“You’d love living with me,” he said, shaking up a snow globe and watching the flakes settle. “You could toss all my boring bachelor furniture and do an extreme home makeover.”
If he only knew how many times she had mentally decorated a house for the two of them, right down to a locker in the garage for his sports equipment and a drawer to lock his gun in. “You would be in for the shock of a lifetime if you let me into this place with the authority to decorate.” And was that her testing the waters? Because she actually felt like she was asking permission, like if he was willing to let her decorate for him, then in some way that indicated an emotional depth greater than friendship. It was a massive leap in logic.
“Why? You have good taste. Classy.” His eyes dropped down to her chest. Briefly. If she hadn’t been hyperaware, she might not have even noticed it. But there was no denying he had looked at her breasts. “Nice sweater, by the way. It fits you really well.”
The lusty green sweater. Holy crap. It was working, because in eight years Will had never once commented on how her clothes sat on her body. “Thanks. It’s new.”
“I know. You’ve never worn it before.” He glanced down at her chest again, she was certain of it. “Green looks good on you.”
“No, it doesn’t. Not really. I look better in red or pastels. But thank you.” Where the hell was that mistletoe? The whole situation was making her nervous as hell. She couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t sleep with Will to satisfy her own curiosity if he was doing it under the influence of magic. She would be way too aware the entire time that what she was experiencing was false.
“I think you look good in everything, actually. Except for black. You’re too…feminine for black.”
Okay. Charlotte glanced over at the man she’d known for nearly a decade. The mistletoe must go. He was acting random and strange. And he was giving her a look that she knew. Couldn’t misunderstand. She wasn’t naïve nor was she clueless. That was a look of lust. It was in his rich, brown eyes. It was in the way he was standing, legs slightly apart in his jeans, the T-shirt straining over his muscular chest. He’d gone out for the bags without bothering to put on a coat, despite the foot of snow outside, which she found highly sexy. He’d always had very short hair, and it went well with the chiseled cheekbones, stubborn jaw, and the ever-present five o’clock shadow. Will was rugged, the epitome of masculinity, and for the first time in her memory, he was looking at her the way a man looks at a woman when he wants to get in her pants and do bad boy things.
Which aroused, frightened, and confused her. So when in doubt, avoid. “Where would you like to put your Christmas tree?” she asked him, standing straight up and assessing his apartment. “And why haven’t you bought more furniture?” He only had one sofa, a paltry end table, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV. Half the room was empty. And he had always eaten his meals on the couch or at the breakfast bar because he had no table and chairs. “You’ve been here almost five years, and you said you were going to decorate about two years ago.”
“I didn’t say decorate.” He tossed the snow globe up in the air and caught it. “I said I was going to get new furniture. Men don’t decorate. They buy stuff and put it in their apartments.”
“Whatever you want to call it, you still haven’t done it.” Charlotte picked up the remote for his iPod and turned it on, searching the menu for Christmas music. He didn’t appear to have any. Big surprise.
“Maybe I’ve been waiting for a woman to help me pick it out.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? He wanted a girlfriend? He had a girlfriend in mind?
“Know anyone who could help me out?”
“What, decorators? Probably.” Will was walking toward her, slow and steady, that look all over his face again. He was confusing her, and she didn’t know what to think, so she backed up slightly.
“I can’t afford to pay much. I was kind of hoping she’d do it out of the kindness of her heart, and so we can spend time together.”
“Did you have someone in mind?” Charlotte wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her jeans, suddenly clued in as to where this was going. Possibly. Maybe. She hoped. Or feared.
“Yep.” He was right in front of her, and the only piece of furniture of any size was somehow right behind her, trapping her against the back of it.
She leaned away from him from the waist up, but he just slid in closer, his legs trapping both of hers.
“I want you.”
Hello. How many times had she wished he would say something like that? Now he had, and he merely meant he wanted her decorating services. Something was really wrong with that. Though honestly, he didn’t look like he had window treatments on his mind.
“I never claimed to be an interior designer.”
“I bet you have plenty of ideas. And you know what I would like. You know me better than anyone.” His hand slipped around her waist.
He was touching her. He was holding her. He was really, really close to her, so close she could hear his breathing and smell his aftershave. Feel the hard press of his thigh against hers. Yep, he was holding her up close and personal. And her heart was going to crawl up her throat and choke her. Crap, she just wanted to relax and enjoy it. But it was wrong, wrong, wrong. It was all those sex symbols she’d drawn and tucked inside the mistletoe. It wasn’t real.
Yet she just couldn’t bring herself to shove him away. After all, this wasn’t his fault and she didn’t want to make him feel bad, or embarrass him. It’s not like anything really inappropriate was happening. They were just cozy up against each other. So he was brushing his finger down her cheek. Big deal. They were friends. They touched. It was normal. Friends hugged, too. They kissed occasionally. Hello. Good-bye. Good luck. Missed you.
But not like that. Holy moly macaroni, Will had closed that little sliver of a space between them and had brushed his lips over hers. The first time was soft, quick, gone before she had barely registered it had happened. But then he was back again, and this time he wasn’t playing around. His mouth came down firm, intense, taking her mouth in a hot, confident kiss that had her automatically responding, kissing back, desire igniting in every inch of her body. His grip on her waist tightened. She was too stunned to do anything but close her eyes and enjoy the moment. He tasted better than she could have ever expected, and the man knew what to do with his tongue.
There was no thrusting or pushing or awkwardness, just smooth, coaxing strokes of his tongue over hers, his warm, big body enveloping her everywhere. It was a hot and glorious contact that she let drag on and on, even when his hands dropped down and cupped her backside lightly. It was all good. It made sense to her when her eyes were closed and her lips were so happy, doing a delicious dance with Will. Everything seemed perfectly natural for a minute or two while her mind was mush under the influence of lust and longing.
But then his fingers brushed lower, down between her legs, from the back no less, in a blatantly sexual intimacy that ripped a gasp from her mouth, and sent a warm rush from her inner thighs. He’d made her wet. With just a kiss and a little butt groping.
And it had taken a lust spell to get him to so much as lip lock with her.
Charlotte broke the kiss, the embrace, and whatever else you wanted to call the sensual cloud she’d been floating in, and ducked under Will’s arm to get the hell away. She was cheap and easy and she was in love with him. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong, with a capital W to sleep with him.