"Luna Marie Collins, don't sit there and tell me you're not moping. What's wrong?"

I sighed and picked at one of the loose threads on the arm of the couch. "Nothing."

"Is it because you lost at the game?"

"It wasn't just any game," I muttered. Count on my mother to make me feel like I was five instead of twenty nine. "It was Endurance Island. And I didn't just lose, I came in last place."

"But you still had fun?"

I shrugged. I had fun after I got voted off.

“So when do I get to see the footage of you on the website? I keep checking it and it’s never there.”

“Um. Well, I’m guessing ‘never’.” I’d checked the website, too, eager for a glimpse of Owen’s face, but it never appeared. In fact, there was no Loser Lodge footage at all, which disappointed me terribly. When Kitty had said the producers were mad at us, she meant it. They really cleaned house. “We sort of got in trouble and production decided to axe the whole Loser Lodge movies thing.”

“We?”

“Yeah…I met a guy."

"Oh?" She put down her hat for that. "What's he do?"

"He's a pastry chef. His name's Owen and he lives in San Diego." And he hadn't even asked for my phone number.

"Ah."

"What's that mean?"

"It means I understand the moping now." She gave me a prim look and picked up her hat again. "You met a boy and he lives halfway across the world, so you're moping."

"San Diego isn't so far from Boston," I told her. But it was, really. Just like Endurance Island wasn't anything like reality. There was a disconnect that was too big to overcome.

Sad to say, but I would probably never see Owen again. I'd even asked about the reunion show and Kitty had hemmed and hawed. "Oh, um," she'd said when I'd called her. "See, they're still deciding if they should include the non-jury members."

Which meant no. I'd hung up, depressed.

No Owen. Merry Christmas to me. I sighed again.

My mother flung down her knitting. "Stop that, Luna!"

"I'm sorry," I said, snapping my laptop shut. "Jesus. Forgive a girl if she's all sad and crap, okay?"

"I understand being sad," my mother said. "You don't think I miss your father?"

I mentally groaned and felt guilty. "Of course you do. I’m sorry."

"But you know, you have to keep on living," my mother said. She shook her head as she looked at me. "You’re young. You can’t spend every holiday here with me, wishing your father was here.”

I blinked back a rush of tears. I missed him every day. On holidays, I showed solidarity to my mother, though. “I don’t mind being here with you.”

“You’re young,” she repeated. “You need to live more. I invited someone over tonight, by the way."

I groaned aloud this time. "Seriously? Why?"

"My friend Barbie knows this guy that is new to town and she thought it would be good for the two of you to meet. Trust me. It'll be nice. He's bringing cookies."

God, the last thing I wanted was to see some new guy here with cookies. "I've got to work on this script, Mom. I'm really busy."

"Oh, clearly," my mother said, nonplussed. "I can tell by the way you've been sighing over the same three words all night."

I gritted my teeth just as the doorbell rang.

"Get that please, Luna."

"Mom," I hissed. "No!"

"Do it for your mother."

I rubbed my forehead. "Mom, I don't want you to hook me up with anyone on Christmas Eve. Seriously. I'll just go to my room, all right?"

"Not before you answer the door," she called out.

The doorbell rang again.

"Just a moment," my mother shouted, and then nodded at me.

"Mom, pleaaaase." If she was going to treat me like a five year old, I'd act like one. I didn’t want this guy. I didn’t want anyone but Owen.

"Door," she said, and pointed at it over her shoulder. "Now."

Clenching my jaw against my mother's stubbornness - guess I'd inherited it from her - I went to the front door and flung it open.

Owen stood there, red roses in hand, a plate of Christmas cookies tucked under his arm. A sprig of mistletoe hung above him on the porch.

I screamed and flung my arms around him.

Owen laughed and dropped the flowers on the ground. They fell in a crunch onto the icy porch but I didn't care. His arm wrapped around me and then his mouth was on mine, and we were kissing. My desperate lips clung to him, and I gave a little whimper of joy when I felt his tongue slick into my mouth.

A moment later, the cookies crashed to the ground. Owen's other arm went around my back, and he clung to me. He held me pressed against him as if just as desperate to see me as I was to see him.

We kissed for what felt like hours.

Eventually, my mother cleared her throat from behind us. "Excuse me."

I pulled away from Owen almost sheepishly, wiping at my (deliciously) wet mouth. "Oh. Uh, Owen, this is my Mom. Mom, this is Owen. He's the guy I met."

"I know," she said in a dry voice. "He called a few days ago so we could set this up."

"Your friend Barbie, huh?" I said, staring up into Owen's dreamy eyes. "So you guys were lying to me?"

"Not really lying," Owen said, a wide grin spreading across his gorgeous face. "I told my Mom I wanted to see about opening up a second bakery, and I might have suggested Boston to her. Your mom's friend Barbie owns a storefront that would be perfect for my needs. So...here I am."

My fingers twined in the front of his silly, silly cupcake shirt. "Please tell me you're coming in," I whispered.

"Absolutely." He kissed me again, and then stuck his hand over my shoulder for my mother to shake. "Mrs. Collins, it's nice to finally meet you in person. I'm sorry that the cookies I brought got, uh, trampled."

"That's perfectly okay," she said, and I could have sworn her eyes were damp as she smiled at me. "Merry Christmas, Luna."

"Merry Christmas," I whispered back. God, my mom was awesome.

She shut the door, letting us have our privacy on the porch. I turned back to Owen and dragged his face toward mine, kissing him over and over again. "I can't believe it's you," I said in between lip locks. "I can't believe you're really here. I thought I'd never see you again." A horrible thought occurred to me and I dragged my mouth away from his. "You're here to see me, right?"

