A Rosey Little Christmas & Jingle Bell Bride? by Bonnie Tucker

Author:Bonnie Tucker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2001-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

HOLY MOTHER OF… One minute she was spitting fire at him and the next, she slumped in the seat. He jammed the brakes and pulled over to the shoulder of the road. He couldn’t yank the back door open fast enough.

The rise and fall of her chest told its own story. No need to resuscitate her. His glance lingered on the enticing curve of her lips. They were full and tempting, with a tiny smear of dark lipstick marring the top line. Too bad she didn’t need mouth-to-mouth. Although in the mood she was in, she’d probably bite him when she came to. And biting aside, he didn’t have time for temperamental, spoiled rich girls. He had a feeling trouble with a capital T lay sprawled before him.

Mick debated whether he should just leave her be. However, he doubted Frank would consider that taking care of her. He eyed the champagne bottle that tilted between her thighs. She’d guzzled about a third, but it shouldn’t have knocked her out like this. He’d better rouse her and find out what was wrong.

He grabbed a piece of ice from the bucket. Taking care to keep a distance, he rubbed the ice along the bared smoothness of her neck. It should’ve been a straightforward action. But the damp heat of her skin melted the cube, sending a single drop sliding to her satin-covered breast. He watched in fascination as that drop disappeared over the curve of tantalizing flesh and another followed.

Her eyes blinked open—startling, clear eyes framed by sweeping lashes. She moved, shifting the dangerously tilted champagne bottle. Mick dropped the ice and made a mad grab for the bottle neck between her thighs.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Bad decision. He should’ve let her be. He almost preferred her unconscious.

“Trying to revive you. And trying to save what’s probably a very expensive dress from being ruined by champagne.”

Her indignation wilted. “Thanks. My dress is so tight I can’t breathe.” Her look dared him to as much as smile at the information.

Why did women do crazy stuff like wear a dress so tight they passed out? He, Mick MacDougal, had enough God-given sense not to ask that question. He chose a safer route. “Can I help?”

“I’ve got my suitcase with me. I need to get out of this thing. Can you unzip me? Wait a minute, I don’t even know your name. What’s your name?”

Well, if this didn’t just beat the hell out of life on the Lazy J. He was in the back seat of a limo parked on a deserted stretch of Texas highway with a she-cat asking him to unzip her dress. He tipped his chauffeur’s cap. “MacDougal. I’d be happy to oblige with that zipper.” He teased her with a lazy smile.

Her eyes narrowed on his mouth. “You’re not some kind of pervert, are you, MacDougal? Promise not to look.”

“You’re not some kind of prude are you, Ms. Fitzgerald? I’m guessing it’s still Fitzgerald and not Barr.” He didn’t get off the Lazy J very often.

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