Holiday for Hire

by Laurelin Paige

  “You have no idea,” she assured him. “But we will be the most interesting pair there.” And they would be even more interesting if people knew the truth. So she had to ensure they never would.

  Which meant the outfit they settled on had to be perfect.

  “I’d love to see you in something like this,” she pointed at a three-piece suit with a bow tie that Justin Timberlake would look just scrumptious in.

  Ian, she was certain, would look equally scrumptious. If not more so. Her breath stuttered in her chest just imagining it.

  “Okay,” Ian said, ever the willing subject. It was another reason he was so perfect. “But what will you be wearing? I like your dress tonight, by the way. Very seasonal without being over-the-top.”

  Jane smiled as her heart picked up speed. She was thrilled with his compliment, and only partially because this attention to detail was exactly what would ensure their success.

  “I must admit I haven’t selected an outfit yet. I think I’ve narrowed it down to a red silk or a white satin. Whichever one I choose, a dark grey suit like this will coordinate. It’s very modern, and men’s fashion doesn’t change at the pace of women’s, so I’m certain you’ll get plenty of wear out of it.”

  A solicitous salesman lurking nearby wisely chose that moment to offer a dressing room to Ian, where he’d taken the liberty of selecting a couple of styles. Jane perched on the edge of a chair, eager to see her vision come to life. It was hard not to fidget as she waited anxiously for him to appear. Was it untoward to offer to come in and help him?

  Yes, probably so. She’d have to be patient.

  When Ian finally pulled open the velvet curtain, she could have fallen out of her seat.

  The man in front of her was a vision, indeed. The pants fit him like a dream, snug in all the right areas. His muscles strained the sleeves of the jacket, leaving it open for her to admire the cut of the vest against the crisp white shirt.

  It was only with a bit of an effort that she managed to smile and not gape.

  “I think we’ve found a winner, don’t you?” she asked the tailor, who nodded and fetched his measuring tape and notebook.

  “Now, I’m partial to the Milanese style of tailoring, and I think the structure would emphasize your physique,” she told him, gently running her hand over his shoulders–damn, those shoulders. They were solid rock. It might be bad form to fondle the help, but tailoring was a hands-on business.

  “Milanese style?” he asked as her touch lingered on his deliciously formed biceps. Testing the fit, of course.

  She opened the curtain again and gently turned him around so she could show him her meaning in his reflection.

  “The cuffs,” she touched his wrists, “should be a mere quarter inch over your wrist when your arms are at your sides. It gives you the precise amount of room you need to gesture, or raise a glass, without falling prey to a shortened sleeve.”

  The tailor deftly unfurled his tape and then jotted down the number, while Jane let her eyes roam over Ian.

  “Here, see—the shoulders tend to be a bit more structured, which will balance your biceps perfectly.” As she spoke, her fingers were skimming again. And was it just her or was he enjoying that a little? His eyes, when she met them in the mirror, seemed to have darkened.

  The tailor finished taking his measurements and told them he was finished. Ian scrubbed his hands over his face and then back through his hair.

  “Not that,” she told him. “It makes you look nervous.”

  “I am a little nervous,” he smiled to her reflection. “You make me nervous.”

  Did he mean the wedding, or did he also feel the undeniable attraction between them that she felt whenever she allowed herself to admit it? The fact that they were, for the moment, alone did not escape her.

  “There’s something we haven’t covered,” Jane said, her voice breathier than usual. “I’m attracted to you, physically.” She’d been attracted to Blake too. Funny how she hadn’t felt this timid when she’d had the similar conversation with him.

  Which was silly. This was important. Part of the job she’d hired him for, so to say.

  She threw her shoulders back and addressed the situation straight on. “But attraction isn’t a guarantee of compatibility. There also has to be chemistry. People will notice from a mile away if we don’t have that. Perhaps we should try a kiss. It should make us more comfortable around each other, and will also prepare us just in case we have to be affectionate at the wedding.” Not that she could guess what sort of situation that would be.

  “Just in case,” Ian said. This time, it was his hand she watched in the mirror as he stroked the back of it down her cheek before turning her to face him—the real him. His eyes searched hers, perhaps for confirmation that this was what she really wanted as he leaned slowly down.

  And to show him how much she really, really wanted it, she went up on her tiptoes and met him halfway.

  And then his lips were on hers, and she could hardly breathe for how very compatible they were. Forgetting completely that this was meant to be a mere test, she parted her mouth gently, and Ian immediately deepened the kiss. His tongue was warm and tasted of peppermint, and all Jane could think was, “Oh.”

  There was no way on earth that Blake could have made her feel like this.

  Which was why she slipped her hands beneath the jacket and gently removed it, in order to better enjoy the feel of his pecs under her palms. She imagined the kiss moving further, imagined Ian untying her wrap dress. Letting it fall, to pool around her ankles, exposing her. Unwrapping her just for him.

  She’d have let him if he’d tried. That’s how compatible they were.

  In fact, making out with Ian was so sexy, so all-consuming, so knee-weakening, that she had forgotten entirely that they were still in a velvet-curtained dressing room until she heard a gentle cough from outside.

