Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,50

her armchair. “I vote you spend the rest of the evening shirtless.” She winks at him.

And Isabelle groans. “Haven’t we had this discussion before? He took off his shirt that one time because the sprinkler started up while he was walking to the door, and he got soaked. It wasn’t to turn you on.” She narrows her eyes at Liza and Josephine. “You two didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

“Who, us?” they chorus, their innocent expressions as real as Henri’s teeth.

Isabelle rolls her eyes. “I should have known better. So much for the temporary malfunction you claimed to be the culprit.”

The two women laugh, as do the rest of us.

A few guests leave, but no one else seems to be in a rush to go anywhere. Josephine gestures for Landon and me to sit on an empty chair. “Don’t be shy. I’m sure you sit on his lap all the time,” she says at my hesitation.

Landon doesn’t seem to have any qualms about this cozy arrangement. He pulls me over to the empty armchair and tugs me onto his lap. Jayden and Isabelle aren’t sitting any differently than we are, but she looks more at ease than I feel.

But for different reasons—and possibly for the same ones.

I’m becoming more and more aware of Landon, and I was pretty damn aware of him before. Add the kiss from earlier, and my body is buzzing from pent-up desire, pent-up need.

Landon’s thumb caresses the spot above the waistband of my panties. That almost does me in. I squirm slightly, trying to relieve the building heat between my legs and low in my belly, while at the same time, attempting to look cool as an English cucumber.

Yep, no problem what-so-ever.

The conversation turns to how things were different in the olden days of Hollywood, but don’t quiz me on what was said.

I’m too focused on the way Landon’s thumb is lazily tracing circles against my hip. And with each caress of his thumb, my body temperature climbs a degree. There’s something sweet and tender about the move.

If I stay here any longer, I’ll combust.

I make a move to shift off his lap. His hold on me tightens.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him.

He releases me.

I head toward where the washroom is located and spot the door to the balcony. Through the French doors, thousands of tiny dots of lights are visible across the bay.

I open the door and step outside.

The chilled air greets me, wrapping itself around my bare arms. Above the bay, in the inky black night, thousands of stars twinkle like miniature Christmas tree lights. The fog and clouds that usually blanket the sky are absent for now.

God, it’s beautiful.

Several minutes slip quietly past before I hear the balcony door click open and shut again. I don’t bother to see who’s there. I don’t have to. In the short time he and I have been together, my body has become attuned to Landon and is tingling with awareness again.

“It’s so beautiful,” I say on a hushed breath, still staring up at the stars. “I could probably stay out here all night.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, but I sense his presence draw closer. “What are you doing out here?” His voice is rough and fireworks-exploding-between-my-legs sexy. Not a single cell in my body is immune to it.

I should probably be concerned about that, but I can’t seem to drum up even an ounce of resistance. “Watching for shooting stars.”

“I didn’t realize you’re into astronomy.” He doesn’t sound like he believes that.

“I’m not. Not really. But maybe I should rethink that.”

“Why do you want to see shooting stars?”

I shrug—because it feels stupid to say my reason out loud. But I do anyway. “I thought maybe I could make a wish, and it’ll come true.”

“And what wish is that?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

Never mind the part where I haven’t had a chance to utter it yet.

He places his hand on my shoulder. The cold November air doesn’t affect me. His touch does. Goose bumps prickle along my arms. I shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Not at all.” Just the contrary.

He turns me around to face him. In the soft light spilling from between partially closed curtains, I make out the heat in his eyes and the fullness of his lips—lips I can’t tear my gaze from.

Landon lowers his head closer to mine. “I want to kiss you again.” His voice comes out low and gravelly, but he makes no attempt to shorten the