He laughed and kissed me back. "Yes. Absolutely. Why else would I come to this place if not for you? It's not because of the delicate way you guys pronounce 'parking lot'."

"You're such an ass," I said as I cuddled him.

"I know, Boston," he said. "Anyhow, I figured I had one last competition in mind for you and I."

"Oh?" The pit of my stomach dropped just a bit. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," he said, and his hand went to the small of my back as he pulled me against him. "I kinda thought it'd be fun to see which of us says 'I love you' first. I'm totally willing to bet you all the hot water, too."

"You're on," I told him.

Best Christmas ever.

About Jessica Clare

NYT & USA Today Bestselling author Jessica Clare writes under three pen names. As Jessica Clare, she writes erotic contemporary romance. As Jessica Sims, she writes fun, sexy shifter paranormals. As Jill Myles, she writes a little bit of everything, from sexy, comedic urban fantasy to zombie fairy tales. She lives in Texas with her husband, cats, and spends way too much time playing video games. To sign up for Jessica's new release newsletter, go to http://www.jillmyles.com/newsletter

Read on for an excerpt from The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild - Coming January 7, 2014.

The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild

Copyright © 2013 by Jessica Clare

All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Chapter One

Coming January 7, 2014

BRENNA WHISTLED TO HERSELF AS she left her cabin. She headed to the ATV shed on the far side of the main lodge that served as headquarters for Wilderness Survival Expeditions. She was alone, which meant it was the perfect time for sabotage.

After glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, she closed the doors and clicked on the overhead light, fanning herself. With the doors shut, it was probably a hundred degrees in the damn shed, but she didn’t plan on being in there long. Brenna moved to the first ATV—her favorite, the cherry red one—and squatted next to the front tire. She took the cap off the valve stem and then pressed her key into it until she heard the hiss of air. Humming to herself, she let out about half of the air before replacing the cap. Moving to the back tire on the same vehicle, she repeated it.

All done. Beaming to herself, she dusted off her hands and re-opened the shed doors, glancing at the empty parking lot. It was still early in the morning, the birds chirping and a breeze swaying the tall trees in the distance. Her gaze landed on Grant’s immaculate Audi gleaming in the parking lot.

A naughty smile curving her mouth, she moved to the hood, popped it, and surveyed the engine. She found the switch casing, opened it, and reviewed the list of switches until she identified the fuel pump switch. With careful fingers, she plucked it out of his car, closed the casing, shut the hood, and tossed the switch into a nearby garbage can.

Some days, she just loved her job.

Recently, their small business had expanded to include Colt’s aging father, who everyone called Pop. He mowed the lawns and did repairs, but there wasn’t normally enough to keep the man busy. Colt wanted his dad to feel needed, though, so Brenna was tasked with finding stuff to break for Pop to fix. She was great at it, too, though pretty soon she figured he’d be on to her flushing the tampon down the toilet trick. It was time to switch up her game a little, and a bit of vehicle maintenance would do the job just fine. Whistling again, she headed around the front of the main cabin and paused on the front steps.

Two male voices inside were arguing. Huh. She glanced at her watch. Six thirty in the morning. Too early for Pop to be up, or Grant, who was a late sleeper. She tended to get up with the sunrise, just like Colt and Dane. Habit from Alaska for them, she supposed, and habit for her from years of living in the back seat of a car.

Like any good nosy busybody, she pressed her ear to the front door to listen in.

“You can’t leave right now.” Dane sounded almost betrayed. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

“Same thing you always do. Hold classes. Keep Brenna out of trouble. Keep Grant from killing Brenna.”

“But we have classes booked every week for the next three weeks.”

“Then we’ll go in four weeks.”

“But what if we have classes then?”

“Dane, Beth Ann and I are going to have our damn honeymoon, whether or not it fits into your precious schedule. Now you’re starting to sound like Grant.”

“Fuck off, man. I’m just thinking of the business.”

All right, time for her to step in and distract them before things got ugly. Brenna opened the front door and yawned loudly, alerting them to her presence. “Morning, boys.”

They both nodded at the sight of her. Dane sat at the wooden desk that he shared with Colt, which was a pretty nice desk when it wasn’t covered with magazines, books, old coffee mugs, and various other crap. Colt, naturally, was seated on the couch, staring at the Xbox. And both had stopped talking.

Screw that. She smiled brightly at them. “So what’s up? I heard something about a honeymoon?”

“Romeo here wants to abandon us for a few weeks and take his new missus up to Alaska and visit the cabin,” Dane said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told him we had to be responsible adults because of the job.”

Colt glared at Dane. “Not my fault you’ve been roped into a big church wedding, buddy. Don’t take it out on me.”

Dane rubbed a hand down his face, looking frustrated. “God, don’t remind me.”

“You can still back out,” Colt pointed out.

“No, he can’t,” Brenna said cheerfully, moving to her chair and curling up cross-legged. “Then Miranda and Beth Ann will never talk to either one of you again.”

“Miranda wants a big wedding, so that’s what she’ll get,” Dane said, though he sounded a little weary at the thought. “Who’d have thought I’d end up with the high-maintenance girl?”

Colt snorted.

Dane just smiled that silly, lovesick expression he had on his face every time someone mentioned Miranda.

Brenna put a finger to her mouth and pantomimed gagging. “You two are pathetic.”

“You’re just jealous,” Dane said cheerfully.