Page 5 of One Night on the Naughty List

I just had to be certain she was prepared to do the same. Blame it on my straitlaced side, but I wasn’t about to let my libido jeopardize her career. If I let her know how I felt and she didn’t reciprocate, she would never feel comfortable at Bain Nutrition again. Unwelcome advances from a CEO had run more than one woman out of a job. It wasn’t going to happen on my watch. Not to Samantha. She deserved better.

Then again, there were those blushes…

I was out of practice, sure, but I wasn’t blind. My mother’s Christmas party offered the perfect opportunity to spend time alone with Samantha without the pressure or potential awkwardness of a “date.” My three brothers and their kids were loud and rambunctious enough to keep things from getting too intimate. On the other hand, there were plenty of places to sneak off to if the pink in her cheeks had something to do with me after all.

Wind buffeted the SUV, sending a gust of flurries straight at the windshield.

Samantha jerked and let out a little gasp.

“You okay?” I flicked on the wipers.

She gave me something of a sheepish look. “Yeah. I guess I’m still not used to New York snow, so I get nervous when the roads are icy. I grew up in Maryland.”

“Outside of Annapolis.”

She looked startled. “You remember that?”

“Dad is an accountant in D.C. Mom is a school secretary. No siblings, just cats.” I knew more—like how she’d begged for a dog (to no avail) and graduated first in her high school class (no surprise there)—but I left it at that. There was a line between showing interest and sounding like I had a dossier of information on her. I was rusty, but I wasn’t that rusty.

Her lips curved in a rueful smile. “My mother let me have the cats as compensation for being an only child. I think I finally stopped asking Santa for a baby brother or sister around fifth grade.”

If she kept smiling like that, I was definitely in for an uncomfortable ride. As it was, my cock tightened each time she turned toward me, giving me flashes of charming dimples and glossy pink lips. It didn’t help that her coffee cup in my center console bore the imprint of her mouth. My gaze kept straying to the plastic rim, my mind conjuring images of those full lips in other places. On other places. Around other places.

Keep it together, Thatcher.In a way, my reaction to her was a relief. Natasha hadn’t just broken my heart. She ripped it from my chest and chopped it to pieces like she diced vegetables during meal prep. Chop, chop, chop, go fuck yourself, Bain. For a while, I doubted I was capable of ever trusting a woman again, let alone loving one. My self-esteem nosedived, and celibacy seemed easier than risking another heartbreak.

It wasn’t easier now. Not with Samantha in my peripheral vision. She wore dark wash jeans that clung to her long legs and a loose-fit sweater that did nothing to conceal her generous chest. Even with cable knit masking her curves, my mind filled in the blanks. I’d shopped in the big and tall section since middle school. It took a lot to fill my hands. Based on my experience with Samantha’s silk blouse—which was extensive—I’d have my hands full with her.

At the moment, though, she’d fallen silent, dimples out of sight.

I shifted in my seat, subtly easing some pressure. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I asked Santa to swap out a couple of my brothers for cats.”

The dimples reappeared, and a little firework exploded in my chest. “You have three brothers, right? That must have been a busy house.”

Ah, there was a nice, safe subject. “It’s even busier now,” I said. “At least when we’re all home. I’m the only one without children. The others have four each, and my youngest brother has a fifth on the way.”

Her brown eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

I shook my head, then winked at her. “I’m half convinced my brothers keep reproducing just so Mom will force me to play Santa each year.”

“For real?” Now her eyes twinkled, gleaming with a spark of mischief I’d never seen before.

I needed to see it again.

“She has the full costume. Red suit, beard, everything.”

She laughed—a low chuckle that went straight to my cock. “You should have told me you had experience dressing up as Santa.” The mischief peeked out again. “When we did the North Pole ad campaign, you made it sound like wearing that white beard was the worst thing that ever happened to you.”

The hint of naughtiness in her gaze was like a drug. One look and I was an addict. I had to catch my breath before I could reply. Even then, I heard flirtation in my voice when I said, “Unlike you, my mother has never asked me to pose on a billboard in my boxers.”

Samantha rolled her eyes, dimples on full display. “They were board shorts. We needed to make Santa muscular and sexy. The ad wouldn’t work if we covered up your body.” As she talked, her eyes dipped to my shoulders and chest.

And just like that, the air shifted. Snow swirled outside, but heat blossomed between us.

She seemed to realize what she said—and where she looked when she said it—because she glanced away, adorably flustered. Ah, and there was the blush, the soft pink like a rose blooming against her creamy complexion. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, worrying at it like she wished she could snatch her words from the air. A groan rose in my chest, and I had to work to stop myself from staring. I didn’t do a very good job. She was like a lavish dessert, all golden hair and peach-toned skin, her brown eyes like a dash of chocolate—a sweet surprise when you expected blue.

I always did love surprises.

But as much as the flush in her cheeks made a thrill trip through me, I couldn’t let her embarrassment linger. I nodded toward the bag at her feet. “Did you remember your camera?”

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