Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(42)

Someone catcalled. He ignored it. She did, too. Instead, he was utterly attuned to the softness of her mouth against his. She felt perfect in his arms, like she’d been made for him. Her mouth was sweet, with just a hint of alcohol and eggnog on her breath. And because he was weak when it came to her, Adam held her close and stroked his tongue into her mouth.

She moaned against him, loud and needy.

He froze in place, pulling away. They were still standing in the middle of the dance floor at the crowded party. No doubt several people had heard that sound, and even though it was making his balls ache, he didn’t want her to humiliate herself by making out with him while she was drunk. As much as he wanted to clench her against him and kiss the hell out of her, it wouldn’t be right.

So he just kissed the tip of her nose and let her go. “I’ll get you another drink.”

Holly looked up at him, utterly befuddled. Her fingers went to his mouth and she swiped at his lips. “You’re wearing my lipstick.”

Was he? He rubbed at his mouth and noticed that she had smeared her lips, too. Adam cupped her chin and ran his thumb gently along her lip, smoothing it away. “There. Now you’re perfect again.”

“Am I perfect?” she breathed, gazing up at him.

Did it matter what he answered? She probably wouldn’t remember in the morning, so he could confess whatever he wanted. “You are to me,” he told her softly.

Then he stepped away to get her another drink, because if he stuck around and she kept gazing up at him like that, he’d kiss her again. And again. And again.

He was having a hard time remembering why that was a bad idea.



* * *



? ? ?

Holly woke up the next morning with a dry mouth and a throbbing headache. She rolled onto her back, squinting up at the sunlight streaming through the blinds. At her side, Pumpkin whined and licked her face, her tiny tail thumping. The little dog had to use the bathroom, but Holly was having difficulty getting out of bed.

Her head felt heavy, and her tongue tasted like ass. She smacked her lips, grimacing, and felt at the thing poking into the side of her head against the pillow. It was her hair bow, and she realized she was still in her party dress from last night, now impossibly wrinkled. She sat up slowly, just in case she was hungover, but it really wasn’t too bad. She had vague memories of Adam holding her up as they walked into the kitchen, then sitting her on the counter and feeding her pieces of bread and a glass of water.

She remembered dancing with Adam, and how he’d smelled like spicy aftershave and she’d loved it. She remembered being silly and Adam following her around, a faint smile on his face as he got refill after refill for her. Just like he’d promised, he’d taken good care of her last night, hovering at her side and making sure no one bothered her, and she’d had a wonderful time.

She’d also drunkenly called Polly on FaceTime and tried to get Adam to kiss her again on-screen so she could “show her sister.” With a groan, Holly buried her face in her hands. Okay, so she’d embarrassed herself a little. He’d made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested but she’d been so drunk and wildly attracted to him that she’d gone and kissed him several times last night. She’d found mistletoe and dragged him under it. They’d sat together when the gift exchange happened and Holly had migrated into his lap, sitting on his knee and pressing kisses to his temple.

Clearly, she was a handsy sort of drunk.

To give Adam credit, he’d shut her down nicely each time. He hadn’t taken advantage of her drunkenness. Instead, he’d done just as he’d promised—he’d kept her safe so she could enjoy herself.

Oh, she’d enjoyed herself all right. She wrinkled her nose as she got out of bed, thinking about all the times she’d hovered over someone as they ate one of her cookies, and how she’d demanded to know if they’d liked it or not. God, she’d been annoying.

She owed Adam an apology, for starters . . . and then probably the rest of the town, too, for acting like a fool.

“Come on, Pumpkin,” Holly said, putting on her slippers. She paused by the bathroom and swished her mouth out with mouthwash, just because she couldn’t stand the taste of it any longer. “Let’s get you walked.”

When she headed down the stairs, though, she heard a noise in the kitchen. It sounded like dishes clanking, and curious, Holly tiptoed in. Adam was at the stove, holding a frying pan. His baseball cap was on and he was dressed for working outside, in flannel and his cowboy boots. He glanced over at her and grinned at the sight of Holly. “Morning.”

“Morning.” She rubbed her arms, confused. “Are you . . . cooking?”

“Yup. Badly.” He cast her a cocky grin over his shoulder. “Hope you like your eggs burnt and your bacon crispy.”

Holly padded over to his side, peering at the food in the skillet. Contrary to what he said, the eggs looked great. “Why are you making breakfast for me?”

“I figured since I made you get drunk, the least I could do was make you food.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.” She nudged him with her elbow. “And I’ll be right back. I need to walk the dog.”

“You go ahead. I’ll keep a plate hot for you.” He scraped at the eggs with a spatula as she turned away, and Holly headed outside with Pumpkin, who dove into the snow and then picked her tiny feet up with disdain as she looked for the perfect spot to do her business.