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“Well, actually, I’m not paying anything since I’m house-sitting for my grandmother,” she replies, but there’s something in her tone that makes me think she’s full of shit.

Maybe I should let her “teach” me the so-called true meaning of the holidays. That way, I can catch her in a lie and finally get her out of here.

“So while you’re here, you’re going to teach me how to find happiness?” I ask, half sarcastic.

“I could,” she replies, full of sass, “but I’m not sure it’s worth the effort since you want to take down my decorations. That wouldn’t exactly show you the true meaning of anything, now would it?”

“Then we’ll do it for kisses,” I propose, raising the stakes, enjoying the way her voice falters ever so slightly.

“Oh, right. Because according to you, you’re what—some kind of world-class kisser?” she teases, clearly unimpressed.

“I am,” I say with a cocky grin. “You just need to let me prove it.”

“Not interested,” she replies flatly, like I’m the most ridiculous man on the planet.

Fantastic. This is officially the worst negotiation of my life—and by far the hardest. Closing a quarter-billion-dollar deal for star quarterback Killion Crawford? Piece of cake. Figuring out how to get rid of this woman—or worse, convincing her that I’m a damn good kisser? That’s a fucking mystery.

“What’s it going to take to convince you to give me a chance?” I ask, and I’m not even sure if I’m talking about the decorations or the kisses. Hell, I’m not sure what I want anymore.

“Saturday,” she says, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world. “Come apple picking with me in Vermont.”

“I’ve got a gala that night, I can’t—” I start to protest, but then it hits me. Wait. Actually, this could work in my favor. “Fine. We’ll do apple picking somewhere closer—upper state New York, maybe Connecticut. As long as you come with me to the gala.”

“I don’t have a dress for that,” she says, already looking for a way out.

“I’ll arrange that,” I reply smoothly, not missing a beat. “Any other excuses, or are you afraid you won’t be able to convince me that the holidays are as magical and full of happiness as you claim?”

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” she says, her voice confident, like she actually thinks she’s in control here.

But she’s not. I’m the one who just won this round.

“Then it’s a deal,” I say, letting the smugness drip from every word. “Looking forward to our first kiss.”

I don’t wait for her response. Whatever she’s about to say through the wall isn’t relevant right now. I turn away, walking toward the bathroom, already thinking about the cold shower I should take—but knowing damn well it’s not going to be cold.

Fuck, that woman gets under my skin. And not in the way I’m used to. Her voice, her laugh, hell, even her annoying holiday cheer—it’s like a fucking itch I can’t scratch. And then there’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about her mouth. What it would feel like, taste like. The way those lips would part when I finally kiss her—when I finally shut her up with more than just words.

I step into the bathroom, my cock already hard at the thought of her. Shit. The only remedy for this is a long, hot shower—and if I end up thinking about her mouth the whole time? Well, that’s not my fault, is it?

Chapter Fifteen

Noelle

My phone ringsfor the thousandth time since I entered my apartment and started arguing with Jacob. When I glance at it, the picture of my sister flashed. Of course, it’s Valentina again. What could she possibly want this time, one would ask? Probably trying to pry more info out of me about McNeighbor and convince me that I should just let him have sex with me.

Oh my God, listen to me. I’m complaining like it’d actually be a hassle, when in fact, I’m pretty sure it’d be . . . what? Hot? Yeah, probably. Unless he’s just talking shit and ends up being worse than Chad. Then again, can anyone really be worse than my ex? The only decent reference I have is my trusty vibrator, Captain Buzz Lightmyyear—a hundred times better than Chad ever was. So, the real question is: would Jacob McNeighbor be better than Captain Buzz?

I let the call go to voicemail, but my phone lights up again immediately. “Get a life, Valentina,” I mutter, but I give in and answer because I know she won’t stop.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing much, just checking in on my favorite sister and to see if you can tell me more about that sexy Elf on the Shelf you’ve been hiding,” Val chirps through the line, her voice annoyingly cheerful. “Did you accept his offer yet? You know, the one where he promised to lick you like ice cream and melt you all over?”

“You’re ridiculous,” I groan, rubbing my forehead.

“I take that as a no, you didn’t accept his offer,” she sings, clearly amused.

“Of course, I didn’t accept. He’s . . .” My voice trails off because, honestly, how do I even finish that sentence? Because he’s what, Noelle? Grumpy? Sexy? Infuriatingly hot? If we set aside his grumpy, sometimes asshole-ish attitude, I wouldn’t exactly say no to a date. Or even . . . a one-night stand. Not that I’ve ever had one of those, but the things I imagine him doing?