The Mistletoe Effect (6 page)

“Only Granny June has that power.”

“Hopefully that’s not part of our Mistletoe Effect jinx prevention duties.”

As though she’d sensed her name on Carina’s lips, Granny stomped onto the dance floor, her cane in one hand and her smartphone in the other. A few feet from where they were dancing, Granny elbowed the professional photographer out of the way and held up her phone. “Okay, now, you lovebirds. Stop moving. Cheeks together and big ol’ smiles in three, two …” Flash.

“I’m taking plenty of pictures of them, ma’am,” the photographer said. “You should go enjoy yourself.”

Granny gave him a wide smile. “Well, bless your heart, but unless that highfalutin camera can upload those photos onto Facebook tonight, then you’re no help to me at all.” Then she held up her smartphone and snapped a picture of the photographer.

By the time Carina had recovered from the flash, Granny had already moved on, snapping photos of the guests who stood around the edges of the dance floor.

About the time Carina and Decker had rocked their way in a circle for the third rotation, the DJ took pity on them and invited the rest of the guests to join them in the dance. As soon as they were lost in the crowd of people dancing, Carina was content in Decker’s arms, being so close to him without any of the pressure to pretend she had any dancing skills at all.

He was far easier to be friendly with than she’d ever anticipated. She’d assumed him to be full of hot air and big ideas about himself, like so many other guys with “ladies’ man” attitudes she’d seen. Men who were good-looking and with such a playboy reputation couldn’t be sweet and genuine beneath the bravado, could they? Yet he was.

She really did like him, she was discovering—and not just the way he filled out a pair of Wranglers. She did have one question, however. “Since you’re aware of how terrible you are at this, what about all that stuff about how I had to save my strength for dancing?”

He flashed her a typical Decker cat-eating-a-canary grin. “I said to save your strength. You’re the one who decided I was referring to dancing.”

“Oh.
Oh.
” He’d made a dirty comment and she’d reacted like a virginal ninny. Oh my God, how mortifying, because if Carina was anything, it wasn’t virginal, and she tried her very best to never be a ninny. Time would prove exactly how unvirginal or -ninnyish she was, but she still couldn’t help saying something dirty back to him.

She rocked to her tiptoes and brushed her lips along his earlobe. “There’s going to come a time soon that you’re gonna look back on that piece of advice to me and think, ‘How ironic, because I’m the one who feels like he’s been ridden hard and put away wet.’”

His breath stuttered out of him, fanning over her neck and shoulder. His swaying faltered. Then he stopped pretending to dance altogether and searched her face with hungry eyes. When those eyes settled on her lips, she rose up, angling her head, her eyes closing, ready for that kiss he’d almost given her earlier, before they’d been interrupted.

His hands stroked her back and hips. His lips teased her cheek and nose. “You are a beautiful woman,” he said quietly.
Beautiful
wasn’t a word she often heard directed at her. Hearing it from James Decker’s lips sent a full-body tingle rippling through her. “And sexy. So damn sexy.”

He brushed a hand along her temple, cradling the side of her head in a way that told her that kiss she’d been longing for was on its way. She waited for the feel of his lips, her body hungry for his touch. “But it doesn’t matter how beautiful or sexy you are,” he said in a husky voice, his lips so close to hers she could sense their movement. “I’m still going to smash cake on your face during the cake-cutting ceremony.”

So much for that kiss. The closing notes of the dance sounded as her eyes flew open. She gave him a push along with her most chastising glare. “You would not.”

He chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to, but I figure that when I get married for real, my wife won’t allow me that honor. This is my one and only chance.”

It was sound logic. Juvenile, but sound.

With each wedding Carina had planned, the dreaded possibility of cake smashing hung around her neck like a yoke because, besides an unlimited host bar, that was the number one predictor of a reception devolving into chaos and destruction. Because who did that kind of thing, truly? Who was the kind of person to smash a messy dessert into the face of their beloved on the most important day of their lives? A troublemaker, that’s who.

And there was her answer, because Decker was all kinds of trouble, always had been, even if he’d been a gentleman tonight.

