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Thursday, December 6, 2012

Book #6 Under the Mistletoe

I'm busy baking cookies for a cookie party tomorrow.  But since I'm really trying to force myself back into the habit of blogging, I wanted to make sure I posted another book in the 25 books of Christmas.

Under the Mistletoe by Pam Knight was a fun little read.  It wasn't outstanding, I read it last year and don't think I'll re-read it this year, but it had holiday spirt and was enjoyable.

Because I'm tired and want to be able to turn my attention back to tomorrow's cookies, I'm going to share the excerpt that sold me on the book, and is on the amazon website:
Elle took the stairs because she didn’t think being in the elevator again would do anything to help her concentration. She pushed open the heavy door to the stairwell and heard a yelp and a thump. “Oh my god! Did I hit someone?” Elle slipped past the door and turned to find Cooper crumpled against the wall holding his face. Forgetting all about how nervous he made her she rushed over and pulled away his hands to inspect any damage.

If he had to get pummeled by a steel door—this was totally the way to do it. The first thing Cooper saw when his hands were pried away from his face was a smooth creamy peach colored throat sprouting out from the deep vee neckline of a white almost sheer blouse. He groaned.

“Does it hurt terribly?” 

She sounded so worried. Cooper wavered between agreeing that it hurt and sounding like a wimp or admitting the real reason for his groan and facing that harassment suit. “No. I’m okay, I think. No big deal.” He tried to lift himself off the floor.


“Eleanor!” Cooper interrupted. “You’re bleeding!”

“Of course I’m not—you are.” Elle held her palms out so he could see the blood smeared across them wasn’t hers. There was a lot of it. 

“I’m bleeding?” Suddenly he was feeling a little dizzy. Shit. He was going to faint in front of this woman! Could his day get any worse? Maybe he was going to die. If he was on his death bed no one would blame him for just one little kiss, right?

“Don’t be so melodramatic—you aren’t going to die.”

Oh, good lord! Had he been talking out loud? “Did I say that out loud?”

Elle laughed. “I think you might have a concussion. This is ruined, right?”

She was unbuttoning his shirt. Usually this fantasy didn’t include so much blood and the blinding headache, but he’d take Eleanor Loring undressing him anyway he could get it. “I guess that means you aren’t going to give me that kiss?” She balled up his $200.00 shirt and pressed it to the side of his head.

“Do you think you can walk? You are going to need stitches. Should I call someone?”

“Right, no kiss.” Cooper tried to concentrate. He probably could walk, but falling over and crushing her was not acceptable. “Mark Rosenberg is the on the fourteenth floor. His number is in my phone.”

A moment later Elle handed him back his phone. “He’s on his way.”

“So Mark is going to be her in about 90 seconds?”

“About that I guess.” Elle was concentrating on the gash in his forehead and didn’t notice him move until it was too late.

Cooper dragged her into his lap and molded her body to his. He kissed her fast before she could protest. She tasted like blood—but that was probably his fault. He didn’t care anyway. Her hair was twisted up with some kind of pencil shaped hair thing—easily discarded. Her curls bounced down around his hands as he held her in place enjoying the softness of her lips and the tiny sighing noises she made in the back of her throat.

“Should I come back later?” Mark was standing over them in way less than 90 seconds.

“No.” Cooper groaned as Elle extricated herself. “I was just enjoying my concussion.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Mark grasped him under one arm and helped him to his feet. 

Part of him knew he should say something before he left her there. Apologize for kissing her, thank her for taking care of him, ask her to marry him… something. But the world was making a lot less sense with every second so instead he just waved at her as Mark pulled him along.

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