Wrapped with a beau, p.14
Wrapped with a Beau, page 14
The party is well under way by the time he arrives. No one hears the bell tinkle or sees him enter, which gives him a moment to take it all in. The fragrance hits him first, as though he’s dived headfirst into a giant bowl of spiced punch. If he has to be sentimental, he would say that it smells the way Christmas-scented candles only wish they could. Where the vaulted ceiling, open to both the first floor and the ivy-draped balconied second, gleams silver and gold. Fairy lights twine with translucent paper snowflakes, glittering against silver acorns and gold-dusted pine cones.
Ves breathes in sugar cookie, spruce, and mulled wine. There must also be a wood-burning fire somewhere, because the back of his throat tickles with the hint of smoke, and something else, too. Spicy and citrusy. As he makes his way past the entrance and the opportune mistletoe suspended from oak beams, peppering the aisles full of tall shelves stacked with nutcrackers and ballerina figurines, he discovers the source: bundles of cinnamon sticks and clove-studded oranges strung across the mantel.
Every single lamp is on, casting halos of light against the partygoers, who are milling around sipping from cut-glass goblets and nibbling at finger foods. There’s plenty of space for the large crowd, as though the floor plan has been rearranged to look less like a store and more like an experience. Choral Christmas music plays from vintage-looking radios that have an iPhone plugged into the dock. There are lush wreaths and artificial trees everywhere, decked out in ornaments and tinsel, white cotton fluff banked in clumps to resemble snow.
Nothing about this is garish at all. In fact, it’s kind of perfect. Enchanting, even.
His attention breaks when two blond women start to approach him, whispering in each other’s ears and giggling. A redhead in the corner abruptly ignores the man speaking to her in favor of ogling Ves.
“Ves, you made it!” booms Dave’s voice. He makes his way through the crowd, bypassing the blonds so fast that by the time he reaches Ves, he’s a little ruddy-cheeked. Although that could also be from the generous pour in his tumbler. He pumps Ves’s hand exuberantly with both hands.
This time, Ves’s smile comes naturally. It’s impossible not to be fond of Elisha’s grandfather, who has always greeted him with warmth and welcome. “I thought you said it was just a little party?” He arches a brow at the room. It’s like the whole town is here, with more people bustling in by the second.
Dave smiles and scratches at his gray scruff. “The more the merrier, right?”
Ves can’t say he agrees. It sounds like a nightmare for catering.
“Elisha’s somewhere over there,” says Dave, pointing to a far-flung corner beyond a mini forest of lit trees. He gives a fond laugh. “Probably evading her Mistletoe Miscreants . . .”
“Thanks.” With a parting nod, he heads in her direction.
Elisha faces away from him, blocking his view of the man she’s speaking with. She is, unsurprisingly, wearing a pointy green hat with a huge red pom-pom. But even though that’s what draws his attention first, it’s her slinky black bodycon dress that makes his mouth go dry.
He rubs at his jaw when he sees its open back. His fingers flex, yearning to splay across her skin. Even with that ridiculously unsexy hat, she’s still the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. The realization slams into him, leaving his skin prickling icy-hot, like a persistent windburn.
Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s striding toward her, determination in every step.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ves
Once Ves is close enough, he overhears “For the last time, Richard. Take your mistletoe elsewhere before you make me do something decidedly un-elflike.”
Protectiveness and jealousy rear in his chest. “Everything good here?” Ves asks Elisha, but it’s Richard who answers.
“Yes, we are fine.” He squints, not bothering to hide his irritation. “Hey, you’re the guy from trivia!”
“Ves Hollins.”
“Richard Breckenridge.” He doesn’t extend his hand to shake, maybe because he’s holding a bunch of mistletoe in each fist. “You’re the reason I couldn’t get parking.”
“Pardon me?”
“All the women here.” Richard scowls. “They’re all here for you. You’re fresh blood.”
