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?”