Mistletoe & Mayhem: Mistletoe & Mayhem / Santa's Sexy Secret. Lori Wilde

made her very aware of how close they were, so close that she could feel his breath on her skin. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. His lips no longer curved in a smile. All she had to do was lean forward, just a little, and she could know what they would feel like pressed against hers. Not soft. No, his mouth would be hard. And his taste as dark and mysterious as his scent. Her eyes widened at the drift of her thoughts. She couldn’t possibly be thinking of kissing Shane Sullivan. But she was. She most definitely was. And the moment she shifted her glance to his eyes, she knew that he was thinking of kissing her, too.

      And he was going to do it. He moved slowly to lay his hand along the side of her face. She had plenty of time to pull back, and in spite of the firmness of his hand, he might have let her. But she didn’t move.

      And then his lips brushed against hers, so gently that she barely felt them before they withdrew. The second time they lingered longer, but the pressure was still soft, so soft she felt herself sinking into it. The breath she’d been holding slipped out on a sigh as he slowly traced her lips with his tongue. She felt her arms go lax, her eyelids drift shut, as the pleasure seeped through her.

      It wasn’t at all the kind of kiss she’d expected from Shane Sullivan. It was exactly the kind of kiss she’d always dreamed about.

      “Mmm,” she murmured when he withdrew a second time. She had to have—

      “More?” He whispered the question, and she felt his breath against her lips before his mouth at last returned to hers. A tremor moved through her, followed by a wave of heat that burned through her body right down to her toes. His lips continued to mark their magic as he coaxed hers apart with his teeth and his tongue.

      This wasn’t anything like her dreams. They’d never been this vivid, and the sensations had never been this intense. Each nip of his teeth on her bottom lip had her head spinning. Each quick flick of his tongue made her tremble. She felt as if she were burning up with a fever, inside and out.

      His hand lay along the side of her face as his mouth moved on hers. He touched her nowhere else, and yet she wanted him to. She wanted his hands on her breasts, and even more, she wanted him to touch the heat that had settled at her very center and threatened to explode. Her fingers closed into fists as the greed built within her.

      When he drew back, she stayed where she was. Not because she wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to throw her arms around him, drag his mouth back to hers so that she could reach for…whatever had seemed just out of her reach. But the messages from her brain didn’t seem to be getting to her body.

      “Well, well…” he said.

      She blinked and then stared at him. Well, well! That’s all he had to say? A joke from her childhood drifted through her mind as the anger brought strength to her body. Well, well—the story of two holes in the ground. With all her heart, she wished there were one nearby she could push him into. Her heart was still hammering, her breathing was still ragged, and he looked completely unmoved. At least he wasn’t laughing. If he dared, she would make do with the lake and shove him into that.

      “Why did you do that?” she asked.

      “It was a mistake,” Shane said.

      She stared at him, appalled that she could feel tears begin to fill her eyes. She was not going to cry. She hadn’t cried in a long time. Even Billy hadn’t made her do that.

      The thought gave her the strength to pull herself together. “Don’t make it again,” she said as she rose. Then she turned and moved toward the path.

      The moment she did, Shane wanted to curse—her or himself, he wasn’t sure which. And he wasn’t sure why. All he was certain of was that it had been a mistake to bring her down here to the lake. In the moonlight, her skin looked as pale and delicate as the finest silk. He’d been wanting to touch it since he’d pulled that French fry from behind her ear.

      But a moment ago, he’d wanted to do more than touch her, more than kiss her. For one frightening moment, his mind had drained of everything but her. He’d forgotten everything else, including his plan in bringing her down to the lake.

      To find out about that damn letter.

      Not only hadn’t he gotten her to talk about it, but after what had just happened, his prospects didn’t look good.

      What in the world was she doing to him? Shane Sullivan always got his man. He’d never allowed a woman, any woman, to distract him before. Never.

      If he wanted to catch Billy Rutherford, he was definitely going to have to find a way to handle Jodie Freemont.

      But a woman had never driven him so wild with a kiss before.

      It was something he thought about a long time before he followed her back to the house.

      4

      JODIE OPENED her eyes and sat straight up in bed. She must have dozed off. The illuminated face of the clock on her nightstand told her that it was 1:50 a.m. That meant she’d slept for twenty minutes.

      What had awakened her? For a moment, she sat perfectly still and listened.

      Silence, except for the scrape of a branch against her window. Out on the highway, the sound of a car grew steadily louder, then faded. A board creaked.

      Every muscle in her body tightened. Where had the sound come from? Not overhead. Was someone climbing the stairs? Fear tightened her throat as seconds ticked by on her bedside clock. Finally reminding herself to breathe, she inched her way back against the headboard. She was overreacting. Old houses were always creaking. Or maybe it was a case of wishful thinking.

      Jodie glanced up at the ceiling. More than anything, she wanted to catch Billy Rutherford in her snare trap. In her mind, she pictured him taking one step and another and another—then the rope whipping around his feet, jerking them out from under him and up until he was swinging back and forth—

      Another board creaked. This time it was louder and she was sure it came from overhead. Excitement mixed with panic as she wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and watched her clock. The second hand swept the face slowly. One minute…a minute and a half…two minutes.

      She glanced up at the ceiling. Surely the trap would make some noise when it was triggered. Or Billy would certainly make some sound as the rope ripped his feet out from under him—a gasp, a shout, a curse?

      Wouldn’t there be some sound as he swung back and forth?

      As if on cue, she heard a creak. Then silence. The second hand on her clock made another sweep.

      Suddenly, she recalled Irene’s comment. I hope no one ends up hanging by their necks.

      Jodie felt her heart jump to her throat and stick. What if she’d killed somebody? Billy?

      She had to know. Slipping off the side of the bed, she raced to the door. Another creak overhead stopped her dead in her tracks, and a completely different scenario filled her mind: Billy edging his way across the attic as close to the eaves as he could get. He would only trigger the trap if he actually walked directly across the attic floor.

      Whirling, Jodie hurried to the fireplace and carefully lifted the poker from its stand. Then she frowned. What in the world was she going to do with it? She wasn’t going to hit Billy Rutherford any more than she would have shot him if Hank Jefferson had sold her that gun. He might bleed. Even as she shuddered, the floor creaked again.

      Straightening her shoulders, Jodie tightened her grip on the poker and whipped it in a wide circle. The great thing about a poker was that you could actually poke people with it—or at least threaten to. In her mind, she pictured Captain Hook. She would just make Billy walk across the floor to the spot where the rope would snap him up.

      For a moment, Jodie stood still, visualizing her plan. Then shouldering the poker like a rifle, she walked to the door. Someone was up in the attic, and she was going to get him.

      The moment she stepped into the hallway, the silence