Page 33 of Inherited Holiday

I heard the front door open, but that wasn’t what surprised me. What shocked the shit out of me was that she walked in holding pepper spray in her hands.

“What the hell, Elle?”

She jumped, turning in the direction of my voice, her Mace now pointing at me. “Oh my God! I could have maced you, you idiot! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Put the Mace down,” I ordered.

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing in my house uninvited.”

I was over to her in three strides, grabbing the Mace out of her hands before she even saw it coming.

“What are you doing with this?” I asked, placing it on her coffee table and turning to face her.

“Why does one carry Mace, Nicholas?” she sarcastically stated, pissed off that I was able to take it away from her without any effort. “I thought you were a robber. My door was unlocked.”

“And what is a hundred and fifteen pounds of you going to do?”

“Mace him!” she exclaimed with her hands out in front of her. “Hence, the Mace!”

I gripped the back of her neck and pulled her toward my mouth as her pupils dilated and her breathing hitched, not giving her a chance to think about it.

Not.

One.

Second.

My lips were on hers before she had a chance to blink. My hands clutched the sides of her face as my tongue devoured her perfect pouty lips, biting her bottom lip.

Her soft tongue.

Her peppermint scent.

The taste of vanilla in her mouth.

It had me groaning involuntarily.

She moaned into my mouth, making my cock twitch.

When I knew I had her where I wanted her, I pulled away, but not before demanding, “Let’s role-play, and you play nice and stop acting so naughty unless you want the Grinch to steal your Christmas.”

With that, I let her go and made my way back into her living room to grab my tools.

NOELLE

Damn him.

My body felt like it was on fire. There wasn’t an inch of me that didn’t ache for him, that didn’t want him. I craved his touch now as much as I did last night, and my cocky ex-best friend knew it too. I licked my lips, needing the moisture to soothe the burn he left behind.

His eyes followed the simple gesture of my tongue.

His desire overwhelmed me, but him being in my home with his tools intrigued me too much not to ask, “What are you doing here?”

He replied, “I came over to tackle your honey-do list. My brother doesn’t need to be your bitch now that I’m back.”

“You’re back?” I snapped. “What does that mean?”

He ignored my question, walking toward my front door instead. Only then did it register what he did all day for free without me having to ask him. I didn’t actually have a list. He must have literally examined my house to search for what needed fixing.

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