To Desire a Scoundrel by Tracy Sumner

Author:Tracy Sumner
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-12-11T22:00:00+00:00

A pleasant hum buzzed in Kate’s head by the time the tree decorating began. The artificial bravado gave her the courage to ignore Tanner. Handsome, scowling Tanner, who kept trying to wedge himself between her and—she glanced at the man beside her—oh, heaven, she couldn’t remember. But he seemed nice enough, whatever his name was. Harry, maybe. Or Joseph? A little short, Harry-Joe, but what was the attraction with a tall man? And, Harry-Joe’s eyes weren’t as striking as...well, who really needed to gaze into eyes as blue as a summer sky?

Kate bounced on the balls of her feet and flung her popcorn garland at the tree. It sailed high and snagged, quite inelegantly, on a different branch than she had intended. “Excuse me,” she said to Harry-Joe. “Can you help me? My decoration is caught.”

Harry-Joe stretched, grasping the garland and presenting it to her like a trophy.

“Jesus.”

Kate jerked, leaned down and in, peering between a broken-branched hollow. Tanner, eyes narrow and, damn it all, very, very blue, peered back at her. They stared, so still Kate could hear pine needles scraping against her cheek.

She even imagined she could hear Tanner breathing.

Behind her, Harry-Joe coughed and touched her elbow. She started, bumping into the tree, rousing a chorus of groans and bouncing ornaments.

“Would you like some Syllabub, Miss Peters?” Harry-Joe asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Though, the last thing she needed was more Syllabub. She reached into the wooden crate by her side: crocheted ornaments, paper link chains, holly sprigs, cornucopias overflowing with candy. She chose a delicate lace star, considered a moment, and hung the ornament in a bare spot. Stepping back to see how it looked, she encountered a hard chest. She did not have to turn to know who stood there. She smelled him. Tobacco, mint, man.

“Mr. Barkley, what a surprise.” She nudged the star a little higher. Her voice, surprisingly, sounded quite steady.

Tanner stepped beside her, his elbow brushing hers, a snowflake dangling from his finger. “Do you need any help with your garland, Miss Peters?” He waggled the snowflake in her face.

She knocked the ornament away, snatched a green sprig from the crate, and had it halfway to the tree before she realized she held mistletoe. A log splintered in the fireplace; her skirt brushed Tanner’s boots. All disturbed the rhythm of her pulse. Her hand quivered, and the mistletoe fluttered to the floor.

Kate blinked and angled her chin to find Tanner watching. She could not escape the look. Or what the look meant.

“Come here,” he whispered.

She shook her head as he leaned in.

Leaned in close, until she saw the flecks of gold at the outer edge of his pupil. His lips parted, exposing straight, white teeth.

Oh, no, she thought, the words quite possibly escaping.

His breath touched her just before his lips did. A feather-light press, gentle. His fingers invading her hair. A cupped hand sliding, tangling, forcing her forward. She stumbled. Left shoulder, right knee, left hipbone. He cradled the crown of her head, walking them back, into a darkened corner, then flush against the wall.

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