They were ushered to the cake table by the DJ, who handed Carina the knife. Decker reached out as though to set his hand over hers as she gripped the handle, but she figured since she was presently armed and dangerous, a mild threat was in order.

She brandished the blade at him. “Don’t you dare smash cake on me.”

Members of the crowd gasped. Then a bright light flashed. Carina blinked at the spots and glared at Granny June. “I think that’s enough photos, Granny.”

“Don’t be a poor sport. These are for posterity.”

Decker eyed the blade and held up his hands as though in surrender. “How are you going to stop me? With that dull knife?”

She gave it a swish. “Maybe.”

“I think stabbing the groom would be considered a Mistletoe Effect jinx, isn’t that right, Granny June?”

Granny snapped a photo of him with his arms raised. “You got that right, honey. Jinx prevention is serious business.”

Decker placed a hand over his heart in a show of sincerity. “Hear that, Wife? I don’t want all your sacrifices tonight to be for naught.”

Carina narrowed her eyes at him. If she couldn’t get him to stand down, then it was time to fight fire with fire. Together, they sliced through the fondant-covered cake once, twice, then transferred the wedge of red velvet cake to a small plate while onlookers clapped. They each held the plate with one hand. She kept her eyes on his free hand, waiting for him to make his move. Somebody handed them each a fork, though Carina was unwilling to take her focus from Decker’s hand to see who it was.

She sliced the side of the fork into the piece of cake, just as Decker was doing. Then he set the fork on the plate and scooped the bite into his fingers. Carina didn’t think. She dropped the fork and snatched up her own bite, then surged forward and smushed it all over his lips and nose.

The crowd hooted and cheered. Decker blinked at her behind his white frosting, red cake, and Italian almond-cream-filling beard. Then he laughed, his shoulders shaking. “You really did it. I knew you had it in you.”

Carina braced for impact. “Okay, go ahead. Your turn.”

“Naw. I’d never do that to a lady, especially one I was trying to seduce. I was bluffing. I just wanted to see if you had the guts to get me first.” He licked at the corner of his lips. “This is good cake. Did you pick it out?”

Between the sight of his tongue and his declaration that he was trying to seduce her, she nearly kissed him as she’d wanted to all night, but she wasn’t one to condone bad behavior. So instead she smacked his arm good and hard. “Of course I picked it out.” She smacked him again. “You duped me!”

He rocked off balance, smiling like a fool. “Hold still and let me feed this cake bite to you before Granny June tries to show me how it’s done.”

He held the bite up to Carina and she gathered it with her teeth and lips, adding a swipe of tongue and a hint of suckle to the tips of his fingers to prove he wasn’t the only one capable of seduction. She could tell it worked, too, because his frosting-coated lips morphed from a smile into a flat, tense line and his eyes took on that same hungry gaze as they had while dancing. He lowered his hand and fisted it at his side.

Oh, yes, she had him going good now. But she wasn’t quite done. With a napkin, she got scooted close enough to him that her breasts pressed into his chest and gave him a prime view of her cleavage as she dabbed at the cake and frosting on his face.

He stood still and watched her do it, giving life to the term
undressing her with his eyes
. Gone was the easygoing, self-deprecating Decker who made her feel like they were in this mess together for better or worse, and in his place stood a hot-blooded, Texas-bred male ready to ravish her.

The waitstaff bustled around them, whisking the cakes off to the kitchen to be cut and plated while Carina continued to fuss over Decker’s face. The cloth napkin did a fair job of cleaning him up. When all that was left was a speck of cream on his cheek, she swiped her thumb over it. He clamped a hand around her wrist, stilling her progress. She thought he might bring her thumb to his lips to lick the cream off, but instead he flipped her hand over and kissed her palm.

“What do you want from me tonight?” he rumbled.

Her heart pounded in her throat and words failed her, as if it would have been possible to articulate everything she’d wanted from him since the moment she watched him ride onto the ranch on his motorcycle that first time so many years ago. She wanted him to keep talking to her in that low, gravelly voice while he undressed her with his eyes, then follow it up with wet, hot kisses and sex that lasted all night long. Then she wanted to do it all over again the next night, in every room of her apartment, in every room of his house, and on every square foot of land in between.

