Page 11 of Mistletoe Mistake
“Fine.”
The sound of her feet sliding across the floor is followed by the clatter of claws as Gypsy follows her.
“Oh my god.” Holly slumps against the counter and buries her face in her hands. “This was such a shitty idea.”
I can’t stop my laugh when she glances up and I see the expression on her face.
“Look at this place!” She throws her arms up in defeat before pointing an accusing finger at me. “Why did you let me do this?”
“This was all you, Curtis, I take no responsibility for any of it.”
She sighs deeply and nods, pulling a face. “I am a stupid, stupid woman.”
“C’mon.” I reach out and grab her hand.
Mistake.Big mistake.
Electricity hums under my skin the second I touch her and instead of simply moving toward the mess, she steps into me, bringing herself flush up against my chest.
Her hair smells like peppermint and when she looks up at me, her cheeks are flushed. Wide-eyed, she raises a hand and places it over my heart, which is racing almost painfully.
All I can think about is kissing her. I fixate on her mouth, the shape of it, my eyes tracing the curve of her full bottom lip, wondering what it would taste like.
I lower my head toward her, so close—so close—to satisfying my curiosity.
Her breath hitches and that one small sound is enough to bring me back to my senses.
I jerk back, swallowing roughly against the look of disappointment that immediately clouds her features.
I clear my throat, regret already overwhelming me. “Uh, I really need to get to the workshop.” I start to back away. “Leave the mess, I’ll clean it up when I get back.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn and make my way out of the house.
* * *
“Okay, I’m here, this better be good, I was just heading home to a beer with my name on it.”
Cohen, my accountant and one of my best friends, pushes through the double doors to my workshop and glowers at me.
“I just put some bottles in there.” I gesture to the freestanding refrigerator I have shoved in the corner of the room.
He grabs a drink and comes to sit beside me on one of the old deck chairs I keep for emergencies like this.
Silently, Cohen opens his bottle and takes a slug, keeping his eyes glued to me. “What’s going on, man? You haven’t called a meeting of the brain trust in a couple of years.”
“You’re my brain trust?” I lift a questioning eyebrow.
“Clearly. I don’t see Brandon anywhere.” Cohen and Brandon’s competitiveness is legendary, they’ve been battling it out for alpha status since we were teenagers and I can tell he’s loving the idea of coming out on top today.
“Firstly, Brandon’s out of town so he couldn’t be here, even if I wanted him to.” I take a pull of my beer and then scrub a hand across my mouth. “Secondly, I can’t talk to him about this, so you’re the brain trust by default. Go you.” I try to grin at him to soften the blow, but it’s a struggle.
“Ah, then the topic of today must be young Holly Curtis. Gotta say, it’s been a while since I had to listen to you pine over her. I kind of thought you were over it.”
“She’s not young,” I grunt. “She’s only a couple of years younger than us, her age isn’t the problem. And, there’s nothing to get over.”
“Then why am I here? On a Saturday afternoon when I could be at home watching a game, why am I in your smelly workshop surrounded by varnish, wood shavings, and power tools?” He smooths a hand over his suit, that no doubt is the most expensive thing in this room.
“I almost kissed her.”
