Page 104 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
Ten minutes passed or maybe it was fifteen—Cait couldn’t tell. Yawning, she covered her mouth. “I think we should leave,” Joe suggested as he casually walked by. “You’re ready to fall asleep on your feet.”
“I haven’t kissed Paul yet,” she reminded him.
“He seems to be involved in a lengthy discussion. This could take a while.”
“I’m in no hurry.” Her throat felt unusually dry. She would have preferred something nonalcoholic, but the only drink nearby was the punch.
“Cait,” Joe warned when he saw her helping herself to yet another glass.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”
“So did the captain of theTitanic.”
“Don’t get cute with me, Joseph Rockwell. I’m in no mood to deal with someone amusing.” Finding herself hilariously funny, she smothered a round of giggles.
“Oh, no,” Joe groaned. “I was afraid of this.”
“Afraid of what?”
“You’re drunk!”
She gave him a sour look. “That’s ridiculous. All I had is four little, bitty glasses of punch.” To prove she knew exactly what she was doing, she held up three fingers, recognized her mistake and promptly corrected herself. At least she tried to do it promptly, but figuring out how many fingers equaled four seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. She finally held up two from each hand.
Expelling her breath, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. That was her second mistake. The world tooka sharp and unexpected nosedive. Snapping open her eyes, Cait looked to Joe as the anchor that would keep her afloat. He must have read the panic in her expression because he moved toward her and slowly shook his head.
“That does it, Ms. Singapore Sling. I’m getting you out of here.”
“But I haven’t been under the mistletoe yet.”
“If you want anyone to kiss you, it’ll be me.”
The offer sounded tempting, but it was her stubborn boss Cait wanted to kiss, not Joe. “I’d rather dance with you.”
“Unfortunately there isn’t any music at the moment.”
“You need music to dance?” It sounded like the saddest thing she’d ever heard, and her bottom lip began to tremble at the tragedy of it all. “Oh, dear, Joe,” she whispered, clasping both hands to the sides of her head. “I think you might be right. The punch seems to be affecting me....”
“It’s that bad, is it?”
“Uh, yes... The whole room’s just started to pitch and heave. We’re not having an earthquake, are we?”
“No.” His hand was on her forearm, guiding her toward the front door.
“Wait,” she said dramatically, raising her index finger. “I have a coat.”
“I know. Stay here and I’ll get it for you.” He seemed worried about leaving her. Cait smiled at him, trying to reassure him she’d be perfectly fine, but she seemed unable to keep her balance. He urged her against the wall, stepped back a couple of paces as though he expected her to slip sideways, then hurriedly located her coat.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he returned.
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“Other than the fact that you’re crying?”
“My feet hurt.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “Why did you wear those stupid shoes in the first place?”
“I already told you,” she whimpered. “Don’t be mad at me.” She held out her arms to him, needing his comfort. “Would you carry me to the car?”
