by Lisa Plumley
That was a tradition she hoped to establish with the kids. Starting this year. Maybe even with Jason, if he agreed.
“You’d have to let me out of the house for that last one.” Wearing an agreeable grin, Jason backed out from beneath the tree. He got to his feet, dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater that covered him considerably more than a hand towel had. Too bad. “But I promise not to run away.” He aimed a curious look at the tree. “When are you going to decorate it?”
“A few days from now. The kids get bored if I don’t string the lights beforehand. Why? Are you angling for an invitation?”
“Somebody has to reach those tall branches.” Jason winked, then nodded at the wineglasses. “Is one of those for me?”
She handed him one. “You labor, I bring refreshments.”
“Not a bad deal.” Relaxed and content, with his dark, wavy hair combed loosely away from his face and his jeans slung low, Jason aimed his wineglass toward the sofa. “Join me?”
She’d thought he’d never ask. “For a glass. Or two.”
Companionably, they moved onto the sofa, side by side. From the outside, Danielle guessed, they probably seemed totally at ease. On the inside, though, she was aflutter with anticipation.
Hoping to ease it, she knocked back her spiced wine.
All of it.
At the same instant, Jason turned to ask her something. He saw her chug and gave her a knowing grin. “Everything okay? That bedtime routine took a lot longer than I thought it would. I’ve never seen a kid demand more stories than Aiden.”
“He loves them.” Danielle resisted an urge to pound her chest. It turned out that spiced mulled wine had a kick. “You did a good job with that Grinch voiceover, by the way.”
He laughed. “I’m naturally grinchy.” His gaze dipped to her glass, then raised to her face. “I’ll get you more wine.”
He rose in an agile motion and whisked away her glass. A few minutes later, Jason returned with a refilled glass for her.
“You win,” Danielle announced. “Mark couldn’t be bothered to bring me anything, not even when I had appendicitis.”
“Shame on him.” Jason lounged next to her, then put down his own wine. “Let’s make a deal,” he suggested. “You make that the first and last time we talk about your ex tonight . . . and I’ll do my best to make you forget he ever existed. Okay?”
“Um, okay.” She gulped more wine. She nodded. “I mean, yes, please. Let’s do that. Starting now.” Another swig. “Go for it.”
With a grin—probably in response to her babbling—Jason leaned nearer. He steadied her wineglass by covering her hand with his, then gave Danielle a kiss that made her feel twice as intoxicated as ordinary Merlot ever could. Jason’s mouth was sweet and spicy. He coaxed open her lips with barely a breath.
His hands were nimble, setting aside her glass in a smooth gesture that Danielle barely noticed. Jason brought his hand to her jaw instead, then cradled her closer to him, losing himself in kissing her more deeply. His body leaned on hers, his hair brushed her cheek, and everything about him felt so perfect and so right that Danielle almost laughed with the sheer joy of it.
She wanted to be seduced. Jason seemed to be there to do exactly that, just the way he’d fulfilled so many other wishes of hers. Near the twinkling lights of her still undecorated Christmas tree, Jason kissed her and stroked her and whispered that she was beautiful, and thanks to the wine and the wanting and the very real magic of having holiday music playing nearby—how had that happened, anyway?—Danielle let herself be swept away. For several long, blissful moments, she lost herself in Jason’s arms, in his smiles, in his big, strong body and the utter, unabashed revelation that he wanted her. Right then.
Suddenly nervous again, Danielle broke off their next kiss.
“I’m, um, happy we postponed your sleepover in Aiden’s room,” she blabbed with an anxious glance in that direction. All was still quiet on the kid front. No impediments there. “That means you’re free to have an adult sleepover instead.”
Her racy joke didn’t go over the way she meant for it to.
“You know, I love that you’re a mom.” Jason gazed into her eyes. He trailed his fingers along her neck, down the V-neck of her sweater . . . all the way to her modest cleavage. He let his gaze follow the same path. “Right now, though, you’re a woman first. Tonight, I want you to forget everything else—”
He caught her indrawn breath and gave a knowing smile.
