The Trouble with Mistletoe

She shoved his jeans and knit boxers out of her way and wrapped her fingers around him so that his eyes crossed with lust.

“Those stairs are noisy as hell,” she murmured. “We’ll hear anyone coming a mile away.” She tipped her head down to watch what she was doing to him.

He looked too and at the sight of her hands on him, he groaned, not recognizing his own guttural voice when he spoke. “Willa, be sure—”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Her own voice was soft and husky, sounding more than a little breathless now too. “But if you’re worried, you could work faster.”

He let out a low laugh—which was a first, laughing with his personal favorite body part in a woman’s hands. “Fast isn’t my style.”

“It probably should be tonight—” She broke off on a breathy gasp when he unzipped her bright red sweater and nudged it off her shoulders, letting it catch on her elbows, pinning her arms to her sides. While she became preoccupied with freeing herself, he happily realized she wore only a bra beneath, a sexy, lacy, mouthwateringly sheer number. He tugged the cups down, and not wanting her to get cold, cupped one bared breast while he sucked the other into his mouth.

A shuddery sigh escaped her and she cupped his head, holding him to her like she was afraid he might try to escape.

Not a chance. “How much did you have to drink tonight?” he asked.

She thought about that for a minute. “Enough to know I want this, but not too much that I’ll have to kill you in the morning.”

He stared back but who was he kidding, that totally worked for him. Sliding his hands up her skirt, he palmed her ass. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

She laughed breathlessly as fingers wriggled their way beneath her tights and panties, where he found her hot and wet, very wet. He spent a glorious moment teasing panting little whimpers out of her while her hips oscillated against his touch and her nails dug into his biceps. “You like this.”

She moaned something inaudible but he got the gist.

More.

With one arm banded low on her back, his mouth busy at her breasts, his fingers stroked her in the rhythm she wanted. Using her body as his compass, he rose up and swallowed her cries as she came for him, her body shuddering in his arms.

Brushing his lips over her sweaty temple, he held on to her, stroking her back until she finally lifted her head. “Not exactly how I saw my evening going,” she said, still a little breathless as she slumped against him.

“Not sure who could’ve foreseen an orgasm on the roof.”

“I meant you.” She put a finger to his chest. “I didn’t see you coming.”

“That’s because I haven’t.”

She laughed, and loving the sound, he pulled her in by the nape of her neck and kissed her. “Ditto,” he said against her mouth. He hadn’t seen her coming either, not until she’d hit him over the head, knocking him out with her vibrant, sexy, adorable self.

She flashed a smile at him, warm and also filled with trouble—which he really hoped boded well for him.

She went to work, wrestling off one of her boots. By the time she wriggled a leg out of her tights, he’d lent his hands to the cause. Then she wrapped her fingers around him and was guiding him home when he barely managed to catch her.

“Condom,” he managed.

She stilled, eyes wide on his. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I almost forgot,” she whispered and fisted her hands in his shirt, going nose to nose with him. “Tell me you were a Boy Scout, that you’re prepared, that you have a damn condom.”

The thing was, he hadn’t expected to need one and he still wasn’t exactly one-hundred-percent sure he should even go there now. He met her gaze. “I wasn’t a Boy Scout.”

She groaned and dropped her head to his chest.

“But.”

She jerked her head up, face hopeful. “Yeah?”

Sitting on the roof with her straddling his lap, he somehow managed to pull his wallet from his back pocket, thinking please have been smart enough to leave a condom in there . . .

“Yes!” she burst out with when he came up with one.

Laughing, he tore the thing open and started to roll it down his length, but she pushed his hands away.

“Me,” she said. “I want to . . .”

By the time she got him halfway covered, he was back to sweating and trembling like he was a seventeen-year-old kid with zero control. “I’ve got it,” he said, putting his hands over hers to finish the job.

“Because we’re in a hurry?”

“Because I’m about to lose it in your hands.”

She snorted but the laughter seemed to back up in her throat with the sexiest little gasp when he pulled her closer so that the insides of her thighs snugged tight to the outsides of his.

“You’re going to let me drive?” she teased.

“This rooftop’s too rough for you to be on your back,” he said, cupping her bare ass. “Up on your knees, Willa.” And then before she could move, he lifted her himself, urging her to sink slowly onto him.

They both gasped, mouths locked on each other’s, kissing deep and wet, hands clutching whatever they could reach, moving slowly at first, then faster and harder, until Keane completely lost himself. Winding his fist in her hair, he forced her head back, suckling on her exposed throat, marking her.

She came first, digging her fingernails into him, the combination of pleasure and sweet pain sending him skittering into the void right along with her.

Chapter 15

#HitMeBabyOneMoreTime

It was a very long time before Willa managed to catch her breath and her world stopped spinning out of control. Or started spinning again. She couldn’t figure out which. In either case, she was completely dazed as she realized something shocking.

Several somethings, actually.

One, she was sitting on Keane, wrapped up tight in his warm, strong arms, arms that still quaked with the seismic rockings that came after some really great sex.

Really, really great.

And two, she felt both wildly alive and . . . safe, two things she’d most definitely never felt at the same time in her entire life.

Since that invoked some worrisome emotions, all of which tried to encroach on her momentary blissful haze, she shoved them all back and lifted her head.