  With a final lingering kiss, Ian released her.

  She turned away toward the mirror so she could fix her lipstick while she berated herself. What on earth had she been thinking?

  She wasn’t, that was the trouble.

  The burn was hot on her cheeks as she wondered just what the salesman must be thinking. What Ian must be thinking.

  After all, this was never a sex-for-hire arrangement, and her behavior had been entirely wanton just then.

  She peeked up from retying a perfect bow at her waist to meet Ian’s eyes once more in the mirror.

  He was smirking at her, but not unkindly.

  “Whoops,” he muttered. A breath of relief whooshed out of Jane’s mouth.

  “Whoops,” she agreed.

  “For what it’s worth, I think the chemistry is going to read just fine.”

  She bit back a grin as he adjusted himself. “Just fine, indeed.” Then she squared her shoulders and turned, prepared to open the curtain and face the music.

  “Madam, sir,” the tailor waiting outside politely said. “Although it is entirely against store policy, I, too, have often found tailoring to be a bit of a hands-on business.”

  Jane felt entirely justified.

  Six

  “Does it look even from down there?” Ian asked in his near-perfect neutral American accent. With only one day before her annual Christmas party, Jane had suggested—okay, commanded might be more accurate—that he spend the day in character. Tomorrow’s event would be his trial run, after all. The occasion where he proved he was ready for the big date.

  After her party, there were only eight days until Christmas. Seven days until Christmas Eve. Three weeks of priming and primping had passed and Ian was ready.

  So was Jane’s house. As soon as the nutcracker garland was up and in place, anyway.

  “I think the end needs to be pulled up just a smidge,” Jane said from where she stood solidly on the sidewalk in front of her brownstone. Though she was bundled up in a warm coat and gloves, she shivered. It was cold out. A storm had rolled in the night before and fresh snow coated t
he small patch of grass in front of her unit. Ian had cleared the sidewalks before starting in on the final outdoor trimmings while she’d been warm inside by the fire. She’d only come out recently to provide visual assistance.

  If she were cold down here, she thought, Ian must be freezing. She’d make him a cup of hot cocoa afterward. With a peppermint stick and whipped cream. Maybe he’d hang around long enough to try a bite of the poppyseed bread that was currently cooling on her kitchen counter.

  She hoped he’d hang around. Even if he didn’t want to partake of any of her baked goods.

  She peered up at him. He was standing on the highest rung of her six-foot ladder that was braced on the tiny platform at the top of her stoop. She shivered again, this time from the thought of the dizzying height. Or just from the dizzy feeling she got sometimes when she looked at the man who’d become a steady fixture in her life. It was quite possible, she realized suddenly, that she might miss him after this gig was up on Christmas Eve.

  For the first time in her life, Jane Osborne had a reason to not look forward to Christmas.

  “How about now?”

  Shaking herself from her thoughts, she looked up again to inspect the new position of the garland and grinned. “It’s perfect.”

  “Fantastic.” Ian climbed down, and Jane pretended not to notice how good his backside looked while he did.

  When he reached the bottom, he bounded down the stairs and joined her at the bottom of the stoop. He stared up with her to assess the finished product. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”

  “I think it’s amazing. The best my place has looked in years.” She wasn’t being the least bit kind with that statement. It was positively accurate. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He winked, and that, along with his nearness, sent a tickle down the length of her spine.

  Thank goodness her face was already red from the weather. That way he couldn’t notice her blush. “Now that’s up, we’re done,” she said, her voice higher pitched than usual.

  Ian shook his head. “We’re not done.”

  She cocked her head and looked at him with a questioning frown. “What am I forgetting? Except for some last-minute baking, there’s nothing else I can think of.” She ran quickly through the list in her head. “The house looks splendid. The tree is trimmed. The caterers will be here in the morning. You have your suit. I picked up my dress from the tailor yesterday. What’s left?”

  “What’s left?” he echoed with incredulity. “Why only the most important part. The Christmas angel.”

  “Ah. But I have a star on top of my tree instead.” And he should have known that because he’d been the one to place it there in the first place.

  “I’m not talking about the tree. I’m talking about in the snow.”

  “A snow angel?” She stifled a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Dead serious.” His expression mirrored his words. “You mean you don’t make snow angels?”

  “Uh, no. I do not.” She hadn’t made a figure in the snow since she was a kid, and she wasn’t quite sure she’d made them then either. Except for that fall she took three years ago on New Year’s Day, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even had more than a passing encounter with the white stuff.

  Ian rolled his head in exaggerated disbelief. “No wonder you don’t believe in Christmas wishes. How can you expect to have magic happen if you don’t put in a little work?”

  Jane hugged herself and scowled. “I fail to see how laying down on the cold dirty ground can get me anything but a frozen behind.”

  “Laying down in—?” Ian cut off, apparently too exasperated to repeat Jane’s sentiments. “There is no way I’m hearing this. Obviously, you don’t understand the most fundamental part of the season.”

  “Getting wet?”

  “Having fun.”

  He stunned her with his quick answer. Stunned her even more when he dropped onto the small patch of land next to her sidewalk, stretched his arms out, and waved them up and down in the snow.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She glanced around to see if anyone was looking, smiling awkwardly when she spotted Mr. Jacobson staring as he passed in front of her house with his dog.