“—yes,” he went on, anticipating her next words, “even the fact that we have to get up early for work tomorrow morning—”
Gobsmacked, she stared at him. “How did you—”
“—and just feel us together. You and me.”
Dazedly, Danielle nodded. This is it, she thought. This was the moment when she gave full rein to her libido and just went for it. With Jason. With the sexiest man she’d ever met.
Oh wow. She had to be dreaming this.
Except it didn’t feel like dreaming as Jason smiled and slid his hand lower, cupping her breast and making her gasp. It didn’t feel like dreaming as he stroked his thumb over her and made her nipples jut against her sweater in a quest for more. It definitely didn’t feel like dreaming as he edged a little closer on the sofa . . . and she felt a certain hard, masculine, immense part of him barely graze the back of her hand through his jeans.
Holy moly. This was going to be even better than a dream.
“I wouldn’t ordinarily do something like this,” Danielle murmured, fighting the need to do more than just graze him. Her stomach felt light, her body languid, her mind awhirl. “But somehow, this feels different to me. You feel different to me.”
“Nah,” Jason rumbled. “I’m just a regular guy.”
At that absurd understatement, Danielle almost laughed.
“I’m just a regular guy who’s about to make you feel better than you ever have before.” Jason leaned even closer, making the sofa’s throw pillows cocoon them both. He gazed intently into her face, then stroked her again. “This might be our only night together,” he reminded her. “We have to make it memorable.”
Danielle nodded in agreement. She buried her fingers in his hair and gazed back at him, hardly able to believe she was there, in her own living room, with the “sexiest CEO alive.”
“In my bedroom,” she suggested boldly, ready to give and take and create a whole new batch of hotter-than-hot memories. “We can’t do this out here. As nice as making out is—”
“It can’t hold a candle to what’s to come.” Jason stood. He held out his hand to her, then smiled. “Come on,” he invited. “Let’s have a night to remember.”
Breathlessly, Danielle took his hand. She stood too. Then they ventured down the hall and into her bedroom together, leaving their wineglasses behind along with their inhibitions.
For the next several hours, neither of them would need them. Just as they didn’t need clothes, more spiced mulled wine, or anything else to ensure that when they came together—skin on skin and heart to heart—everything would be perfect.
Between them, it simply was perfect. Twice.
Not that either of them was counting.
Even if it was only for one night, Danielle knew as she snuggled afterward in Jason’s arms, replete and content and marveling at the memory of every erotic intimacy they’d just shared, it was a night to remember. Judging by the macho, satisfied look on Jason’s face, he felt the same way.
Now, if only they could somehow get more time together, things could be more than perfect. They could be enduring.
At least for another few nights, they could be . . .
Chapter Fourteen
Jason woke up with an armful of cuddly woman, a head full of sizzling erotic memories, and the dawning realization that he’d talked himself into doing something he shouldn’t have last night.
In the warm glow of those damn Christmas lights, bolstered by days of wanting Danielle, he’d convinced himself that he was do
ing something good for them both. He’d convinced himself that he was a nice guy who only wanted to help Danielle move on from her ex . . . when really, in the harsher light of another December day, it was obvious to Jason that all he’d wanted was her.
Everything else was an excuse. He wasn’t a nice guy. Not that nice, at least. He didn’t begin to deserve her. He just didn’t. The fact that he was thinking it proved it was true.
Last night, when he’d held Danielle in his arms and kissed her—when he’d stroked her—he hadn’t been thinking about doing a good deed. When he’d slipped off her clothes, marveled at her incredible, unabashed nakedness, kissed her from her head to her toes and—lingeringly—everyplace in between . . . he sure as hell hadn’t been doing it out of a sense of charity. When he’d made her cry out and clutch the sheets, when he’d done as she’d begged and thrust inside her, when he’d made them both shudder and moan, Jason hadn’t been thinking of becoming a better man.