Ves turns to Elisha, a panicked thought suddenly occurring. “I’m not the guest of honor, am I?”
She places one hand on her hip and the other on her chin. “Inadvertently. Honestly, I can’t believe you actually showed up.” But she seems happy about it.
“Of course I did. Your grandpa invited me. Though he did say it was just ‘a little party.’ ”
Richard laughs meanly. “Get ready to get ‘caught’ under the mistletoe, my poor, deluded dude.”
“Hey.” Elisha’s eyes flash. Without another word, she reaches out to grab his mistletoe. “Stop ripping apart our decorations. I do not want to see you with them again. You work your way up to a kiss, get consent, and preferably you don’t just lunge at people who have known and rejected you since high school!”
With a wounded look, the man slinks off.
“It needed to be done,” Elisha says decisively, eyes narrowing after him.
“You won’t hear an argument from me,” says Ves. If he’s being honest, he didn’t like seeing Richard that close to her. Wondering whether he’d placed his hand on Elisha’s bare skin, skimmed the curve of her spine. It makes something primal in his chest crackle and spit like a roaring fire without a grate to contain it.
“No argument? That’s a first.” But she’s smiling. At least for a moment, the delightful curve of her lips seems to share a secret. “God, this is why I hate being single over the holidays. Every guy who you turned down in the past pops up out of the woodwork thinking you’re now desperate enough to say yes. There are Richards everywhere.” She sighs. “I’m sorry Grandpa tricked you into coming.”
Ves can only assume Dave was doing a little meddling of his own. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
She wrinkles her pert little nose rather adorably. “To a Christmas party? I just assumed it wouldn’t be your thing. A full house of people all interested in you? Unavoidable mistletoe? Boatloads of small talk with inquisitive townspeople? I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Okay, granted, it’s not the way he’d most like to spend his evening, but if it means she’s there, too . . .
His chest simmers like a pot of bubbling wassail. She gets him. She cares if he’s uneasy about certain situations. She intuits things about him without needing to be told. Has he ever had a woman care like her?
Ves takes a beat too long to respond, because the next thing he knows, she presses, “Since you’re staying, are you volunteering to be my anti-Richard? My mistletoe repellent?”
Each word is repugnant in its own way. “You really know how to flatter a man,” he drawls.
Her cheeks turn pink. She fidgets with her glass and looks down at her Dr. Martens lace-ups, mumbling a barely coherent “You know what I mean.”
It’s cute how she gets nervous around him. And gratifying, considering how he feels right now. The room is excruciatingly hot or maybe it’s just his proximity to her that makes him want to rip off his scarf and jacket. Not even hang them up properly. Just throw them to the floor before he takes her hand and leads her past the trees and into a corner where nobody will find them for hours.
“Oh, you need a drink,” says Elisha. Her hand lands on his for a quick touch that isn’t even close to enough. “I’ll go grab us some. I’ll be right back.” She darts through the crowd before he can stop her.
“Excuse me.” Someone lightly taps at his shoulder. “You’re Maeve’s nephew, right?”
He turns to see the redhead from before. She tosses her big, bouncy curls in a flirtatious manner, smiling with glossy red lips.
“Her great-nephew.” He tilts his head. “I’m sorry, you look so familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”
She laughs. “I’m Charity. You probably recognize me from trivia night. Dork Academia? The name was my idea. I teach English at the high school. I used to teach middle school, and your books were always a favorite in my class. The next one’s coming out soon, right?”
“Mm-hmm,” he says with the same rigid smile that only emerges when he’s uncomfortable—like now, when this inevitable question about what’s next comes up. “It’s nice to meet a fan,” he offers when the silence lingers.
Charity laughs again, but this time she couples it with a hand on his forearm. Applies a little pressure so he knows it’s not just a casual touch. “The kids are your fans. Never said I was.” When Ves’s smile falls, stung, hers goes from sharp to sultry as her fingers walk up his sleeve. “But I can always be . . . persuaded.”
