Blame It On Mistletoe by Tess MacKall

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Samantha’s gaze nailed Caleb, who was receiving his usual slaps on the back for a job well done. All the employees loved Caleb and hated her. She made them work for their money, and Caleb threw parties! He glanced up, and his green-eyed stare locked with hers. Why did he have to go and do that? They’d been playing cat and mouse for a long time, and she knew what was behind that look. On more than a few occasions he’d said some things to go along with that baby-I-can-give-you-what-you-want gaze that inferred he could do just that. He only did it to ruffle her feathers. Caleb didn’t really want to fuck her, and she made damn sure he understood she didn’t want him to—or at least managed what she hoped was a good impersonation of disinterest. She’d be mortified if he knew the truth.  

            Grinning, he motioned for her to come downstairs.  

            Samantha mouthed, “No way.”

            Caleb mouthed back, “It’s Christmas,” and shook a sprig of mistletoe over his head.

            Oh, God. The thought of his lips on hers sent her body into sensual overload. His bright green eyes darkened, and he opened his mouth to run the tip of his tongue back and forth across his bottom lip. Her hands tightened on the metal banister. Get a grip, girl. She and Caleb would never work—even for one night. Feigning indifference, she shrugged.

            Samantha thought he’d look away, but he didn’t, and as hard as she tried to stop staring, she couldn’t. Dressed in jeans and a dark blue thermal shirt, he had this way about him. Most people weren’t that comfortable in their own skin, but Caleb sure as hell was. His wavy black hair was a little too long but somehow suited him. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and the dark stubble on his cheeks was sexy as hell. A big guy who didn’t need to work out to have muscles of steel, he simply took over a room and never gave it a second thought.

            But his laid back, let-the-chips-fall-where-they-may attitude really pissed her off.

            How could someone she disliked so much make her pussy so damn wet? She clenched her thighs. Oh, hell no. That only made the throbbing run the length of her body and spread the sex-hungry sensations to places she didn’t know could feel them. For a brief moment she had the fleeting thought of putting a stop to the orgy atmosphere below and sending everyone home. That would fix Caleb—and elevate her to the status of Tiny Tim killer! Samantha flexed her fingers, gave Caleb a go-to-hell look, turned and retreated to her office. She’d had enough of being on the outside looking in—enough of whatever kind of spell it was that Caleb had cast on her long years ago on prom night, too. It was Christmas Eve, and they’d be gone soon. In the meantime, she’d simply get back to work. 

What others are saying about Blame It On Mistletoe: "Ms MacKall's Blame It On Mistletoe reads like a forest fire flashover – quick, sizzling and irresistible. " ~author Becca Dale

"Hot from start to finish! I'm surprised the snow didn't melt with all the sparks they were throwing off each other!"  ~ author Stephanie Beck

"Tess McCall weaves a smoldering hot Christmas tale that will make everywoman wish they had a hot hero under the mistletoe."  ~author Mahalia Levey

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