Page 7 of Mistletoe Missus
He snarled, “Insult her again, and I’ll make you my bitch in sixty seconds.”
I stood there, shocked by the turn of events, my mouth agape, but my brain still processed his quick action. Violence wasn’t my style, and I should have marched over there, demanding he release the man. But I couldn’t.
Instead, I watched the driver heed his threat, and a warmth spread from my toes all the way to my pussy.Goddamn. He had me tuned in and turned on by his protective, rather ruthless behavior. I should feel appalled, but the bitch between my legs loved being defended. It was a reaction I had never experienced because no hot and burly man had ever done this for me before.
He released the man with a grunt, and the driver fixed his jacket as he got back into his car. The door slammed shut, and the testosterone left the air. Only the thickness of my arousedheat coated the wintertime breeze, and I was afraid he’d get a whiff as he came closer.
“Children,” I choked out, hopeful the change of subject distracted him enough or maybe it was an interference for me. “I was asking you about kids.”
“What about them?” he asked.
“Do you want kids?”
“I want a house full of them,” he replied with a straight face and resumed his position, but this time with his hands taking mine.
I cleared my throat. “You do?”
“Yes, or as many as your heart desires.”
His answer threw me for a loop. He wanted children, just like me. But a ton of them, which would mean a lot of sex.
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heartbeat and exhaled. “Then I’m sure.”
I was officially insane.
He simply smiled and pointed toward the limousine parked on the other side of the street. “Our chauffeur awaits.”
FIVE
Mr. Morgan
Tinsley
The limousine driver, who I discovered was named Albert, greeted me at the back door and held it open. I got inside and luxury surrounded me—a sight I wasn’t used to, and uncertainty stirred in the pit of my stomach.Should I even be doing this?
No.
The answer was obvious and simple. Point blank. But I had lost all my marbles.
All the shiny new things helped me overlook my irresponsible actions—the premium chocolates, the expensive bottles of white and red wine that sparkled against the crystal wine glasses, and the seats were made of smooth leather. There was even relaxing Christmas music playing throughout the limousine. The classic “I’ll be Home for Christmas,” but I had a sneaking suspicion I might not be home soon.
I watched through tinted glass as the handsome man who I had agreed to marry gave Albert instructions, and the man with an all too serious appearance nodded. The driver opened the door, and a musky scent followed that wasn’t there before. The earthy smell circled me and pulled me in as my eyes closed, and I breathed it in. A shiver ran down my spine, and I waslightheaded—lost in an aroma that felt like forever but only several seconds passed by. The car door latched shut and broke me from the fragrance coma induced by the man seated beside me. Someone I had only met and barely knew, but I had gone to first base with.
My eyes shot open, and I turned slightly in his direction. “So, who is the man I’m about to marry?”
The vehicle went forward at a slow pace as buildings passed through the window behind his head, and I watched him turn toward me. His hands fussed with the collar of his jacket as he readjusted it, and he got comfortable for the ride. But his intense hazel eyes whirled with some emotion I couldn’t recognize until he smiled. Amusement.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask me that,” he answered with a lick of his lips and a graze of his teeth over his bottom lip. “I’m Mitt. Mr. Mitt Morgan.”
Butterflies swarmed in my belly and heat spread across my cheeks. A sure mix of embarrassment, attraction, and stupidity. But I wasn’t alone in the lack of communication department and kissing someone before knowing their freaking name.
“Well, Mr. Morgan, I guess we ah...” I cleared my throat from the sudden frog caught inside of it. “We got caught up in the brief moments we’ve shared.”
“Do you always kiss men whom you don’t know?” Mitt asked without hesitation.
I blushed harder. “No.”
Two could play this game.
