Excerpt of Ring in the Holidays by Katie Lane

“Could I speak with you in private for a moment?” Without waiting for a reply, she (Ellie) swiveled on her heel and headed through the rows of shelves to the deserted children’s section in the back. She didn’t look to see if he followed her, but somehow she knew he did. When she reached the secluded back corner, she whipped around, intending to give him a piece of her mind.

Unfortunately, in order to give someone a piece of your mind you have to be able to breathe, and all the air left her lungs in a painful whoosh when she turned to find a solid chest inches away from her nose. It was like getting too close to the sun. His brilliance and heat surrounded her, dissolving all her angry words beneath the subtle scent of musky cologne and virile man.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze. Up past the striped tie, the square chin with the small dent in the middle, the full lower lip and thinner top, over the twin nostrils that flared with his rapid breathing, to the hungry green of his eyes. Her tongue flicked out to wet her suddenly parched lips. But before she could achieve her goal, his warm hands cradled her jaw and his mouth descended.

While her mind had tried to explain her uncharacteristic behavior in Vegas on Riley’s betrayal and alcohol, her body hadn’t been listening. At the first touch of his lips, she melted. Her lips melted into his lips. Her breasts melted into his pecs. And the spot between her legs melted against the hardness of his thigh. And not one part of her wanted to stop kissing him.

In fact, she might’ve gone on kissing him forever if he hadn’t stepped away, replacing heat with cold emptiness. She opened her eyes to twin pools of green that looked as unfocused and confused as she felt. He blinked, and the confusion was replaced with annoying arrogance.

“So what did you want to talk about?” He leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms.

Her anger came back in full force, and she jabbed a finger at her chest. “Me? I’m not the one who showed up and embarrassed you in public by talking about what happened in Vegas!”

“Oh, so suddenly you remember the night in Vegas.”

“Vaguely.”

“Cut the crap, Ellie. Nobody forgets six orgasms.” He grinned. “Or was it seven?”

How could she have gone to bed with such an annoying man? She had to stifle the urge to grab up Harry Potter and beat him over the head with The Deathly Hallows. Instead, she latched on to the one thing she knew would make him as angry as she was.

“Are you sure I didn’t fake them?”