Page 10 of Getting Wrapped Up

She found herself staring at his mouth.

Crap.

She pulled her gaze back to his with a surprising amount of effort required. She couldn’t throw herself at this guy. He was a nice small-town guy doing a favor for a friend of a friend. Guys in sweet little towns didn’t do hot hook ups with girls they didn’t know. Hell, Tucker had probably known every girl he’d ever taken out since kindergarten.

Besides, she wasn’t a hook-up kind of girl. She liked sex, but she needed more than two sentences to get out of her panties.

“I’m sure hoping there’s mistletoe around here somewhere.”

Okay, maybe three sentences. Or him just standing there smiling at her.

Oh boy, this might be a problem. Or not. She did have that Christmas tree fantasy after all. She’d been planning on having a sweet, romantic Christmas with a nice guy who was fun but had no chance of breaking her heart because the expectations were clear and simple.

But she could probably squeeze in some hot sex by Christmas tree light with Tucker.

Phoebe and Joe didn’t have their tree up yet. She’d found the house a few hours ago and had unpacked, showered and gotten dressed before coming back to town. But maybe Tucker had his tree up.

As she continued to stare at him, her gaze dipping to his mouth over and over. His smile was relaxed and he stepped forward, the look in his eyes more intent than playful now. “Or maybe we can skip the mistletoe altogether.”

She was acting like an idiot.

She was vaguely aware of the fact, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

She’d dated good-looking guys before. She’d dated good-looking guys who knew they were good looking before. But there was something about Tucker. It wasn’t only his looks. It was the way he was focused on her, fully concentrated, as if the world around them didn’t exist. It was the way he moved into her personal space without hesitation, or permission, like he belonged there. It was the way he met and held her gaze. The way he blatantly studied her—but not her body, not her breasts, not her legs—her face.

It should have been unnerving. She would have expected it to be unnerving. But it was…tempting.

She felt like he was drawing her in, pulling her closer, relaxing her and opening her up.

She wanted to cuddle close, take a long, deep whiff of his scent, feel his warmth and strength against her and…yes, take off her clothes.

“This is going to be a problem,” he said softly, for her ears only.

She cleared her throat and finally forced words out. “What is?”

“The way you’re looking at me. I was under the impression that we were going to be having hot cocoa together.”

She shook her head, trying not to make hot cocoa and chocolaty melted marshmallows dirty. And failing. “What’s that mean?”

“Hot cocoa is warm and comforting and sweet.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, not following.

“The way you’re looking at me is like spiked hot apple cider.”

Kate felt herself grin at the comparison. And he wasn’t wrong. There wasn’t anything particularly comforting or sweet about the things she was feeling.

Damn, she was ruining this. She was the one who wanted sweet and comforting. If she wanted hot sex and white wine, she could have stayed in San Francisco. She knew a number of guys who would have gone for that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” There was a gruffness to his voice that made those goose bumps pop up again.

She leaned back. She was sending the wrong message. Phoebe knew she wanted adate. She wanted to spend time with a nice guy who was willing to indulge her need for some Christmas nostalgia. And now she was looking at him like she’d like to cover him in eggnog and then lick it all up.

Kate squeezed her thighs together.Don’t be the frisky city girl who comes to town for a quickie, she told herself.Be nice, be sweet, let him romance you. That’s what you want.

“Do you have a tree up yet at your place?” she asked. Sure, she kind of wanted to get naughty under the evergreen branches, but she also really loved Christmas trees. Her family had never had Christmas trees. For a while, she’d put one up in her apartment, but she’d consciously forgone that tradition last year, and it hadn’t even occurred to her this year.

Tucker studied her for a long moment and then leaned back. “Not yet,” he admitted. “But if you want a Christmas tree, I can find you a Christmas tree. What do you say to some cocoa after all?”

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