Page 19 of Their Christmas Miracle

Joshua

Anything? Dammit, anything? Why don’t I have a drink, something to do, something to distract me while I try to think?

My aching cock isn’t helping matters, either. I can’t seem to look in Holly’s direction without it pulsing in my pants like it’s turned into a snake that’s more than eager to get out and hunt down some prey.

Dear God, I just called my dick a snake.

I’m losing my mind, aren’t I?

I’ve been working too hard. Or maybe Holly slipped something in my drink; it would be just like her to roofie me.

“It’s innocent,” I say again, like it’s going to change how incriminating that goddamn photo looks.

I turn back to her, trying to force confidence on my face. At least she’s stopped biting her nail — God, that almost had me coming in my goddamn pants — but now she’s toying with the laces on her vest like she’s planning to tug them loose right here, right now.

I almost wish she would.

“Send it to him, I don’t care. Your father knows me. I’ve worked for his company for almost four years now. He knows I’m not a, not a—”

“Lecher?” she — unhelpfully — supplies.

“I didn’t—”

“The guy who’s planning on boning his little pumpkin?”

“I—” The sentence fades away. “Who what?”

She cocks her eyebrow at me. “That’s what he’s going to think.”

My resolve evaporates. I sit back, letting out a long sigh and bringing a hand to my face to push up my non-existent glasses. I yank my fingers away, gripping my suit’s lapel instead as I face Holly.

“What do you want?”

I tried for stern, almost authoritarian. I probably got closer to prudish. Holly studies me for a moment and then runs those dark eyes of her over the restaurant.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she announces as if she hasn’t just been blackmailing the living shit out of me. Then she turns back to me, cocks her head, and says, “I want to see where you live.”

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