Page 17 of One Night on the Naughty List

Bain

Later, I wasn’t sure how I made it out of the bedroom without closing the distance between me and Samantha and showing her exactly how much I liked her dress. Some part of my subconscious must have remembered there were a dozen children ready to storm the upstairs if Santa didn’t get his ass in gear.

I made it out of the room, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off her as she helped the other adults herd the kids into a line so they could sit on my lap and rattle off their Christmas list. I should have known she’d take on the Santa’s Helper role with ease. Advertising was second nature to her and, for better or worse, the holidays were one big marketing exercise. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice Santa was a little distracted by his employee.

And Samantha was a walking distraction. Forget the silk blouse, her red dress seized my attention and didn’t let go. The fabric clung in all the right places, hugging her chest and hips and highlighting her luscious curves. Her breasts rose from the neckline, two pale, perfect mounds that made my head spin as I fought to pull my gaze away.

Fought and failed. She laughed at something one of the kids said, her head thrown back, dimples on full display, golden hair spilling down her back. God, I was devouring her with my eyes, and I was helpless to stop. Her legs went on forever, stretching from her sweetly rounded hips to her dainty ankles circled by thin, black straps. My gaze returned there again and again, roving from the tiny buckles to her polished toes to the three-inch heels that put her right at my eye level.

Perfect.

“Uncle Bain?”

I jerked my head around so fast the pompom on my hat smacked me in the mouth.

Patrick stood next to me, a knowing look on his face.

“Uh, hey, Patrick.” I sat up straighter in my chair. “Easy on the ‘Uncle Bain’ stuff, okay? The little kids haven’t figured me out yet.”

“Sorry.”

“What would you like for Christmas?”

“I already know what I got. Mom hides her shopping bags in the linen closet.” He looked toward a corner of the room, where Samantha was retying one of Ella’s hair ribbons.

Damn. That red dress blew my silk blouse fantasies right out of the water. With her curves wrapped up tight and her golden hair gleaming in the firelight, she was as pretty as the presents stacked under the tree. And like a kid on Christmas morning, I wanted to unwrap her. It wouldn’t take much. Just a long, slow glide of that zipper down her back and I could find out if her skin was as soft as it looked.

Patrick spoke. “You like her a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said absently, my gaze glued to Samantha.

“Then you should make a move.”

Didn’t I know it.

Wait. What? I swung my gaze back to him. “Where did you learn that expression?”

“I dunno. Around.”

Around? Good grief, maybe I wasn’t ready for kids. I tried for a stern look. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Now scram before I decide to put coal in your stocking.”

He put his hands up, all careless teen bravado. He got two steps away, then turned and lowered his voice. “Just sayin’, Uncle Bain, if you’re going to kiss her, you should probably lose the white beard.”

“SCRAM.”

His laughter made Samantha lift her head. She met my gaze, her face both amused and questioning.

I shrugged, then quickly motioned the next Thatcher in line forward. For the next hour, I split my time between ho-ho-ho-ing and struggling to keep my gaze off Samantha. Despite my best efforts, I was only successful at the former.

At last, she approached my chair hand-in-hand with Ella, and I didn’t have to pretend not to notice her anymore. I knew what I wanted for Christmas. It was about five-foot-eleven and wearing a pair of stilettos I’d give just about anything to have hooked around my back.

But I couldn’t think about that now. Ella stared up at me, awestruck, a half-eaten candy cane in her hand.

I patted my knee. “Do you want to sit?”

In response, she scrambled onto my lap and pinned me with a look any middle manager would be proud of. “Did you get my list?”

“I sure did.” I hadn’t, but I had texted with her mother. “One Elsa doll, a bike without training wheels, at least four LEGO sets, and an iPhone.”

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