A hand unceremoniously shoves a drink between him and Charity. The first thing he sees are nude, polished nails with a Santa hat across the tip. There’s only one person they could belong to. Relief surges through him with embarrassing speed. The next thing in his vision is a diamond tennis bracelet on a slim wrist. And finally, the beautiful—and clearly irked—woman it belongs to.
“Your drink, Ves,” Elisha grinds out, perhaps unintentionally loud, because the very next thing she does is scowl like it’s all his fault. Her surprising jealousy coaxes a small smile to his lips.
He takes the opportunity to detach from Charity. “Thanks, Elisha.” Their fingertips graze as he accepts the goblet. The tiniest frisson of electricity zaps him, and he feels the shiver reverberate up his whole arm. Elisha looks somewhat mollified.
“It was nice to meet you, Charity,” he says politely, but with finality. “Have a nice night.” And with that, he holds out his hand to Elisha, palm up.
She takes it, looking pleased. “Enjoy the party!” The second they’re out of earshot, she says, “You’re lucky Riley’s too busy flirting to see you fraternizing with the enemy.”
“Enemy?” God, she’s adorable.
“Member of the opposing team. Whatever.” Elisha guzzles the punch. “Jeez, it’s hot in here.”
Ves takes a tentative sip of his own drink. There’s a definite burn under all the sweetness. Crisp cider, tart cranberry juice, and enough rum to please a pirate—or a whole crew of them. “And the punch is strong.”
Her smile is impish. “It usually is when Grandpa makes it.”
That tracks. “Uh, this is for you.” He peels the handles off his wrist and holds the bag out to her pinched between two fingers. “Your mom, actually. To say thank you for dinner the other night. I don’t know what she looks like, so I thought I’d just . . .”
“Like me, but more tan and way too chic to be caught in an elf hat.” Elisha takes the bag and peeks inside. “The annual holiday party has always been more Grandpa’s thing, so Mom and Dad are having a much-needed date night at home. Good choice on the chocolate, though! These are her favorites.”
Relief pools in his belly. And suddenly, as their gazes lock, it’s not relief anymore, but hot lava and insistent desire to kiss the small talk right out of Elisha Rowe, put both their mouths to far better use. He wets the seam of his lips, heartbeat quickening.
“What?” She touches her face, as though worried about her makeup. “Do I have something . . . ?”
Ves is robbed of breath. Her eyes are multidimensional with the fairy lights playing across her irises, bouncing off the highlight artfully placed on her cheekbones, the dip of her Cupid’s bow. His eyes are drawn to her lips, where they linger long enough that Elisha notices.
She swallows. “Ves? You’re staring at my mouth. Not that I have a problem with that, but, um, why?”
“You’re beautiful,” he says honestly. He can’t remember the last time he’s said that to a woman. If ever. Or if he has, if he’s meant it the way he does right now, with the force of his whole heart.
There’s a light smattering of freckles across her nose, a couple on her cheeks, left over from summer, possibly. His heart aches that he won’t be here long enough to see her in strappy summer dresses that cover even less of her than her winter ones do now. Missing out on seeing her run around in flip-flops, wondering if she’s equally vigilant about her toenail art. He can imagine her painting white-and-yellow daisies and perfect pink tulips.
He visualizes those nails tugging at his hair, bringing him closer for a kiss. Maybe skating down his back to make him shiver. Wrapped around his cock as she looks up at him, thick black lashes fluttering over her cheeks as her mouth closes around him.
If he were smart, he wouldn’t feel so victorious that Elisha was jealous over a woman he didn’t even fancy. He wouldn’t have wanted to shove that damn mistletoe in Richard’s throat and watch it scratch all the way down.
And when she looks at him like she is right now, he wouldn’t want to reach behind her, cup her neck, squeeze it lightly as he brings his mouth down to hers. Press her into a corner somewhere to steal that kiss and then a thousand more, just to be safe. Nibbles down her neck, across her collarbone.
