridget stared at them. The pair seemed oddly familiar. Maybe she’d seen them last night when she was baked—and not in the good cookie way. Or perhaps, they were interested in purchasing baked goods.
But those notions vanished when she glanced back at Soren.
Wide-eyed, the color had drained from his cheeks. The man looked as if he’d seen a ghost as a prickle spider-crawled its way down her spine; and she was sure of one thing.