None of the things they’d done would help Danielle move on, Jason realized too late as he gazed down at her beautiful, slumbering face. Because none of the things they’d done would give her the future she wanted. But all of them would bond her even more tightly to him. Because of who she was, they would make her want him more. Need him more. Rely on him more.
He’d taken a woman who didn’t want to trust anyone, and he’d made her trust him. On purpose. He’d done it with the best of intentions. But as Jason woke up and found Danielle willingly curled against him with her hand resting over his heart, he knew he should have reined himself in. He wasn’t cut out for this.
He’d never experienced anything as all-encompassing as this. He’d had relationships, sure. But none of them had felt this way. None of them had involved togetherness plus Christmas plus Moosby’s plus scandal plus three little kids—one of whom didn’t even like him yet . . . and maybe never would.
Hell. What had he been thinking?
Well, he knew what he’d been thinking, Jason admitted as he felt himself stir beneath the sheets. He’d been thinking he could have Danielle—the sexiest and most beguiling gas-money extortion artist in all of Midwestern Michigan—all to himself. To have and to hold and to screw both their brains out, with no consequences and no future beyond the few additional days he’d probably already persuaded Chip Larsen to give them.
Thinking about his company’s chairman of the board was the most effective boner killer imaginable—which was exactly what Jason needed to get his head on straight. If he wanted to be fair to Danielle, he couldn’t linger in her bed for a cozy morning after. He couldn’t give her the impression this meant more than it did. Because despite their unusual synchronicity—despite how much he liked her—Jason knew this couldn’t last.
Eventually, he would go back to L.A. He would. Even if the idea of doing so made him want to bury his head under the covers and forget that L.A.—and Moosby’s corporate—existed at all. But he didn’t have another alternative. All he knew were toys.
Eventually, too, Danielle would realize she was staying in Kismet. Because Jason knew damn well she wouldn’t disappoint Karlie, Aiden, and Zach by moving them away from home. Away from the snow. Away from the whoopie pies. Away from Mark and Crystal and all the things they loved about their rusticated burg.
That was why, when Jason heard Danielle’s cell phone vibrate on his side of the bed—when he saw it light up to display an incoming text message—he grabbed it from the nightstand to avoid waking her. He glanced at Gigi’s message.
Inventory emergency. Come to the store. Quick!
Hmmm. That would suffice as an escape hatch, Jason decided. So he pulled on his clothes, scribbled Danielle a note, and then headed downtown to the toy store to take care of the problem. Whatever it was, he knew, it would be less daunting than facing a sleepy-eyed, hopeful Danielle, her three cute rug rats, and a blissful Sunday morning spent making waffles, taking care of goldfish, building Legos, and playing video games with Karlie—all before carpooling to Moosby’s with Danielle for another idyllic workday. Because with her, they were idyllic, weird as that was.
Especially for a man who’d gone on vacation to avoid working. Maybe he needed to live with Danielle to make his work life feel happier. Or maybe he was still thinking with his cock instead of his brains. Because he couldn’t abandon his real job.
No matter how much, just then, he might have wanted to.
Bah humbug, Jason told himself as he reached his rented SUV and saw the snowfall and ice that had covered it overnight. He wasn’t cut out for any of this. The sooner Danielle realized the kind of man he really was, the better for them both.
Danielle woke up with a smile, a languorous stretch, and a growing certainty that she’d chosen exactly the right man to trust. Despite the way Mark had betrayed her—despite all her fears that she’d been partly to blame, for believing in him—she wasn’t incapable of choosing a good man, she realized happily as she pointed her toes and thrust her arms out from beneath her cozy flannel sheets. She was excellent at choosing a good man.
She’d chosen Jason, hadn’t she?
He was a good man. Everything they’d done together over the past few days proved it. Last night proved it. Because Danielle would have done almost anything to satisfy the lusty craving that Jason had incited in her. But rather than take advantage of that, instead Jason had made their night together feel special.
