Page 29 of Naughty Santa

This was worse.

This was a full-blown crisis.

She was falling for Joe.

Hard.

She was also falling for this town. She never would have imagined for a second that she could even tolerate the cold, let alone enjoy it, and yet tonight, Joe had shown her the beauty of snow and a quiet country winter night.

Then he brought her home and poured her a glass of red wine while he told her to wait downstairs for five minutes.

When she went upstairs, she caught him lighting candles on the countertop, a bubble bath drawn.

“When you live in a cold weather state, there is only one way to warm up before bed,” he said. “A nice, hot bubble bath.”

The man was a born romantic, and Paris didn’t think he even realized it. “Oh, really? That does seem wise.” She wasn’t all that cold anymore, but she was not going to object to a soak in a deep tub. “Are you joining me?”

“Hell, yeah. This tub is cast iron. It’s deep, and it holds heat for hours.”

Perfect.

“Then I guess there’s only one thing to do now. Strip. You first.”

Joe needed no more encouragement than that. He was a good-looking muscular guy and clearly comfortable in his own skin. He had his sweatshirt and T-shirt over his head in record time. Then he unzipped his jeans and took them down. “Done. Your turn.”

“Everything off,” she said, amused by his enthusiasm. “You’re not finished yet.”

He eyed her. “This isn’t a trick, is it? Like I get naked, and then you leave?”

That made her laugh. “Why would I do that? I’d never leave you.”

At the same moment, they both realized what she had said. She was leaving him.

His nostrils flared. Her mouth fell open to say something. What, she didn’t know. But to explain somehow. “Joe…”

“Don’t,” he said, and his voice was low, rough. “Don’t apologize or try to explain or let me down easy. You’re always up front with me and I appreciate it.”

He was right. There wasn’t really anything to say. If anyone had broken the rules they’d established, it was her for falling for him. Not that he needed to know that. So she did the best thing she could under the circumstances. She peeled her sweater off and tossed it onto the floor.

Slowly, seductively, she stripped off the rest of her clothes, shimmying out of her jeans in a way that had him growling and reaching for her.

“Patience,” Paris told him as she kicked the pants away.

When she turned and bent over the tub, he growled. “Fuck, Paris. What are you doing?”

Giving him a hell of a view.

“Testing the temperature.” She dipped a hand in and scooped up some bubbles, then turned toward him. “It feels perfect. Nice and hot.”

Joe’s gaze ran over her entire body. “Very hot.” He eased his boxer briefs down, and his thick cock came into view.

He really was the total package.

Dammit.

She took the bubbles in her hand and patted his chin so they transferred to him. “Santa beard.”

“Get in the tub, Paris, before I throw you in.”

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