Holly went red at his suggestion.
Alex rather liked Hank’s idea.
She resisted when he took her hand, scuffing her feet and leaning backward. He was stronger and got his way. The urge to kiss her proved as undeniable as breathing. A final tug and she was his.
He circled her waist, noted how nicely she fit within the circle of his arms. He wanted her to feel every inch of him. Their bellies brushed, and he snuck a knee between her thighs. Their jeans created a friction that shot straight to his groin. He stirred, a significant twitch against her stomach.
She shivered, all raw nerves and expectancy. She pressed her garden-gloved hands to his chest, held him off by an inch. “The mistletoe arch is for charity. You have to pay to kiss me,” she stalled.
A one-handed dip into his side pocket, and Alex pulled out a money clip. He thumbed off a fifty, slipped the cash into the back pocket of her white jeans. His hand lingered over her left butt cheek. He had big hands and she a small ass. He squeezed and eased her so close they were breathing the same air.
He stroked his palms over her hips, along her waist, worked up her spine. Time slowed, seduced them both, in the silent, dimly lit garage.
Gently, persuasively, he brushed his lips along her cheek, then her nose. The sugary-soft scent of cookies mixed with her own sweet essence.
He let Holly come to him. All she needed to do was angle her head ever so slightly and let him take her mouth.
She was slow in doing so. When she finally looked at him, open and trusting, he framed her face with his hands, and stared deeply into her eyes. He felt her tremble and knew she feared as much as wanted him.
Anticipation quickened their heartbeats, thrummed in their blood. Their attraction was undeniable. He knew one kiss wouldn’t be enough. Once their tongues tangled, their bodies would heat, grow restless, and he’d want to take her against the garage wall.
Something inside him wouldn’t allow a zipper-down quickie with this woman. She deserved more. Holly needed a man to take his time with her, to make her feel desirable, cherished, a man who’d be faithful. Alex didn’t qualify on any level.
Every time he looked at her, touched her, her warmth and Christmas spirit rubbed off on him. The people of Holiday were merry and embraced the season. They’d welcomed him, even as he counted down the hours, eager to leave.
Miami called. Blond twins awaited him at a cabana by the pool. He and his fellow Rogues would go wild; it would be the blowout of the decade.
Baseball, body shots, and booty made up his life.
Not a nutcracker, ice cream, and Christmas cookies.
His conscience spoke louder than his need for sex. Kissing Holly would mean more to her than it did to him. She deserved promises and commitment. Alex had a phobia for both.
Reason and respect warred with the desire to kiss her senseless, and, in the end, Alex was honorable. His lips touched hers in a kiss that lasted less than a second. Holly didn’t have time to close her eyes.
Her gaze widened now as she stared at him; her lips were parted, her cheeks a flustered pink. The moment stretched, turned awkward.
“You deserve a refund,” she eventually managed, her voice soft, unsure, as she reached into the back pocket of her jeans and returned his fifty.
He refused the money. “Give it to charity.”
A heartbeat of silence passed before she licked her lips and asked, “Is that how you see me, Alex, as a charity case?”
“I wanted to kiss you.” He owed her that much.
“But you stopped.”
She looked hurt, Alex saw, and her pain made his chest ache. “You’re decent, kind, and deserve better.”
“Better than what?” Confusion darkened her brown eyes.
“Better than me.” The words were tough to say.
“I damn sure do.” Her agreement set him back. “A kiss under the mistletoe is holiday fun. No one takes it too seriously. You, however, look like you’re standing before a judge.”
“You look nothing like Judge Hathaway.” The judge had a receding hairline, a sun-weathered face, and a hostile disposition.
“Look closer.” She gave him her profile. “Some say I have his nose.”
She had his nose? “You’re related?”
“He’s my uncle.”
Chapter Five
Holly’s admission punched Alex in the gut. He was so startled he forgot to breathe. He choked, coughed, studied her closely. She’d claimed Hank as her cousin—they both had blondish hair and brown eyes—yet the judge was another matter. Hathaway had authority: he’d stuffed Alex in a loft above the Jingle Bell Shop and court ordered community hours.
Had Holly spoken in his defense, Alex was certain the judge would have shortened his time. He’d have burned the itchy velvet Santa suit and never bellowed another ho-ho-ho.
He could be in Miami right now. The thought made him a little crazy. Instead of partying with bikinied babes, he presently stood beneath a hand-crafted mistletoe arch, bone hard yet bowing out, being honorable.
He raked one hand through his hair. “The judge is your uncle?” It was damn hard to believe. “You never reported my good behavior?”
“Good behavior?” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been difficult, arrogant, ornery, and horny.”
“I’m always horny.” That was nothing new.
“You’ve been a halfhearted Santa at best,” she said. “You have no holiday spirit.”
“I baked Christmas cookies.”
“You ate the cookies faster than the grannies could bake them. Your decorating efforts were X-rated.”
Alex crossed his arms over his chest, shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “We could walk into the court house tomorrow and you could tell the judge I’ve been a good boy. He’d then release me on the spot. You wouldn’t have to deal with me ever again.”
“I could never lie to my uncle.”
“Not even a little white lie?”
“A lie is a lie, Alex.”
Damn. “You’re cracking my nuts.”
“That’s my seasonal job.”
“Look.” He went for charming and persuasive. “If I don’t complain for an entire day, will you get me released so I can be in Miami on Christmas Eve?”
“You sound like you’re serving a jail sentence.”
That was what it felt like to him. “Do we have a deal?”