sipping from a glass of brandy when she walked toward him on her closest approximation of a siren’s glide.
“Merry Christmas, Santa baby,” she purred, as Bing gave way to Eartha Kitt.
“It is, indeed, that,” he managed after choking slightly on the brandy. “You look amazing.”
“Do you think so?” She skimmed her hands down her body, from her breasts to her thighs, drawing his attention to curves only days earlier she would have wanted to try to hide.
“Actually, amazing is a serious understatement.” He sat down in a brown leather chair and made a twirling motion with his finger. She turned slowly, revealing the way the nightgown bared her back to below the waist, accentuating the flare of her butt.
“So, Kelli . . .” His voice had slid into the rough, sexy timbre that she could feel vibrating inside her. “Have you been good?” he asked as she turned around. “Or bad?”
She tilted her head coyly and looked up at him through her lashes. “Aren’t I supposed to be sitting on your lap to answer that question?”
“Absolutely.” As he took her hand and settled her onto his lap, Kelli could feel his arousal and finally understood what had allegedly kept Adèle and Bernard Douchett together for half a century. She knew that she’d certainly never tire of making love to this man.
“Well?” he asked.
“Aren’t you going to give me my candy cane?”
“You know how it works.”
“Well then.” She sighed. “I guess, since I can’t lie to Santa—”
“It would be ill advised,” he agreed.
“I’d have to say I’ve been bad.” She wiggled a bit, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. “So bad, you might even say I’m good.”
His answering grin was a wicked slash, like no department store Santa she’d ever seen. “That definitely calls for a special treat.”
“Oh, Santa baby.” She felt herself melting into a little puddle of need as his hand slipped beneath the flow of white silk and his wickedly clever fingers began trailing up her thigh. “I really do believe in you.” She thought about tossing out the line from the song about wanting a ring, but decided that would be pushing it. “Do you believe in me?”
“Why don’t you let me show you how much?”
And as he took her mouth, he proceeded to do exactly that.
19
He’d slept through the night. That was the first thought Cole had when he woke up to find Kelli’s head on his chest and her leg flung across his. He ran a hand down her back, skimming over the silk negligee she was still wearing.
Although he loved her body, even in those silly sweaters, flannel pajamas, and most of all, naked, when he could look and touch and taste at will, there’d been something about that nightgown that had enticed him to explore each little region of the delicious female territory that was Kelli Carpenter bit by bit. Piece by piece.
The feel of the silk—like a cool waterfall in the empty desert that his life had become—had proven an aphrodisiac, not that he needed one when he was with her.
For someone who moved so fast while awake, she roused slowly, stretching, sighing, her eyes the last thing to finally join the world. When she realized he was still lying with her, playing with her hair, which was splayed over his chest, those sea blue eyes widened.
“Merry Christmas. . . . You’re still here.”
“Yeah.” And he would have happily stayed there for the rest of his life. But having changed the dynamics of their relationship, he knew it was only fair that he be open. And honest. Which he hadn’t entirely been to himself. “And we need to talk.”
“Today?”
Her reticence suggested she expected the worst. And why shouldn’t she?
“Today,” he repeated. “Let me start the coffee.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Her hands were clutching the sheet like a lifeline. He uncurled her fingers and lifted each one to his lips. “There are things you need to know.”
“Like why you chop wood in the middle
“Merry Christmas, Santa baby,” she purred, as Bing gave way to Eartha Kitt.
“It is, indeed, that,” he managed after choking slightly on the brandy. “You look amazing.”
“Do you think so?” She skimmed her hands down her body, from her breasts to her thighs, drawing his attention to curves only days earlier she would have wanted to try to hide.
“Actually, amazing is a serious understatement.” He sat down in a brown leather chair and made a twirling motion with his finger. She turned slowly, revealing the way the nightgown bared her back to below the waist, accentuating the flare of her butt.
“So, Kelli . . .” His voice had slid into the rough, sexy timbre that she could feel vibrating inside her. “Have you been good?” he asked as she turned around. “Or bad?”
She tilted her head coyly and looked up at him through her lashes. “Aren’t I supposed to be sitting on your lap to answer that question?”
“Absolutely.” As he took her hand and settled her onto his lap, Kelli could feel his arousal and finally understood what had allegedly kept Adèle and Bernard Douchett together for half a century. She knew that she’d certainly never tire of making love to this man.
“Well?” he asked.
“Aren’t you going to give me my candy cane?”
“You know how it works.”
“Well then.” She sighed. “I guess, since I can’t lie to Santa—”
“It would be ill advised,” he agreed.
“I’d have to say I’ve been bad.” She wiggled a bit, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. “So bad, you might even say I’m good.”
His answering grin was a wicked slash, like no department store Santa she’d ever seen. “That definitely calls for a special treat.”
“Oh, Santa baby.” She felt herself melting into a little puddle of need as his hand slipped beneath the flow of white silk and his wickedly clever fingers began trailing up her thigh. “I really do believe in you.” She thought about tossing out the line from the song about wanting a ring, but decided that would be pushing it. “Do you believe in me?”
“Why don’t you let me show you how much?”
And as he took her mouth, he proceeded to do exactly that.
19
He’d slept through the night. That was the first thought Cole had when he woke up to find Kelli’s head on his chest and her leg flung across his. He ran a hand down her back, skimming over the silk negligee she was still wearing.
Although he loved her body, even in those silly sweaters, flannel pajamas, and most of all, naked, when he could look and touch and taste at will, there’d been something about that nightgown that had enticed him to explore each little region of the delicious female territory that was Kelli Carpenter bit by bit. Piece by piece.
The feel of the silk—like a cool waterfall in the empty desert that his life had become—had proven an aphrodisiac, not that he needed one when he was with her.
For someone who moved so fast while awake, she roused slowly, stretching, sighing, her eyes the last thing to finally join the world. When she realized he was still lying with her, playing with her hair, which was splayed over his chest, those sea blue eyes widened.
“Merry Christmas. . . . You’re still here.”
“Yeah.” And he would have happily stayed there for the rest of his life. But having changed the dynamics of their relationship, he knew it was only fair that he be open. And honest. Which he hadn’t entirely been to himself. “And we need to talk.”
“Today?”
Her reticence suggested she expected the worst. And why shouldn’t she?
“Today,” he repeated. “Let me start the coffee.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Her hands were clutching the sheet like a lifeline. He uncurled her fingers and lifted each one to his lips. “There are things you need to know.”
“Like why you chop wood in the middle
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