Virgin Daiquiri - Elise Faber Page 0,7

you insane?”

Brent had been reaching for the pie again, finger extended, my thighs already trembling in anticipation of where that digit would end up, when I blurted the question. At my words, he froze, and one eyebrow went up.

“You’re at my house on the invitation of a woman you don’t know, an invitation I’m guessing you accepted because you’re a nice guy who rescues purses and didn’t want to make a lonely woman who’s new in town feel bad for issuing you an inappropriate invite.” I sucked in a breath. “And a lonely one who all but assaulted you in your office, just because there was mistletoe overhead, and I was desperate to kiss your gorgeous mouth.

“And then you show up with the most adorable little Christmas tree—which is amazing and cute and absolutely perfect, just like you—but then I burn dessert and it’s my livelihood to not burn pies because I sold fifty thousand of them to grocery stores this year.” I shoved my bangs out of my eyes. “And worse, now I’ve been going on and on about how beautiful you are and thinking about how much I want to kiss you again, when I definitely know I shouldn’t be thinking any of those things because you’re way out of my league.”

I finally managed to shut my mouth, mainly because my embarrassment had reached a critical level and it stoppered up the words in the back of my throat.

Silence.

For a long, critically embarrassing, horrifying moment.

Finally, Brent took a step toward me. “You think I’m beautiful?”

I sighed, chin dropping forward to rest on my chest. “That’s what you took from what I just said?”

He smiled. “You think I’m beautiful,” he repeated, without the question mark this time, taking another step closer.

I groaned.

His fingers, one slightly sticky from the cherry pie, cupped my jaw. “You really sold fifty-thousand pies last year?”

I nibbled at the corner of my mouth. “Unburned ones. Yes.”

He laughed and I swear, I felt that laughter enter my body, felt it fill my blood with champagne. God, he had an intoxicating laugh.

Sexy smile.

Hot as hell body.

That low, rasping chuckle that slid like honey down my spine.

“Sounds like I’m the one who’s out of my league, darlin’, seeing as I’m a lowly bartender and you’re the entrepreneur who’s sold fifty-thousand pies.”

I scoffed, waved a hand up and down my body. “Have you seen me?” I asked then pointed to him. “Have you seen you? Brent, you’re solid muscle and have a movie star face. I’m a nerdy, overweight female who samples her pies far too often and has an obsession with Christmas. You shouldn’t be here entertaining my invitation, not when you must have better things to do with your time, especially since—”

His mouth dropped to mine, lips slanting, tongue sliding home to tangle with mine, and in one heartbeat I went from thinking about all the reasons I was insane to have invited this man to my house when he should be spending the holiday with someone like Chrissy Teigen and not frumpy, flower-printed apron-wearing Iris Hannigan, to just . . . feeling.

Hot. Wet. Firm pressure. A coaxing tongue.

And desire. So much desire that it felt like lightning had struck in a drought-ridden forest, flames bursting to life, consuming the dry tinder in seconds.

My hands slid up his arms, wrapped around his biceps, clutching the granite-like muscles firmly as my body drifted forward, making contact with his, feeling his hard chest pressed against my soft breasts, getting so many different notes to the intoxicating scent of him—cinnamon and mint, sandalwood and . . . cherry.

I could smell the cherry on his mouth, could taste the cherry on his tongue.

He pulled back, still holding my jaw. “I didn’t accept your invitation out of pity,” he murmured. “I saw you at the bar, watched you out of the corner of my eye all night.” My breathing stalled. He kept talking. “Looking beautiful. Looking so fucking lovely that I kept mixing up my orders. But I knew, just knew that you were the wrong kind of pretty, the kind of pretty that is too good for an asshole like me.”

“Sounds like we both have confidence problems,” I said.

Another blurt.

Fucking hell, I needed to find a way to control my tongue.

I ducked, more embarrassment making my cheeks hot, making my eyes slide down to the floor.

But then he laughed.

Warm, bubbling laughter that filled the room, that filled me.

What the hell was happening?

But then I didn’t have time to process it because