Page 4 of Tied Up In Tinsel
“Again?” He asked, brows raised high.
“Are you afraid you can’t keep up?”
The man scoffed, lifted and drank the next shot without even waiting for me to join in.
Then, he leaned in too, and that’s when I felt the heat of his leg brush against mine.
Oh, he was playing the same game I was. I could feel the tension, the desire practically radiating off my skin. Or maybe it was the heat from the liquor now swimming through my veins.
The dim lights of the bar caught the sharp line of his jaw as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
“So,” I said, tilting my head. “What brings you to Snowberry Peak? And don’t say the skiing, everyone says that, and I’ll know you’re lying.”
I reached out, running a finger along his arm.
He took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Change of pace.” His voice hit a lower, more sultry tone.
I raised a brow. “That’s vague.”
“Maybe I like vague.”
“Or maybe you’re hiding something,” I countered, pulling my hand back and pressing my knee closer to his under the bar top. “Let me guess… divorce?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Nope.”
I sat back and tapped a finger to my chin. “Okay, then. Ex-convict on the run?”
He chuckled low in his throat. “Would that make me more interesting?”
“Depends. Did you do it?” My eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between us just a little. “What if I told you I was innocent?”
“What if I didn’t believe you?” I murmured, my hand sliding under the bar until it landed on his upper thigh.
His gaze dropped briefly to the contact, and I felt the faintest shift as he moved closer to me.
I was bold, brazen. I prided myself on my ability to flirt, though I never got to let this version of me out to play.
“I’m starting to thinkyoumight be the trouble,” he said, voice warm and teasing.
“I’ve been told that before.” I let my fingers trail back toward my drink, slow enough for him to notice the absence.
His smirk deepened. “So, no questions about whether I’m married? Or secretly engaged? I said no to being divorced. You’re skipping the important stuff.”
I shrugged, sipping my mule. “If you were, you wouldn’t be here sitting in a bar, drinking with a woman whose name you don’t even know. At least I’d hope you wouldn’t be.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m here,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, that hint of heat making the air between us feel heavier.
I laughed softly, leaning my elbow on the surface so we were almost level. “Careful. You keep talking like that, and I’ll start thinking you came here for me.”
He held my gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “And if I did?”
My pulse kicked up, but I didn’t break eye contact. “Then I guess you’re not as vague as you think you are.”
The rest of the bar faded into a blur of holiday chatter and clinking glasses. Just his eyes on mine, and the unspoken awareness that we were playing a game neither of us wanted to end.
His eyes then fell to my lips and on instinct, I ran my tongue against the bottom one before pulling it between my teeth.