When he’d taken her into his arms and kissed her, when he’d stroked her, when he’d called her beautiful and sexy, he’d made her remember that she deserved to love and be loved. When he’d slipped off her clothes, when he’d shed his own jeans and sweater and let her look her fill of his incredible nakedness, when he’d kissed her all over until she’d been trembling and groaning and begging him for more, please, he’d made her remember that she was a woman first and a mother second. When he’d finally, finally come inside her and made them one . . . well, he’d looked into her eyes and he’d let her come inside him, too.
After all that, Danielle knew, it wasn’t fair to Jason to go on this way. Last night had been everything she’d hoped for and more—and that was why, now, she knew she had to reel herself in. All she’d wanted was a fun holiday fling. And maybe a way to help her kids move past their hopes for a reconciliation between her and Mark, too. But judging by Jason’s reaction to their passionate night together, he wanted more.
That wasn’t surprising, she knew. Their night together had been really fantastic. Jason had anticipated her every desire. Danielle had surprised him with a few inspired moves of her own. Together, they’d discovered a whole new level of synchronicity.
But now she had to face facts. The facts were that she still wanted her promotion and—just as Karlie had pointed out—Jason was enjoying Kismet more every day. It wouldn’t surprise her if he decided to stay. If that happened—and their fling inevitably ended—it would be beyond awkward working with him. It would be better, Danielle knew, if she distanced herself now.
All the same, as she sleepily yawned and congratulated herself on her new resolve to keep things casual, she couldn’t help thinking that maybe she could wait a few days to do that. After all, she might be overthinking things. For all she knew, Jason might still be moving on with the rest of his tour.
They might only have time for a single sexy AM quickie before saying their good-byes and moving on with their lives.
With a mischievous grin, Danielle reached for him.
She came up with a sheet of paper instead.
Snatching it from the pillow, she frowned in confusion. She read it, feeling stupidly fond of Jason’s chicken scratch handwriting as she did. Then, she smiled.
Jason had gone to Moosby’s to deal with a problem.
She was already having a positive influence on him! At this rate, Jason would be genuine boyfriend material in no time.
Whoops. I mean, Danielle told herself hastily, good for him! Now the board of directors will finally see how talented he is—and give me my promotion
. . . all I really want from this anyway.
With that thought firmly in mind, Danielle threw back the covers. She got out of bed, got the kids ready to go to Mark’s, then prepared to head to Moosby’s herself. There was no way she was letting her superstar boss make her look like a slacker—not now, when all her dreams were finally within reach.
“You can’t leave Kismet,” Chip Larsen told Jason over the phone. “Ever. Our social media accounts are going crazy!”
“Are you saying I need to lie low until the villagers put away the pitchforks and torches?” Jason asked. He couldn’t think what he’d possibly done wrong now. “I’d think you’d want me right in the middle of things, getting strung up.”
“Ordinarily, I would,” Chip admitted. “But you being attacked by a mob wouldn’t do our stock price any favors. And you know me—I’m all about the Benjamins. Even when it comes to you. So as much as I might wish you were getting strung up—”
“Enough said.” Greed wins again. That sounded like Chip.
Standing alone in Moosby’s back room amid all the latest boxed inventory, Jason gave the toys around him a curious look. With Danielle’s tutelage, he’d familiarized himself with the Moosby’s official employee handbook. It seemed to him that their inventory should have been more . . . diverse. “So what happened?”
“Good publicity for a change, that’s what happened,” Chip crowed. “You were holding out on me!” he added in a chastising tone. “You should have started sending me usable stuff like this days ago, you bastard. What a PR angle! Good work.”
Aha. He’d gotten the photos and video footage. That was good. It sounded as if Jason now had carte blanche to stay in Kismet indefinitely, without needing to cajole the board onto his side first. But . . . “PR angle? What PR angle?” he asked. “I didn’t send those pictures for PR purposes. I sent them—”