Page 19 of Miles & Mistletoe

Those plump lips of her turned upwards as she shook her head. “That makes no sense.”

“You can eat in your spare time. When business is being discussed, focus on the profits and not the food.”

“Let me guess. Something your father taught you?” she asked as she slipped an orange slice into her mouth.

I leaned in, licking the corner of her mouth, tasting the drop of orange juice that’d managed to escape her lips. Somehow tasting it from her skin made the juice all the more sweeter.

“He may’ve said it once or twice,” I answered. “You plan on sharing?”

She lowered her lashes. “I guess sharing is caring, right?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Open.”

I paused, giving her a look out of the corner of my eye.

“Open,” she insisted once more.

My mouth parted and a breath later she was slipping a goat-cheese topped cracker into my mouth. I pleasantly delighted in the taste of the chive and cucumber with the saltiness of the cracker. But before Stacia could pull her arm back, I took her wrist in my hand, pulling her onto my lap.

“You’re going to make a mess on my bed!” she screeched.

I didn’t give a shit as I nuzzled my face into the back of her neck.

“I’m going to have to make you pay for calling me a selfish lover,” I growled in her ear.

“I said I was wrong about you being a selfish lover!”

Reaching down, I cupped her ass that was still covered in the silk robe. “Which means at one point you did call me selfish.”

She groaned and laid her head back against my shoulder. “Well, can you blame me? You aren’t the easiest person to get along with. And most guys that look like you, and have money and power to go along with it, are egomaniacs, making them horrible lovers.”

“What any other man is like in bed is none of my damn business.”

Something pulsed in my stomach when Stacia burst out into a fit of giggles at my comment.

“I’d expect you to say something like that,” was all she said before leaning her back against my chest. She reached for another orange slice, and instead of feeding it to herself, she reached over her shoulder, feeding it to me.

“That seems to come naturally to you. Serving others.” It was technically what she did for a living.

“I enjoy it.”

“Is that why you volunteered to do it on Thanksgiving?”

“So …” she began, turning to look at me over she shoulder, “Ian likes to talk after sex.”

I grunted and gave a humorless laugh. “Hardly. At least, not usually.” That was the unequivocal truth. Typically, nothing pleased me more than seeing a woman get dressed and prepare to leave after sex. I always kept the conversation to a minimal. I chalked up the fact that I was breaking all my own rules at this very moment to the holidays making me just a little nostalgic, or whatever.

“Now answer the question,” I insisted.

Another laugh from Stacia. “I guess so. What better day than Thanksgiving to serve others. I mean, all those freeloading parents and children and what not,” she added quite sarcastically.

Rolling my eye, I placed the back of my head against the wall just above the headboard. “You’re going to keep harping on that?”

“No. I just like pulling your chain whenever I get the chance.”

“So I see.”

---