Yet how could she give voice to the depth of her desires when she didn’t yet know what he wanted her to want from him? She knew what she saw in his eyes, but what if she told him everything she wanted and embarrassed herself because he didn’t feel a fraction of what she did? After all, he hadn’t kissed her beyond the formal kiss during the ceremony, though she’d told him in every way possible that she wanted him to.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She shook her head, at a complete loss as to how to act and angry at herself because she never could seem to stop worrying about pleasing people or worrying about saying and doing the exact right thing.

He kissed her palm again, then released her arm, his smile artificial, as though he was working hard not to appear disappointed. How frustrating. She’d been so paralyzed by trying to please him that she’d done just the opposite.

“I’m going to go say hello to some friends at the bar,” he said with measured words. “You think about what you want from me and I’ll come find you later to ask you again. Okay?”

She managed a nod but waited until he’d turned away from her and was out of earshot before releasing the breath she’d been holding.

What a wimp she was. She knew exactly what she wanted from him, so why couldn’t she just come right out with it and tell him to kiss her? On second thought, forget that. What was stopping her from making the first move and kissing him? Absolutely nothing. If he wanted them to live together as husband and wife, then she had every right to take what she needed. And if that offended him, then too bad. She was a single woman in her prime and she’d had a crush on Decker for nearly a decade.
A decade, damn it.
For that degree of patience alone she deserved one stinkin’ French kiss on her fake wedding night.

She didn’t realize she was walking until she’d accidentally knocked shoulders with one of the guests. After a muttered apology, she pressed through the crowd until she spotted the back of Decker’s head as he made his way to the bar.

Lifting the hem of her skirt, she jogged until she was close enough to take hold of his sleeve. “Decker …”

He whirled around, brows pinched in concern.

“Is everything okay? You want me to get you a drink? Another one of those kiss martinis?”

She wanted a kiss, all right. Grabbing his lapels, she pushed him into the forest of trees until she’d crowded him into the darkest corner of the winter wonderland display, out of sight of the curious guests. Ignoring his string of questions, she took his cheeks in her hands, rocked up to her tiptoes, and kissed him.

Chapter Three

With a rumble of approval, Decker kissed Carina back as though he’d been waiting for this moment all night. She looped her arms around his neck and teased his lips with her tongue. It didn’t take long for him to figure out what she needed and open his mouth.

The first touch of his tongue to hers sent lightning coursing through her body. He tasted of vodka and cake and maleness—exactly the flavor she imagined wicked would be. She moved her hands from his cheeks to rove along his shoulders, inside his jacket, exploring his hard, muscled body as much as his layers of formal wear would allow, humming her appreciation deep in her throat.

It was so unlike her to take charge like this, to have a man up against a wall and at her mercy in the shadows of a party, taking what she wanted from him. So unlike her, but then again, Decker had driven her to madness with too many near kisses that night, with the demand they spend the month together as husband and wife. He’d pulled this side of her out into the light, this brazen woman she’d kept tucked away because it had no outlet.

He didn’t seem to mind her taking charge, but she could tell he’d had enough of it when his arms wrapped around her, locking her against him as he spun them as a unit, then backed her forcefully against the wall. Their gazes met and held. His chest heaved from the effort of breathing, his lips parted and dewy and his eyes dark with carnal greed.

“What took you so long?” he growled.

Before she could do more than ride out the pulse of desire evoked by his words and the hungry look in his eyes, he claimed her mouth with a hard, wet kiss. His hands splayed on her hips, his fingers curling around her backside.

She gave herself over to him, to the crush of his weight pressing on her, to the demands of his mouth, until she knew she’d spiral back into madness again if they kept their clothes on much longer. It’d been almost five months since her last orgasm in the presence of a man, which meant she was way overdue for some fun, in her book. Since she and Decker were going to be living as husband and wife, then there was no time like the present to get started by consummating their fake marriage with some real, honest-to-goodness screwing.