She cocks her head, her brow furrowing. “No, I don’t think so.”
“No?”
She shakes her head. “No. You’re a good one, Oliver Featherswallow. A very good one, actually, even though you came off a tiny bit twatty at first.”
“Your British slang is coming along nicely,” I say. “But that should be ‘a bit of a twat’, not ‘a bit twatty.’ Please try to remember that in the future.”
“Got it. I’ll keep that in mind.” She smiles, soft and unguarded, a smile that feels like it’s just for me.
And suddenly I can’t keep my guilty conscience to myself.
“I’m not always good,” I admit in a huskier voice. “I’ve been thinking impure thoughts about you nearly every hour of every day. And I’m seriously tempted to use that mistletoe above your head as an excuse to ravage you in the solarium.”
Her eyes fly up, landing on the pearl berries hung between two palm fronds.
When her gaze returns to mine, her pupils are wide, dark.
Determined.
“Well, if you need an excuse,” she whispers.
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
One moment, we’re frozen in the dark, a sleeping puppy snoring on the potting bench between us.
The next, she’s in my arms.
Chapter Fourteen
EMILY
Ipull him closer, and suddenly the green icing on his hideous sweater is lighting up the shadows, throbbing in time with each eager beat of my heart.
We shouldn’t do this.
At least not without having a serious talk.
I have no idea what he wants, whatIwant. Or how this could possibly work with all the obstacles between us. But God, his lips taste even better than I remember. Like punch and holiday magic and Olly, this kind, clever man who is so much more than a “spare.”
“Every time the tabloids call you ‘the spare,’ I want to punch someone,” I confess as his fingers curl around the back of my neck.
“Why?” His thumb presses that spot below my ear, the one that sends shivers all the way down my spine.
“Because it’s mean.” I nip at his lower lip. “You’re not a spare, you’re a person. You’re…Olly.”
He hums low in his throat, kissing me harder before whispering against my lips, “I love it when you call me Olly. It makes me happy and hard, all at the same time.” He shifts his hips, proving he isn’t lying.
Idomake him hard.
And he makes me want like I’ve never wanted a man before.
But we’re technically in public—in a room with glass walls, no less.
“What if someone sees? There could be paparazzi outside,” I breathe against his mouth. But when he backs me against his Great-Great-Whatever Aunt’s potting bench, I put up exactly zero resistance.
“They can’t trespass on private property.” His tongue spars deliciously with mine before he adds, “But that doesn’t mean someone from the party couldn’t walk in at any minute. This shows a staggering lack of judgment.”
“It does. We should—” I break off with a shudder as he grips my ass in both big hands. “We should really…” He pulls me tight to his erection, making my breath catch on a moan. “I wouldn’t want to…” His kisses my neck, my jaw, his breath coming faster as my head spins. “What about the rules?”
