Page 47 of The Mistletoe Trap
“God no,” he said, and she gaped at him. “What I mean is that I need to spend a little time getting my head right before having your hands on me. In fact, I should leave and go to my room for the same reason.”
Despite it being the last thing she wanted to do, she pulled her legs off his lap and sat forward. Then she stood along with him and walked him to the door, as if he couldn’t show himself to his own bedroom.
Mere steps short of the door, Gavin abruptly spun around and cupped her cheek. “Promise we’re okay?”
She placed her hand on top of his, soaking in the warmth of his touch once last time before having to close the book on the possibility-of-them for good. “I promise. And we always will be. We’re Gavin and Julie.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a sentimental smile. “It probably goes without saying that I’m not the greatest with mushy stuff, but I just want you to know that I…you know.”
“Yeah. Iyou knowyou, too.”
He looped his arm around her and pulled her in for a hug. She embraced him tightly and squeezed for all she was worth.
“Can you just, uh, pretend you don’t feel that,” he said, his voice gruff. “My head’s still a bit crooked.”
As if it hadn’t been hard enough—hee-hee—to ignore his growing erection, the press of it against her stomach caused heat to flood her entire body. She drew back and gave him her best confused expression. “Feel what?”
“Very funny.”
“Oh, so now I’m in trouble because I’m good at taking instructions.” She raised her shoulder and batted her eyes at him, hoping her attempt at coquettish didn’t look more like she was having a seizure.
He groaned and ran his hand down her hair, tugging it a bit at the ends and detonating that delectable tingle across her scalp that had her tempted to ask him to pull harder. “Killing me, Smalls.”
“Sorry. I’m not exactly not dying here.” She exhaled and summoned up the side of her that usually made men run for the hills. “Fun fact: the kind of tumors that can grow their own teeth and hair are called teratomas. We got this one in the lab, from a brain tumor, that had an eye, so it was like it was watching me dissect it the entire time.”
“Yeah, I remember, because you sent me the picture while I was eating dinner.” Gavin shuddered. “That was the stuff of nightmares.”
“You’re welcome.” She glanced up, to think and to avoid focusing on the situation in his pants. “Let’s see, what else is a boner killer?”
“That word, for one,” he said with a chuckle.
“Did you know that while we sleep, cerebrospinal fluid—that’s what’s in your spine—flows in and out of your brain in waves, washing away accumulated waste and buildup?”
“I did not. Go, spinal fluid, I guess?”
“Ooh, and if you smoothed out the wrinkles in your brain, it’d be about the size of a pillowcase.”
“Well, I know what I’m getting you for Christmas now.”
A laugh burst out of her, and then he was laughing, too. But then she looked at him, and her traitorous eyes fixated on the mouth that’d ravaged hers a few hours ago. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, and yet the words she shouldn’t say came out anyway. “I sorta wish I’d known that make-out session in the kitchen would be the last and only one.”
“Are you saying you need one for the road?” The rise and fall of his chest, along with the tense set of his jaw, at least verified this wasn’t a piece of cake for him. Something a tiny part of her still struggled to believe.
“Tempting, but probably not a good idea.”
“Yeah, I doubt my self-control would be any stronger than it was earlier, fun facts about the brain notwithstanding.” Yet he dipped his head and she froze, unable to blink or move or breathe. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Before she could so much as react, he opened the door and then he was gone.
And she was a gooey melty mess of a girl who had no chance of getting an ounce of sleep tonight.
Chapter Sixteen
Put a scalpel in her hands, and Julie could slice and dice with the best of them. When it came to sports, however, she struggled with her hand-eye coordination.
And that was on agoodday.
Last night, there’d been no sleeping. She’d tossed and turned, her lips tingling with the memory of heated kisses, only to then mourn their loss, and well, the odds were so not ever in her favor.
