Page 20 of Special Delivery Cowboy
"There's mistletoe," she blurted.
"What?"
She pointed toward the doorway between the living room and kitchen. A sprig of mistletoe hung from the frame, probably put there by the property owner.
"Just..." she cleared her throat, “thought you should know it's there."
"That so?"
"Yeah." She bit her lip. "In case that's relevant."
"Could be relevant."
"Could be."
We stared at each other. The fire crackled. Outside, the storm raged.
"I should probably—" she started.
"Yeah, we should—" I said at the same time.
Neither of us moved.
She stared at my lips. When she looked back up, her eyes were darkened.
"TJ."
"Ma'am?"
"Are you going to kiss me or are we going to sit here talking about mistletoe all night?"
A laugh burst out of me. "Direct. I like that."
"Is that a yes?"
Instead of answering, I reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Let my hand linger against her jaw. She sucked in a breath.
"Been wanting to kiss you since you accused me of being a stripper," I admitted.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
I closed the distance between us.
Her lips were warm, tasting like champagne and chocolate. The kiss started slow—testing, questioning. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and leaned in, her hand coming up to grip my shoulder.
I deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. She opened for me, and suddenly slow wasn't enough. My hand slid into her hair. Hers fisted in my thermal shirt. The kiss turned hungry, desperate, like we were both starving for this.
When we finally broke apart, we were both gasping.
"Damn," she whispered.
"Yeah."
"That was—"
