Page 3 of A Cowboy Sugar Cookie Kiss
My body freezes. My insides swirl in a way I’d like to pretend doesn’t happen every time I think about him. About that night. About the way I’m supposed to hate him, but his touch lights me on fire.
“The prize room was next guess.” My sister’s tone doesn’t sound fazed that the man of our discussion is right here. Listening. Commenting. Like she’d known he was close behind us all along.
As if this moment couldn’t get any worse, I feel his body warmth and smell his woodsy scent before his whisper kisses my ear. “Who are we hiding from?”
He’s right behind me. Hunched over me. His head next to mine. If I made an attempt to stand, I’d whack him on the chin.
“We’re not hiding.” I tilt my head. Sure enough, there he is. His face is close enough a tiny movement would connect our lips.
His smile cracks into a cocky grin. “You’re hiding from me, aren’t you?”
“Get over yourself,” I say, at the same time my sister says, “obviously.”
He chuckles and the sound sends my head into a delirious state of memories.
Christmas cracker!
I step away from him and inhale the sweet smells of holiday cinnamon and peppermint. Anything to rid his manly scent from my nostrils. I collect myself before I turn to face him.
Hunky.
Hot.
Eye candy at an entirely new level.
He’s a rancher with a burly body to show for it. Tall, thick, towering and overpowering. Chiseled and sculpted like Tarzan. Is it wrong I want to be Jane? Come, take me, and have your way with me.
Damn it. No.
“Maggie, you’re staring.” My sister peeks around Cole. Her blue eyes twinkle with mischief.
“I’m not staring,” I hiss.
Cole clears his throat. “You’re staring.”
I glare at him. “I was avoiding you to keep it from being weird between us.”
Is it possible he’s even better looking than the last time I saw him? I’m a sucker for a good pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and Stetson. Even though I live in the city, I’m a country girl at heart.
He folds his arms over his muscular chest. “I would say you failed. A staring peeping Tom is weird.”
Buckles of laughter pour out of my sister. “Peeping Tom.” She laughs louder.
Cole’s smirk rises.
“I am not a peeping Tom.”
“You’re not a very good peeping Tom,” Cole says.
I point between them. “This conversation is over. I didn’t drive all the way back to my home town to start a peeping Tom rumor.”
“No, you drove back to help with the fundraiser. Just like you do every year.” Grams squeezes me from behind. “And to escape a job you hate, a boss who treats you like dirt, and to bake just like you were born to do.” She whispers, but loud enough everyone can hear it.
“I don’t hate my job.”
Grams rubs my arms. “You don’t love it.”
“You hate it.” My sister bulldozes by Cole to bear-hug our grandmother. “I’m here for you, Grams.” One would be under the impression Sadie doesn’t see our grandmother every day. But she works the cash at grams local bakery Betty’s Bakeshop.
