Page 9 of The Mechanic's Secret Santa

“Then prove it.” I lower my head slowly, bringing our mouths as close as I dare without our lips actually touching. “Plus, I want to see if your lips taste like cinnamon, too.”

“Damn you,” she grumbles, gripping the open flaps of my coat. Her emerald eyes darken a shade as our breaths mingle. A sweet sense of victory comes over me. Who knew that today would finally be the day I get to taste those pillowy lips?

“To be convincing, right?” she whispers.

I trace her jaw with the pad of my calloused thumb and she doesn’t flinch. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, babe.” I don’t give her the opportunity to scoff before I gently press my lips to hers. A soft buzz radiates from the connection. I could do the gentlemanly thing and pull back. But I’ll never see a checkered flag with Meg without taking a few risks to get there.

The second I deepen the kiss, she parts her lips willingly. Our tongues slide together in a slow yet hungry rhythm.Yep, cinnamon. A soft moan escapes her throat as she yanks harderon my coat, arching her body against mine. Despite the layers, I’m still a fucking man. I know the feel of tits pressed against me.

It’s the loud whistle from someone in the crowd that reminds us both that we’ve got an audience. Though that had been the point, now I wish I had this curvy beauty all to myself.

“That was Becky Sue.” At long last, Meg shares an unguarded smile with me. When our gaze locks again, it takes all the restraint I possess not to pull her lips back to mine. I knew kissing Meg would be fucking good. But I wasn’t prepared for my legs to be so damn shaky.

“Looks like they’re leaving,” I say, feeling a little smug.

“Really?”

“How’sthatfor convincing?” I tease.

Meg’s cheeks redden. “I think it’s safe to sneak back to the bakery,” she says, avoiding eye contact.

“Meg—”

“We have another date tomorrow, right?” She skates away before I can answer. Instead of chasing after her, I simply enjoy the view. One of these days, I’ll get my hands around those perfect cheeks. Preferably when I have my face squarely planted in that sweet cookie of hers.

“Just so you know,” Becky Sue says from the side of the skating rink, “I’ve always been Team Aaron.”

“Team Aaron?”

She holds up a mug in toast before disappearing into the crowd.

I don’t hide my shit-eating grin. If all goes according to plan this Christmas, I’ll get to eat Meg’s sweet cookies whenever I want, because she’ll be my wife.

Chapter Five

MEG

“What are you doing here?” Piper scolds when she catches me in the kitchen, not so discreetly rolling out sugar cookie dough about the time I should be frosting my last cookie. Any other day, and no one would question me working late.

“It’s a special order.”

“No one else can make sugar cookies?” Piper challenges.

Truth be told, anyone else could take care of this order. Including Piper who mostly does marketing. Or Addison when she comes in for her nightshift. Hell, even Brooklyn who’s so bad in a kitchen that I keep her strictly on deliveries, could handle rolling dough and operating cookie cutters. I won’t bake these until early tomorrow morning so they’re as fresh as they can be for the VFW Christmas party.

But I was in desperate need of a night off from my fake relationship.

For the past couple of days, Aaron has been more than convincing with his axis tiltingfakekisses, sensual touches, and schmoozing of my mom.

I feel like I’m living in a Hallmark movie, except the thoughts I’ve been having about him are anything but G-rated. I wonder how upset Wilma would be to learn that I’m having such naughty thoughts about the man whose name I drew. There wasn’t a rule forbidding fraternization, but it still feels like a gray area.

Every little touch has my body tingling with a want that I can’t seem to satisfy on my own. In the middle of such an attempt in the wee hours of this morning, my faithful Clit Master lost its charge. Being around Aaron tonight would be disastrous. I know his flirting is anythingbutfake. But as long as I keep pretending that it is, I still have some control over my stupid feelings.

“What areyoudoing here?” I ask Piper, hopeful to deflect what I’m not ready to dissect any more than I already have. It’s making my head hurt. “It’s after seven.”

“Hiding,” she says with a heavy sigh, dropping onto a stool.

“From?”

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