Page 20 of Naughty Santa

Probably.

Maybe.

Roscoe gave her a little hiss. “Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” she told him. “I know you don’t need anyone. But we’re here whether you like it or not. At least for a little while.”

Suddenly Joe coughed. He shifted and put the cat down. “So, um...I know this sounds bad, but I need to go.”

“Oh.” Right. He wasn’t going to stay. Hot sex was all they were doing, and they didn’t have any condoms. “Sure. Of course.”

“I’ll...uh…” He started toward the front of the house. “See you.”

She heard the front door shut and looked down at Louis, then at the plate of half-eaten spaghetti, then at the fuzzy orange backside of the cat who was now crouched at his food bowl on the other side of the island, growling even as he ate.

Paris blew out a breath.

Wow. So this was North Pole, Indiana.

CHAPTER 5

Joe stoodoutside the door to Lydia’s—well, Paris’s—house and cursed himself for being an idiot. This was not where he should be, but he’d be damned if he could make himself go anywhere else.

Three days. It had been three days since he had stuck his hand down Paris’s pants, fingering her to an orgasm. It had been hot as hell, fucking mind-blowing. And for a hot minute, he’d thought her offer of casual sex sounded better than chicken and waffles on Christmas morning. Joe had convinced himself he was all in because if she could handle it, so could he.

Then she’d been sweet to Lydia’s asshole cat, going all soft and nice, and he’d cut and run, fully aware that there was no way he wasn’t going to fall for her.

Fuck. Given the way he hadn’t been able to think of anything except her for days or the way he’d been acting like a fool, like someone who couldn’t string three words together, every time he ran into her, it was safe to say he was already halfway in love with her.

Paris wasn’t helping matters. She wasn’t what he expected. Every time Joe had himself convinced she was a snooty, big citygirl who could never fit in in North Pole, she’d show this other side that, damn...well, it got to him.

She’d taught Jaden how to play rummy, the two of them dealing out the cards the second the kid got off the bus. Then Jaden had introduced her to his favorite treat of soft butter on saltines, and the last two days, she’d made a trayful of them just before school ended, putting them out like they were some fancy hors d’oeuvres at one of her swanky California parties.

Somehow, she’d coaxed Roscoe into her damn doggie purse yesterday and brought him to the Feed and Seed, insisting the cat was lonely and needed company.

And the more he tried to keep a friendly if awkward distance from her, the more she came on to him. Joe tried to play it cool, told her he thought they’d be better off forgetting about the casual sex, but the woman had already had a taste, and not to sound too cocky, but it was obvious she’d liked it. A lot.

Joe ran his hand over his jaw, feeling his freshly trimmed beard, pretending like he hadn’t shaped it up for Paris. He’d gotten a haircut too. Also, not to impress the California girl.

He rolled his eyes and reached in the truck to retrieve what he’d come to deliver. Mom had caught Joe as he was leaving for work and handed him a pair of her winter boots, asking him to pass them along to Paris. Joe had started to make an excuse, determined this would be the day he managed to stay away from Paris completely, but he couldn’t do it. For one thing, his poor mom looked like she’d gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight, her swollen jaw resembling a chipmunk with a cheek full of nuts.

And for another thing...Paris needed help walking on the ice. Any friend would do the same.

Suuuure, they would.

So he told his mom he’d drop the boots off, then went back into his apartment to grab one of his old coats.

If they were outfitting Paris for an Indiana winter, might as well do it right.

Joe was looking forward to seeing her expression when she saw his gifts. He doubted the fashionista had ever worn anything that didn’t have some designer’s name attached to it.

Climbing the stairs to Lydia’s porch, he gave himself a pep talk, tried to convince himself that this was just a friendly visit, that he was just being neighborly.

All those good intentions flew out the window when Paris answered the door in the cutest little fleece pajama bottoms with bunnies on them and a red T-shirt with Givenchy emblazoned on it.

Yep. Even her pajamas had a name on them, and he was guessing the privilege of wearing that tee probably cost her as much as at least three pairs of his jeans.

“Hey, Joe.” She smiled brightly when she saw him, and he fought back the desire to whisk her back to the kitchen to finish what they’d started the other night.

Her hair was pinned up on top of her head in a ponytail, and a few little wispy curls had broken free to hang loose around her face. His fingers itched to wrap that ponytail around his hand and tug on it, use his grip to pull her to him for a kiss, or maybe he’d pull her head a little lower, unzip his jeans, and...

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