  “Why? Because it’s spontaneous? Because it’s unexpected? Because it’s totally a blast?” Ian had let his accent slip back into its natural Southie dialect, which somehow made his playfulness seem more gregarious.

  “Because it’s totally insane!” And childish. And something she’d never do in a million years. Neither would any man she’d ever date for real.

  But that thought made her feel sad.

  She didn’t want to feel sad.

  She studied him, this grown man rolling around in the snow, and found her lips curling up in a smile. She’d never admit it, but there was something fun about Ian making a fool of himself.

  After a moment, she realized something. “You know, you’re doing it wrong.”

  “No, I’m not,” Ian scoffed. “What do you even mean? You can’t do angels wrong.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Moving your arms only makes the wings. You need to move your legs to make the gown.”

  “Oh, really? Get down here and show me, if you’re such an expert.” He sat up and stretched his hand out toward her, inviting her to join him.

  “No way.” Still, she didn’t move away.

  “Chicken,” he teased. He moved to his knees so he could grab her wrist and the touch of his bare hand on the patch of skin above her glove sent goosebumps up her arm. Goosebumps that she was entirely sure weren’t caused by the cold.

  “Come on,” he coaxed again, tugging her gently. “You know you want to.”

  “I most certainly don’t want to.” But she didn’t fight him when he pulled again, and so she shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was when she tumbled forward. With him. Into the snow.

  “Ian!” she squealed. She hadn’t worn a hat and now she had snow in her hair and on her cheek and down the entire left side of her body. She opened her mouth to berate him for his behavior. But all that came out was laughter. Belly-aching laughter.

  All-over-body-shaking laughter.

  “See? It’s fun!” If he said more, she couldn’t make it out in the midst of his own laughter.

  And, honestly, she didn’t really care what else he said, because, as her peals subsided, she became aware that she wasn’t just in the snow, but in his arms. His strong arms. And her body was no longer trembling from laughter but from the intensity of his gaze pinned on her.

  And she wished with all her might that he would kiss her. Not a practicing-for-the-date ask-permission kind of kiss, but a real, honest-to-God, I’m-into-you kiss.

  Then Jane remembered that she believed that people had to make their own wishes come true. So she tilted up her chin and pressed her lips to his.

  And just like last time, she forgot herself entirely.

  Ian’s lips molded to hers like icing on a gingerbread house. When his tongue slid against hers, it was all she could do not to gasp at the sweet dance they’d begun. He nipped her lower lip with his teeth and she rolled him over on top of her, wanting more, wanting his weight and warmth on her.

  He obliged.

  They kept kissing, rolling around in the snow until they were soaked. Until they were so hot for each other that they’d forgotten to be cold. Until Mr. Jacobson huffed with judgment when he passed again with his dog.

  At which point, Ian pulled away and made the most wonderful suggestion. “Why don’t we head inside?”

  They barely had the door closed before their mouths found each other again. They wriggled out of their coats and boots as best they could between kisses. When Jane’s hands were free of her gloves, she brought them up and over Ian’s broad shoulders. Then she tugged him closer.

  Ian slid his own hands around her waist and down over her ass. “You’re sopping wet,” he said, stating the obvious.

  But the snow wasn’t
what she was referring to when she said, “You have no idea.”

  His eyes sparked, and—unlike when they’d spoken innuendo on the phone— she was sure he caught her meaning. His hand toyed with the bottom of her sweater. “You should probably get out of those clothes.”

  Her breath fell out of its rhythm. “Your clothes are just as wet as mine.”

  “I guess they’ll have to come off as well.” There he was again with that wink—that toe-curling, knee-buckling, heart-stopping wink.

  It was Jane who made the next suggestion. “Maybe we should take this upstairs.”

  He leaned back to look her in the eyes. “Jane?” he said, and she was pretty certain what he meant was are you sure?

  “I’m sure,” she said. Because she was. Then it occurred to her that, perhaps, he wasn’t. “Do you want to?”

  “I do. On one condition.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m off the clock.”

  Her stomach fluttered. “I can completely accept that condition.” It was so much easier to lead him up the staircase knowing that the paycheck she’d given him wasn’t a factor in whatever happened next.

  And she was looking forward to “next” as much as she’d ever looked forward to a visit from Santa Claus.

  In her bedroom, they resumed their kissing with renewed passion. Jane barely had time to worry if she’d left anything personal lying around or whether she’d worn nice underwear before Ian had her stripped to nothing at all.

  Gently, he pushed her down onto the bed, and stood back to gaze on her. She felt strangely comfortable in front of him, but was unable to meet his eyes. Instead she focused her attention on the dresser just behind him where he’d thrown her panties.

  Oh, good. They were a nice pair, she thought.

  But then Ian pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, and to hell with being awkward because there was no way Jane wasn’t staring at that flat washboard of a stomach in front of her. Seriously, what did the man do to be that ripped? She was pretty sure she hadn’t seen abs like that since she dated that guy on the Olympic swim team her junior year of college.