Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(41)

She chuckled into her cup. It was kinda nice to have his arm around her shoulders, even if it was all for show. “I didn’t think you’d show up in black tie. Most guys that live here don’t own anything dressier than a clean shirt.”

“Then it shows you don’t know much about me, do you?” A sly grin curved his mouth. “I’ll have you know I have two clean shirts.”

Holly sputtered with laughter, nearly spraying eggnog all over the place. She put a hand to her lips, fighting back more laughter. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Adam’s teasing, but she was suddenly having a lot of fun. “Thank you for coming to this with me,” she told him again. “I’m so glad I don’t have to stand in a corner by myself.”

He cocked his head, glancing down at her. “Why would you be in the corner?”

“Because everyone in this town is married?”

“I’m not.”

With a tip of the cup, Holly finished her eggnog and held the empty container out to him. “Yes, but you’re also my nemesis, you’re divorced, and you’ve sworn off women, remember?”

“I vaguely remember a few of those,” he murmured. “Vaguely.” He took the cup from her hand. “A refill?”

“Yes, please.” It didn’t matter that her date was her enemy and they were just on a truce. She was going to get sloppy drunk and have a grand time, all because she could.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





For a woman that worked in a bar, Holly was absolutely a lightweight when it came to her alcohol. By the time she’d downed her second cup of eggnog, her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed, and she laughed at everything.

Absolutely everything.

Personally, Adam found it charming, and he wasn’t the only one. People were casting fond looks in Holly’s direction as she approached someone eating a cookie and watched them carefully, as if waiting to be judged on each bite. He couldn’t help but notice that a few more people had filed into the party and the place was now wall to wall. A few of the ranch hands from outlying ranches had arrived and he saw a couple of unfamiliar men eyeing his date as she crossed the floor to go drunkenly foist a cookie on someone else.

It was hard not to stare at Holly. She was the most beautiful thing in the room, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He also felt incredibly protective, and when one of the cowboys started to head in her direction, Adam took her by the arm and gently steered her toward the dance floor, where a few couples were squeezed in and slow dancing near the refreshments.

“Oooh, are we dancing now?” Holly asked, gazing up at him. “I never get to dance.”

“Did you want to dance?” He hadn’t intended on it, but he couldn’t exactly back away now. Not when she was looking at him with such drunken excitement. Normally if a date got smashed, Adam just got annoyed. For some reason, though, on Holly, it was cute. It made him feel protective of her, and he was amused by her antics instead of irked. So he lifted her arm high and twirled her on the floor, her skirts flaring, and she laughed with sheer delight.

He danced with her for as long as she wanted . . . which was about two songs. And then she saw someone eat a cookie, and off she went again. Adam kept close by, a hand on her back, just because he’d promised he’d look after her if she got drunk. He knew he wasn’t being completely unselfish, either, as he glared at any man that dared to look at her a little too hard. For some reason, she felt like his, and he didn’t like the thought of anyone encroaching on his territory.

“Come on, Adam,” Holly said as “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” began to play. “Time to dance!”

“To this?” he asked. The song was slow and somber, Frank Sinatra’s voice easily recognizable but not exactly spurring him to dance.

Holly was oblivious. She dragged him over to the designated “dance floor” and then plastered herself to his chest, her cheek resting against his heart. He hesitated for only a moment before taking her in his arms. All around them, people were staring, most with smiles on their faces. He didn’t want her to embarrass herself, though. Monday morning regrets were the worst. So he brushed her hair back from her face gently. “You want to drink some water?”

“No. I feel good.” She closed her eyes and snuggled up against him. “You’re a great dance partner.”

He was barely swaying. Barely swaying and yet somehow . . . she felt perfect in his arms. “The bar must be set pretty low.”

“On the floor,” she agreed.

All of a sudden, she straightened, her gaze locked on something on the ceiling. She grabbed his arms and steered him toward the middle of the room, and he looked up just in time to see mistletoe above his head.

Holly gazed up at him. “Well, now we have to kiss. Christmas rules.”

He was pretty sure that was the alcohol talking. She’d sober up and not want anything to do with him—and be incredibly embarrassed that she’d offered. Even if he got all tied up in knots just thinking about it, this lust he felt was purely one-sided and not going to go anywhere. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea—”

“You think too much,” Holly declared, sliding a hand to the back of his neck and then dragging him down to press her mouth on his.