Fingers tiptoeing across her warm back, tracing that cursive E on her fine golden chain that he can’t stop thinking about. Slipping his fingers underneath, feeling its warmth from her skin. She’s wearing it now, the gold letter glittering at the hollow of her throat. He wants to kiss it and then keep going down, down, down.
He swallows roughly. “Is there someplace quiet we can go?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elisha
Elisha’s heart trips over itself as she leads Ves to the storeroom, far enough away from the party that the chatter is only a dull hum in her ear. Does he actually just want a private place to have a chat? Or is he speaking in code?
When she had her own apartment in Atlanta, coming up for coffee usually meant sex first, then coffee the morning after, presuming he spent the night. If she was at a bar or club, getting out of here meant getting into her panties. But in the middle of the Chocolate Mouse, does the code mean something different?
She flips the switch and the lights take forever to crackle on. One by one, the panels above them come to life. Boxes full of extra decorations are stashed here, worn trees with crooked or missing branches, and various other odds and ends from the store floor that need fixing.
By the time Elisha turns around to ask Ves if this is fine, hinges squeak and she quickly discovers someplace quiet we can go is code for reaching behind him to lock the door without looking. His eyes are on her, only her. Elisha’s breath hitches.
Without the distracting shimmer of the store decorations and all the dressed-up people, Ves sharpens into focus. Eyes the shade of the softest denim, ringed by black eyelashes. Pure blazing want bleeds across his face, from the unblinking intensity of his stare to the way he wets his lower lip.
The way he’s looking at her makes her feel like she’s taken a deep guzzle of hot tea that’s settled low in her belly.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night,” he confesses, eyes boring into her like he can see her leaping heart, hear her humming bones.
“You just got here.”
“I know.”
Without another word, she snakes her arms around his trim waist, pressing herself into the solid heat of him. His eyes reverently shut, then pop open when she gets on her tiptoes to press her lips against his.
The angle is all off at first, their mouths meeting too hard, too hungry, too desperate. But then he tilts her chin and it’s good. So fucking good that if this dress would allow it, she would jump on him in a second, wrapping her legs around his waist.
As it is, his thigh slides between her own, and the friction is so delicious that all the unresolved, tangled tension threatens to unspool her into a writhing mess.
His mouth molds against hers until she melts against him, his hands greedily moving up and down her bare back, blunt nails tickling her spine, knuckles grinding pleasurably against her tailbone. She moans, a reedy, whining thing that makes him smile against her lips.
“Someone likes that,” he whispers.
Oh, she absolutely does. “Mm-hmm,” she says, nipping at his bottom lip when he stops. She makes a sound of protest, shoving at his shoulders, then clenching her fingers around the fabric of his jacket to bring him closer. There’s way too much space between their bodies for what’s about to happen, what her core is crying out for.
When he resumes that divine strumming of her spine, she feels his erection brush against her belly. The double whammy makes her more frantic, more eager for the solid press of his body against hers.
It’s been too long since someone’s touched her like this, and the kiss is good. His lips are soft but firm and coaxing, stoking the need in her gut that’s already roused from flicker to flame. The tingles start behind her ears at first, then pinball in berserk zips, zings, and zaps to every other part of her.
She’s ridiculously turned on. Part of her wants this to be rough and passionate, the way a quickie can be when she’s desperate for another person and greedy for release. But as lust-hazy as she is right now, it isn’t lost on her that they’re in her family’s place of business. She inhales, resting her hands on his shoulders, the move putting a few inches of distance between their heaving chests.
His mouth presses soft kisses up her neck, his nose tracing her lobe. His voice is low and urgent as he mumbles beneath her ear, “Is this okay?”
It takes a moment for the question to compute and two more before her dry throat unsticks. “Yes,” she whispers. “It’s more than okay.”
